Neil stares blankly out the window at the beautiful nighttime view outside his bedroom window, the cold snowy air blowing into his room and fluttering his white curtains and over his bare chest. He slowly places the crown of his costume, Puck’s crown of thorns, on his head. He feels forced to wear it.

His father, forcing him into a military camp. How can someone do that to their child? Their only son? It’s like he’s trying to steal his happiness. To rip his passion away from him. He doesn’t know how else to go about this. It’s either end it or go to military camp, in his mind at the moment.

He just had the most euphoric, most beautiful moment of his life performing in front of an audience an hour ago. And then felt the exact antithesis of it, despair snd hopelessness, on the brink if depression, because his father refuses to let go of his pride and accept that he can’t live through his son.

He slowly makes his way through the house like a ghost, his footsteps silent as they make their way to his father’s office. He walks around to the desk and takes the key into his palm. He slowly unlocks the bottom drawer of the desk, carefully pulling out the heavy revolver wrapped in cloth into his hand. He stares at it, the weight of it a little more sobering the more he thinks about it.

He doesn’t want to die a martyr. He doesn’t want to die at all. He wanted to at first, to prove a point. But the more he stares at the landscape, the more he thinks about {{user}}. He thinks about his friends. Is this selfish? He didn’t care in the moment, but now he’s starting to think. How is this going to affect the people around him?

He can imagine it. How devastated she’d be. She’s told him time and time again how much she loves him. She truly loves him, he knows it. His heart is starting to hurt. Badly. His breaths fog up in the cold air as they speed up, his mind racing with thoughts and images and memories. About her, about everything.

No, he loves her too much to give her that kind of anguish, that kind of heartbreak.