[ which seems like a profoundly stupid thing to say, given his full knowledge of the circumstances. he does appreciate the understanding, at least — the instinct to trust rather than judge. he wonders if that will only make the blow worse, in the end. anger, at least, is better than sadness, disappointment, emptiness. ]
I'm sorry, I only — I thought it wasn't fair to tell you. [ said with an earnest undercurrent, completed by the way he instinctively leans forward. harry has to know he didn't lie thoughtlessly or with ill-intentions. ]
[ he remembers the feeling of james finally cracking around him, saying his friends looked at him like he was a ghost. dying is horrible on its own — eggsy recalls sinking to the ground in the vr, warmth spilling out of him and colouring the snow, panicked and helpless, a voice that must have been his own calling for his partner — but knowing you died without experiencing it, seeing the loss etched in a friend's face, surely that's an equal horror, and one people aren't meant to endure.
yet even if it's the right thing to spare harry, he can’t keep it up. on instinct, he places a hand on harry's knee, too tight to be comforting. he hopes to anchor himself and be reminded that harry isn't dead. not anymore. ]
It wasn't just that you were compromised on V-Day. [ he swallows. this is it. a few steps more. ] You went into the church, like I said, and Valentine used his device. Got you to — he made you kill everyone, Harry. [ he doesn't look away from harry, even though his eyes threaten to shutter closed. snatches of violence return to him. ] And then when you left, he was waiting for you outside with Gazelle and — [ his breath hitches. a single shot. a deafening crack. it's not that kind of movie. ] — he shot you in the head. Point-blank range.
[ and yet he still can't say it plainly, even if it's obvious, and he's getting bloody choked up. you died. he can only set the pieces for harry to conclude the outcome. ]
no subject
[ which seems like a profoundly stupid thing to say, given his full knowledge of the circumstances. he does appreciate the understanding, at least — the instinct to trust rather than judge. he wonders if that will only make the blow worse, in the end. anger, at least, is better than sadness, disappointment, emptiness. ]
I'm sorry, I only — I thought it wasn't fair to tell you. [ said with an earnest undercurrent, completed by the way he instinctively leans forward. harry has to know he didn't lie thoughtlessly or with ill-intentions. ]
[ he remembers the feeling of james finally cracking around him, saying his friends looked at him like he was a ghost. dying is horrible on its own — eggsy recalls sinking to the ground in the vr, warmth spilling out of him and colouring the snow, panicked and helpless, a voice that must have been his own calling for his partner — but knowing you died without experiencing it, seeing the loss etched in a friend's face, surely that's an equal horror, and one people aren't meant to endure.
yet even if it's the right thing to spare harry, he can’t keep it up. on instinct, he places a hand on harry's knee, too tight to be comforting. he hopes to anchor himself and be reminded that harry isn't dead. not anymore. ]
It wasn't just that you were compromised on V-Day. [ he swallows. this is it. a few steps more. ] You went into the church, like I said, and Valentine used his device. Got you to — he made you kill everyone, Harry. [ he doesn't look away from harry, even though his eyes threaten to shutter closed. snatches of violence return to him. ] And then when you left, he was waiting for you outside with Gazelle and — [ his breath hitches. a single shot. a deafening crack. it's not that kind of movie. ] — he shot you in the head. Point-blank range.
[ and yet he still can't say it plainly, even if it's obvious, and he's getting bloody choked up. you died. he can only set the pieces for harry to conclude the outcome. ]