Chapter Text
The side of a clenched fist hits Thursday’s chest. And again.
“Why did you do this to me?”
Tears streak down Morse’s face. He stands in front of the older, anger seeping through his body, into both fists.
“I can’t work, I can’t think, I can’t-”
Another hit.
“I didn’t want it,” he gasps through tears, “I didn’t want to love you-”
“But you do, lad.”
The voice is calm, almost melancholy.
Morse doesn’t want to look up. Doesn’t want to see pity in Thursday’s eyes, or doesn’t want to see what he wants to see.
A hand comes to wrap around his clenched fist. He feels the other, watches where their hands are joined. Morse thinks about what could have been, what can never be. The touch almost evaporates the anger from him, leaving only the reminiscences of a broken man.
It's all your fault.
"It's all my fault..."