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neil was ready to die. he had accepted that he wasn’t going to live past 19, that he would be killed, that he wouldn’t do anything else with his life. and he was mourning the loss of exy and his teammates and friendship, but he didn’t bother mourning the loss of a domestic life because it never even occured to him that that could be a possibility. that dream died the night he ran away. he didn’t mourn the loss of lazy sleep-filled mornings or cat cuddles or holding hands or having his own place, because to him, that was always too far-fetched. he didn’t mourn for the small joys of domestic life, because he’d never had them in the first place