[ John isn’t here anymore. A sharp, cold stab of horror in his chest. He doesn’t even remember the process of leading intoxicated House to the couch, it all sets his mind spiraling.
Earlier in the year, when House had been killed, he’d worried himself into a mess over how you comfort a god. ]
… how … how? You … maybe he’ll be back? Next month?
[ But there’s something about how sure the older man sounds that is leaving no room for hope. Once they’re on the couch he’s draping himself over House like a blanket, but a blanket that’s much too thin and small on a night that’s dangerously cold. He can’t help. He can’t really help. It hurts. ]
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Earlier in the year, when House had been killed, he’d worried himself into a mess over how you comfort a god. ]
… how … how? You … maybe he’ll be back? Next month?
[ But there’s something about how sure the older man sounds that is leaving no room for hope. Once they’re on the couch he’s draping himself over House like a blanket, but a blanket that’s much too thin and small on a night that’s dangerously cold. He can’t help. He can’t really help. It hurts. ]