Cedric's always been a fairly positive person. He prefers to look at the fixes they can make, the ways they can improve, and the things they have. The glass is always half-full, there is always hope.

Not this time.

He opens the door to their little flat slowly, as if afraid to enter. One might think the reason's obvious. Somehow, someway, he's gotten himself beaten up. Bruises line his arms, and there are probably a fair few cuts in there somewhere. Cedric doesn't like coming home injured, so on a normal day he'd fix it himself.

The problem? He can't. Not anymore. He's carrying a little bag of splinters that was once his last link to home.