you ever reach 3am and just think about horatio holding hamlet in his arms as hamlet dies, looking at this man and knowing him better than anyone, loving him far deeper than anyone, staring down at this man and believing wholeheartedly that he is going to heaven. that flights of angels sing him to his rest. that there must MUST be a place for him somewhere where he can finally find happiness, and since coming back to elsinore it couldnât be in horatioâs arms- it was never enough. not lately. there was always too much going on, too many thoughts in hamletâs head, too much pain, too much death- but now! NOW! maybe this wonderful, strong man who sees no value in his own life yet is horatioâs whole world, this man whoâs been nothing but a tool in his fatherâs hands for too long, this man whoâs last action was to save horatioâs life- maybe now heâll finally get that chance to sleep at last, maybe even to dream. to know peace. and horatio- whoâs seen the death, held the poison, smelt the blood- canât think of a way that hamlet wouldnât be going to heaven