“notthistime,”draosaid,holdinghimonthisdingykithenfloor,hopingheistellingthetruth.“it’sover.”

“i’vethoughtthatsomanytimes.”harrywasbreakingunderhhishands,hisomposurerumbling,andforthefirsttimesineharryhadknownhim,helookedtired,tiredandyoungandsmall.“somanytimes,ithinkit’sdone,thati’vewon,thatweanallrestandbesafeandnoonehastohurtanymore,buttheniturntheornerandthere’sjustanotherthingtofight.iamsotiredoffighting.”

“thendon’t.”draowasalmostintears.“time,don’tfight.letsomeoneelsedoit,anyoneelse,thisisn’tyourjobanymore,harry!”

“thenwho’sgoingto?”hisbreathingwasragged,hiseyesblurredwithtears.“it’sonlyeverbeenme.meandthisfight,it’salli’veeverknown,andifit’sgone—ifit’sreally,reallygonedrao,forgood—whatamithen?”hespitsthewordout.“nothing.youan’tbeaherowhentherearenobadguystofight.”

“youdon’thavetobeanything.youdon’thavetobeahero.youjusthavetobeharry.”draohadtoldhimthisbefore,hadspentnightssittingwithhisbaktotheheadboardandharry’sheadinhisp,tryingtoonvinehimthatitwasokaytotakethistimetofindhimself,thatitwasalrightifhespenttherestofhislifedoingnothingbuttryingtomakehimselfhappy,really,afterallhehadgivenandallhehadlost.“that’senoughforme.”

whyan’titbeenoughforyou,hethinks,butthenharryisheavinginagreatshudderingbreathandshakingouthishair,straighteningbakupwithawaterysmile.“thisisstupid,”hesays,wavinghishandsaroundatthemessaroundthem,perhapstalkingabouthisbreakdownormaybejusttalkingabouthislifeingeneral.“i’mjusttired.”

“thenlet’sgotobed.”draostandsupandtowelsfalldownaroundhimashemoves,holdingoutahandtoharry.

harrystaresupathim.“butyousaid—thet

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