[ It's impossible. He can't listen to this. Harold lurches to his feet, his tea cup shaking and liquid sloshing as he knocks the table but then steadying. There's an intrinsic rebellion against the concept that anyone is meant to die, but John especially, because absolutely everyone gave up on John, including John himself.
Everyone except Harold. He can't bear to do it now. ]
You were never meant to die, [ he whispers, eyes wide, gleaming with unshed tears. ] But you did.
Don't tell me that it makes sense-- don't tell me that it's right. I can't stand to hear it.
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Everyone except Harold. He can't bear to do it now. ]
You were never meant to die, [ he whispers, eyes wide, gleaming with unshed tears. ] But you did.
Don't tell me that it makes sense-- don't tell me that it's right. I can't stand to hear it.
[ The tears well up and spill over silently. ]