Chapter Text
It's such a cruel irony that all the things I'd want to say to you I never did. And now that you're dead, I can't. And if I had known you were going to die, I most likely would still not have said anything until after you had died. Funny how that works.
Of course, now I wish to say all this to you in person. Because it would mean you were still alive. And that is all I wish right now. Some part of me knew that you had died, but hearing it confirmed was just
I wish we had been able to say goodbye. I wish we had been on better terms before you'd died. I thought I saw you at one of the tube stations. Not my stop. I glanced out one of the windows as the car slowed for others and thought I spotted you. Nearly had a heart-attack. Almost jumped off the tube right then and there to see if it really was you. But I knew.
I have no idea why I'm writing this. You're never going to see it. I'll most likely just toss it into the fireplace. So to speak. My flat doesn't have a fireplace. I don't know where I was going with that. I'm not one to leave well enough alone, maybe that's why.
You were my best friend, you know? In Research, before we got moved I requested you to join me in the archives. I know you know, but I need you to hear read it anyway: You know I never meant for a job in the archives to turn into. This. Whatever this is now. I'm not clear myself. I'm not even sure I'm human anymore.
I understand your anger. If it makes you feel any better, which I know it won't, I'm angry at myself. I'm angry at you, too, for leaving. I'm angry that any decision I make seems to only pull me, and consequently everyone else around me, deeper into whatever the archives are hiding. Angry that I can't save our friends. Angry that I can't stop myself. Angry because, maybe, some part of me thought you could be the one.
Stop laughing. I mean it. We were great together in Research. You were my best friend. You pulled me out of my shell like no one else could. You put up with my eccentricities; faults and flaws that I'd had as a child and never grew out of. You put up with them, you befriended me. Somehow, miraculously, my demeanor never put you off. And I can't tell you how grateful I am of that. For having found a friend in you, when all my life I'd been searching for answers. You were my first real friend in years.
We got on so well. I would do almost anything to get that back. And I know you hate me, that you'll probably never forgive me, but I need you to know that our relationship is something I will always cherish. I hope you understand why.
And I hope, wherever you are, you're befriending the lost and lonely and hurt. That you can find some kind of happiness again, that your anger won't last forever. Not for my sake, of course, but because I want you to be happy, Tim. I want you to be the seemingly care-free man I met in Research three years ago. A truly care-free man. If you can.
Even more so, I wish things had been different. I wish there were scripts for this sort of thing. We'd meet in Research, become friends, and then slowly I'd start to realize that maybe I loved you as more than just a friend. Maybe you'd realize it too, or had already, and were just waiting for me to realize it. Admit it. We'd stay in Research, of course. Stay just above everything we'd encountered.
Or maybe not. Maybe everything would happen as it has, but with a few differences. Maybe we wouldn't have I wouldn't have pushed you away like I did. Maybe we would've grown closer. Maybe I would be there. Before you set off the explosives.
Maybe I would finally find the courage to say what I've wanted to for so many years now.
I love you.