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“So,” she said, while he drained the remainder of his wine. “You went from someone who couldn’t love you well to someone who can’t love you at all… How does it feel?”

“The same as it always feels,” he replied, pouring another precarious glass and closing his eyes. “Now either sit and have a drink,” he beckoned, taking a sip, “or leave me the fuck alone.”

“But you picked [him]. Why?”
“Because he’s a masochist. And I’m a sadist.”

“I won’t fucking forgive him…. And I won’t forgive anyone else who makes me ask myself if I deserve to live.”

“I feel,” he said, raising his blue eyes to meet Tristan’s. “I feel immensely. But I must, by necessity, do it differently than other people.”

This is so fucking sad and also healing. Goddamn.

“Aren’t you tired? All this work, all this running, none of it you can ever escape; I can feel it in you, around you. You feel nothing anymore, do you? Only erosion, fatigue, depletion. Your exhaustion is all you are.”

“I owed my life [to him], but I didn’t feel happy. All I felt was brokenness. The fear of dirt and nothingness and being alone. The loss [of him]. And something else. The crippling sadness and the incredible guilt of being the one who lived.”

Men ain’t shit.

“The last thing I think is: Achilles.”

“First of all,” Laurie says, still wincing as he glares at the freezer, “nice of you to ignore the final words of a dying man. Real sweet. Second of all, do I look like I know how the twisted brain of Byron Lennox-Hall works? Because I do not. Do a séance and ask him.”

I fucking love Lawrence, he’s precious and I will keep him.

"Those with the most power don't want peace. There's no profit in it. Peace would level out the balance of power and turn the public's attention to things that matter…”

I’m truly enjoying this fic! It’s so well written.