Doomed to an eternity of unlife at the age of thirty-two, just the thought broke Tibbit even more.

So he shifted his gaze, afraid of what Seamus might read in his eyes. He sniffled, more tears managing to make their way down his cheeks. There was the sound of rummaging and Tibbit winced when he heard the sharp intake from Seamus.

"What ... why ... I don't ... Tibbit, explain this, please."

He didn't even have to look to know what Seamus was holding in his hands, but he turned, facing the growing problem. And again he wondered if perhaps he'd picked this place because he wanted to be stopped. Dangling in Seamus's precarious two finger hold was a gun, one Tibbit purchased a few days back. The sight of it was enough to bring forth a bout of shame, especially when he noticed the way Seamus's brows knitted together. Utter despair stole his words and he began to cry in earnest, no tear here and there, but a full on flood that left him gasping for breath in minutes.

Seamus put down the offending weapon and tugged a very reluctant Tibbit to his feet. As the sobs continued to wrack his body Tibbit effortlessly relaxed into the comforting, friendly, loving embrace Seamus offered. Everything he'd been holding in rushed out of him in an emotional tsunami, Seamus managing to avoid getting swept away. His fingers curled into Seamus's shirt and he buried his face against Seamus's shoulder, willing himself to stop crying.

He failed.

Seamus muttered something soothing and Atlas whimpered, pressing against Tibbit's leg. Only once the overwhelming storm of misery passed did Tibbit step back, sniffling, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. He tried to avoid eye contact thinking it might be best to just gather up his stuff and beat a hasty retreat with his tail tucked between his legs, but he should have known better. Just because Seamus's heart didn't beat anymore did not keep from caring.

He hooked a finger under Tibbit's chin, prompting Tibbit to meet his gaze. Oh, those blue eyes, their shade reminiscent of crystal clear waters. Every single time he looked into them something stirred inside of him, a feeling he wasn't quite sure how to explain, though in moments of loneliness he wondered, as crazy as it might sound, if it was love. Could he love someone like Seamus, was that even possible?

"My dear friend, what has left you so broken?"

Where did he even start?

Seamus slipped a hand into his, their fingers entwining. "Come, let's go back to the castle. We can talk, you can tell me what is on your mind."

"No," the word bubbled up. As much as he longed to talk, to give voice to the fears and thoughts bombarding him every day he wasn't quite sure he could bring himself to do it. Perhaps afraid that once the truth came out the way Seamus saw him would change forever, their friendship altered, maybe even shattered, and there was no way he would ever be able to handle such an outcome.

Seamus chewed his bottom lip, looking lost in thought as though contemplating what to say. When he spoke he kept his tone measured, but strong. "I come out here to find you digging what equates to a grave and you have a gun. The absolute last thing I am going to do now is leave you alone. So come on, let's go see if we can put the pieces back where they belong."

Reluctantly, like a dog caught sneaking treats from the trash, Tibbit allowed himself to be dragged along. A new feeling jumped into the simmering stew pot mingling with the hopelessness and grief; turned out that fear added a bitter taste.