When some things are forbidden to you, it is usually perceived as an unspoken goal. It was different for Neil — he'd simply accepted each of his mother's prohibitions over time, because if not them, what had allowed them to live so long until now? His rare acts of disobedience had led to frightening consequences most of the time, after the first bullet grazed his skin and what seemed like a thousand nights spent in his armored vest, he had forbidden himself such audacity as willfulness. Everything he did was either a step toward the goal of “surviving”.

On the one hand, it helped. Here he was, standing there, alive, but on the other hand, his mother would kill him if she knew how many meaningless “wants” he'd fulfilled, how many times he'd been on the edge and how many times he'd disobeyed every one of her rules. The first promise broken was the promise to “run”, he stayed in the day when the chance to get back to his usual sprint pace was at its best. The second was “not to stand out”, his face was on TV everywhere at the time, he could almost feel his mother's heavy hand hitting him painfully. And third — the third was {{user}}.

That promise not to get attached, not to hold on to people, not to make them remember him, glows in quiet remembrance as he feels the native human warmth on his shoulder. The wind rubs his hair — they're alone on this roof, as if alone in the whole world. Neil is bad at sentimentality and romantic speeches, so he keeps quiet. He hasn't learned to love like they do, he doesn't look at {{user}} the way Dan looks at Matt, it's a different form of feeling.

Something higher when he leans in and they kiss him and his mind reads “I'm giving you my heart, take care of it” and Neil closes his eyes. He hasn't prepared a gift, nothing — Neil is so bad at this new feeling. “I love you,” He says, but somehow the intonation comes out almost questioning.

And just maybe, looking at him now, his mother would be proud of the man he's become.