#* meme answer

         SEVERIN COULDN’T help but chuckle at the advice. By this point in his life, after the horrific loss he had suffered, he had certainly grown a thick fortress of ice all around his heart. Sometimes he swore he could feel it pouring out of him. “I’ve got that base covered, surprisingly.”

         There was a long moment of pause. Silence, though his head was buzzing like a thousand angry bees. Did he wish it? He’d only imagined it every day since it happened. Considered the alternative: two lives for one. If he could have found a warlock who could make it so, he would have. If he could have found a demon. It was that exact thought which made him consider joining the Silent Brothers initially. Free of memory, free of pain. Free of any thoughts that would put himself, his fellow shadowhunters, at risk because of a selfish whim. Did he wish he had died instead of Evangeline? “Yes,” Severin breathed softly.

         “Whose worth loving?” Severin spat the answer out immediately, the bitterness in his tone something like a harsh venom. His heart still fully belonged to his wife but he only spoke of her when prompted by the right people. That didn’t mean he wasn’t always thinking about her. So many thing he missed: the smell of her hair, the softness of her skin, the way her lips bowed when she teased him with a pout. The life growing in her stomach. The runes blackened against her curves. The way they faded and shined in dim light. “Everyone else is a waste of time. Love is a waste of time.”

         “It’s better than drugging yourself who who the fuck knows what.” He didn’t like it. He didn’t hate it. It was convenient, cheaper than buying something off the street, and something he told himself wouldn’t wind up with a strong dependency. Of course, Severin didn’t need to drink … or so he told himself. It was just a bandage. The wound would eventually heal. “It’s not bad. Depends on what you’re drinking.”

         The liquor burned its way down the back of his throat. By now he was too used to the feeling — regular doses of a night out, drinking just enough to numb his mind but never enough to make him sick. Severin told himself it helped. It didn’t. “What the fuck kind of question is that? Who wants to be that heavy when they’re drinking?” The shadowhunter scoffed. Eyes narrowed. “Leaving Idris. I don’t like it here. I have everything I needed in Idris, it was just slow work.” He paused, “I bet you didn’t think I was going to say that, did you?”

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