you ever reach 3am and just think about horatio holding hamlet in his arms as hamlet dies, looking at this man and knowing him better than anyone, loving him far deeper than anyone, staring down at this man and believing wholeheartedly that he is going to heaven. that flights of angels sing him to his rest. that there must MUST be a place for him somewhere where he can finally find happiness, and since coming back to elsinore it couldn’t be in horatio’s arms- it was never enough. not lately. there was always too much going on, too many thoughts in hamlet’s head, too much pain, too much death- but now! NOW! maybe this wonderful, strong man who sees no value in his own life yet is horatio’s whole world, this man who’s been nothing but a tool in his father’s hands for too long, this man who’s last action was to save horatio’s life- maybe now he’ll finally get that chance to sleep at last, maybe even to dream. to know peace. and horatio- who’s seen the death, held the poison, smelt the blood- can’t think of a way that hamlet wouldn’t be going to heaven