for @sparekilled.
He’s not coming back. It’s easy as that. Perhaps I should’ve known. I’ve always regarded myself as smart — I hadn’t known why I wasn’t as Potter hauled his body under him, crying. Countless of times, I’m back to that moment , rooted by my spot as Amos cried for a son who would not wake up, and I found my brain chanting , pleading , begging , for him to do so. He never did. And how funny it is, to regret the words you’ve always kept, but never say. I suppose ... I suppose I always have this irrational fear Cedric would strike me if I told him I love him. Like brothers did, when I was smaller.
But now I rather wish he did. I take a thousand bruises in the shape of Cedric’s palms against my pale skin, than him dead. Please, please, do not let me wake up to a reality where he’s dead. I don’t think I can take another morning realising I have a life without him.
—Hans’ burnt letter to his psychologist.
