text | in spacetext no one can see you crying like a toddler.

[borndying]

Who cares if you die?

( feel free to interpret that however you please, denizens of the EXTREMELY POORLY NAMED tranquility! all possible interpretations are acceptable in harry's current state of complete emotional breakdown. he probably doesn't care if any of you die, for instance, and may bitterly resent you for having an actual answer to this question.

who cared when norman died? who really cared. people mourned the man who'd contributed so much, but that man was an idea. an image carefully cultivated. harry knew enough to know better, but even he wouldn't pretend to have known his father, and who's going to care when harry dies? just like norman did.

harry's legacy is just disappointment and isolation. his best friend is his only friend and he's pretty sure they're totally not friends any more, also. everything sucks and he broke a bottle when he got back to his room and he can't be bothered to clean it up, he's just going to sit here and hate all of you, publicly and violently, and

you know, by text, because he looks even shitter than usual. )

Comments

[borndying]

Yeah, I wasn't gonna judge, but I'm judging. Christ.

[unmakes]

you are 100% welcome to judge. i'm totally judging.

now we can continue this saga of 'dead people do stupid things' or you can give me a clue on what's the heck's eating you

just a clue. not gonna make you ~talk about it~.

[borndying]

That sounds boring, let's skip it.

series of texts

[unmakes]

didn't sound boring to me, but fiiiine fine we can skip it

i'll brb, making food.


sandwiches in fact, if you want one? i still owe you

[borndying]

Maybe some other time.

( harry has zero desire for anyone to see him right now. )

[unmakes]

was gonna offer to leave it outside your door but your loss

[borndying]

...

Okay.

[unmakes]

10 mins

[ true to her word, approximately ten minutes later there's a knock at his door. he'll hear something being set down on the floor, then after a pause, footsteps heading off down the hall.

it's a plate with a grilled cheese, but the sandwich is scooted over to one side to make room for four starburst candies, one of each flavor. she knows pushing him's just gonna piss him off, she's totally watching him blow up at almost everyone else, but she had to do something. even a little something. ]

[borndying]

( it's ridiculous of him to wait a good ten minutes after those footsteps have receded - it's paranoid and stupid and a little mean - but he does, eventually, open his door a crack and then a little more, enough to snake the plate inside his room and close the door again.

gratitude is sort of a distant, weird feeling, like the guilt that's slowly creeping in for what he did to dr parker's glasses.

he eats his damn sandwich. )

after about 20 minutes

[unmakes]

[ eh, why the hell not: ]

so anyway, i've died a couple of times already if you didn't pick up on that

the more you know (there's no rainbow shooting star option on here but i'm sure you can picture it)

[borndying]

What did it feel like

[unmakes]

the fast one or the slow one?

[borndying]

Yeah.

[unmakes]

didn't see the fast one coming. i mean i guess that makes sense, it came at me backwards (the world's most gangrenous cock in human form shoved me down the stairs in my own freaking house, busted the back of my skull in on the bottom step), but... idk. it was way easier. one second i landed, and a few seconds later i was standing over my own body and like gross puddle of blood and all that

second time was way worse. i mean it was this huge stupid voodoo mess and i kind of actual literal rotted to death, so it had this fun 'my everywhere hurts like a mothereffer and also my organs are falling apart as i lay here and think about all the shit i wish i did while i actually had a body' thing going on.

the actual moment i guess wasn't so bad. you just close your eyes. probably worse for people who think there's straight-up nothing after death. i personally was just not psyched about doing the whole ghost thing again

[borndying]

Sounds about how it looked last time I saw it.

[unmakes]

[ not a single comment about the gangrenous cock. guess this is that serious after all.

so there's a pause before she answers again. ]

could be worse. at least you know what you're in for. pretty sure thousands of dead jesus freaks each day openly weep into their ectoplasmic sleeves over how not-heavenly the afterlife actually is

[borndying]

I'm gonna die rotting from the inside out like my father did and my best friend isn't going to lift a finger to help me.

[unmakes]

wow, speaking of bullshit

do you want me to punch him for you

i can totally do that

[borndying]

I want another sandwich.

[unmakes]

do i actually get to come in this time

i can close my eyes or something

[borndying]

( it takes him longer to answer this. he really does kind of want another sandwich, and she's - being nice, and not trying to force anything from or on him, and she probably wouldn't be horrified, but he doesn't do well with that. and he doesn't want to deal with anyone looking at him. and he does kind of want to be hugged and petted and told it's all gonna be okay, even though it's definitely not because everyone is a liar who hates him secretly.

he doesn't really want her to punch peter. he wants to try and punch peter again, but he doesn't want someone else to get involved. he wants his friend back, but he doesn't. none of this makes any sense. his head hurts so fucking bad.

that part is the booze. )

just for a minute.

[unmakes]

hell yes. this one's gonna have egg

[ she probably doesn't need to say '10 mins' this time. either way, it's like 11 or 12 minutes before there's a knock knock-knock again. ]

Eyes are closed, [ she says, which they are, because lying would be a dick move. this sandwich is both bigger and better, complete with a fried egg and space cheese. ]

[borndying]

( it's dark, in harry's room. he steers her around the broken glass, but she can probably feel the dampness on her feet, touching the bottom of her clothes - the room is pungent, to put it delicately, with the stench of alcohol and stale, sickly sweat, mingled with the sweeter smell of marijuana smoke, not recent, soaked into the fabric of clothing and bedding. some of it is recent mess - the glass, the spilled drink - but he's had time to settle in like this. this is just how he's been living, lately. )

Thanks.

( his hand on her arm, making sure she doesn't stand in the glass, is trembling. )

[unmakes]

[ she's not gonna say a word about it - about the dampness, slick under her flats, nor the weed smell because let's be real, she totally blazed it in the garden with a superhero and an angel in her first month here so she has zero room to judge. it's dark, that much she can actually feel, not to mention vaguely see through her eyelids. just from what she's picking up on so far, he's better at this whole wallowing thing than she ever was.

she's also not gonna comment on his shaking hands, beyond the fact that she has no idea exactly where she's headed so she kind of has to ask: ] Just let me know when to sit down.

[borndying]

Over here.

( the spare bed is clear, or at least more clear than some of the other spaces in the room - there's paper underneath her when she sits, but he doesn't seem to be particularly concerned about it. some of it is actually the notes he's been taking since he arrived, some of it is just semi-crazed rambling, he's that kind of ~damaged genius~. it's all a work in progress. sort of. )