What would be made of it, would be made of it.
Severus is not aware of how ѕιcк he could be, how
sick he could one day prove, but to say the way he
feels about her isn’t rooted in a pure truth [ distorted
& ruined by his capacity to ruin ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵗʰᶤᶰᵍ ] would be
wrong. She was the only one who had ever been
able to see through what he set himself up to
be, who had bridged the gap he’d left between
his repugnances & his brilliance. She had found
the between space [ and what was there, he was
not quite sure ; only she knew, and he’d proven
too much a coward to ask — he only ever wanted
her to say it, to remember and reassure they were
ʙᴇsᴛ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅs ] and she was the only one who
ever would. She was his only light.
& he would never learn to love like she did —
without pretense, with certain freedom, with
selflessness — but, as sad and shriveled as that
was, he could n o t let anyone take her away.
not from him, who believed himself
to need it most, regardless of how little
he’d done to earn it.