'Angst please.' [ does that one thread we have count as established ]
My muse has just been diagnosed with a terminal illness. How will your muse react?
Peter had gone straight to Harry’s. He’d practically banged on the door and Harry had let him in without a word. He must have seen Peter’s tear streaked face, that or he’d found it worrisome that Peter was actually using the door. He never used the door.
He’d settled himself in the living room, staring across to Harry. He knew he had to tell him. But he didn’t know how. He didn’t even want to let the words pass his lips. When he’d first found out he’d sucked ina breath, shaking his head insistenly at the doctor who’d delivered the news. He knew he’d been sick. He knew something was wrong. But he hadn’t expected this.
"Harry. Harry I - I have to tell you something." He trailed off, trying to work out how to just say it. He let his breath out, biting his lip. Dropping eye contact with Harry, he stared at the ground, wringing his hands.
"Harry I have cancer.” He felt his stomach drop. Saying it was even worse then hearing it. He couldn’t look at Harry. He was having trouble keepig himself together. “I’m dying.” Ironic, considering those were the same words Harry had said to him, not that long ago.
