harry did not despise many things.
it was usually difficult for him to feel hatred towards something, especially if that something was a someone.
but, one thing he did despise was crying.
the overwhelming tangled emotions climbing on top of each other in order to fall out of his throat and cover his face with a mask of unwanted wetness caused him to feel almost repulsed as he swallowed the vile-like fervor back down with a heavy gasp.
if he were to begin sobbing, water would drip from his eyes onto his soft, dry jacket (which was troublesome to clean during the apocalypse). his nose would trickle down icky snot that came along with his tears, much like how lightning and thunder stayed close behind one another.
though, harry could not say that the migraines were any better.
constant pounding with what felt like a hammer on his forehead hidden by his silver hair made him quite tempted to cry, out of pain or of something else harry was unsure of.
while harry had attempted a few times to allow that sour feeling of tears rush down his face, the moment never came; it had only left an odd sense of emptiness ringing out.
harry promised long ago that he would no longer cry, but it nearly made him dolor. nearly.
what was left instead was rising aggravation consisting of bitterness.