I was hoping you wouldn't see me like this

RORY

"Yeah, I know," he said against the door, still crying, still watched by the confused dog asking him to open it. She whined softly and his hands tightened on fur and lock, two lifelines, but he didn't know which was which: would he kill himself by opening?

Or kill her by not opening?

He inhaled shakily, trying to swallow his tears as he listened to that bravado. Who wanted to be turned down at the door by their own little brother? No one, no one, not on this long, seemingly unending night. "You might trip on a rake," he said weakly, attempting to muster some form of humor, as if what he was doing wasn't a death sentence like on any previous year.

"Yeah," he said again, weakly, wondering how he could live with himself for not even trying. Wasn't there something he could do? He could create fire from nothing, couldn't he open the door and just.. have it between them? Or get the lantern? Or...

He was the monster, for not letting her in. For almost being relieved at how sensible she was being.

"Steaming hot," he promised her in a thick voice, his fingers still on the lock, wondering how much would be left of his heart come sunrise.

as if you were on fire from within,
the moon lives in the lining of your skin.