[Even now, when he's exposing himself to the possibility of being forced to care - to the possibility of caring - he has to do it behind a shield of smoothly spoken, twisted words. Even now, he has to shun responsibility, cast aside the idea that he could care on his own at Idia's feet and see if he picked it up himself.
Instead of taking the bait outright, Idia leans against him heavily. Drops the shard of glass. Makes him falter under his - admittedly - slight weight.]
Y-you should hate me, you know.
[For twisting them up into knots like this, if nothing else. For being a disgusting, pathetic creature, if nothing else.
But he can't feel hate resonating.
There's an ache, sure, deep in his chest, duller than the sting from the pressure of Idia leaning on his wounds, but that's nothing like the sharpness of hate.
He doesn't like it.
He'd prefer it if Idia took his makeshift knife back up and cut open whatever cocoon he was encapsulating his softer emotions in directly to take whatever he needed.
But he isn't, and just as Idia is leaning into him, he moves his hands from Idia's cheeks to cling tightly, haphazardly, in some futile effort to support him before giving in and letting them both collapse to the floor.
(Even the sting of his knees hitting the ground isn't enough to distract from that awful, terrible, ache in his chest.)]
So wh-why?
[His voice cracks, pitches, and distantly, he thinks it sounds as disgusting as he feels he is in this moment.]
no subject
Instead of taking the bait outright, Idia leans against him heavily. Drops the shard of glass. Makes him falter under his - admittedly - slight weight.]
Y-you should hate me, you know.
[For twisting them up into knots like this, if nothing else. For being a disgusting, pathetic creature, if nothing else.
But he can't feel hate resonating.
There's an ache, sure, deep in his chest, duller than the sting from the pressure of Idia leaning on his wounds, but that's nothing like the sharpness of hate.
He doesn't like it.
He'd prefer it if Idia took his makeshift knife back up and cut open whatever cocoon he was encapsulating his softer emotions in directly to take whatever he needed.
But he isn't, and just as Idia is leaning into him, he moves his hands from Idia's cheeks to cling tightly, haphazardly, in some futile effort to support him before giving in and letting them both collapse to the floor.
(Even the sting of his knees hitting the ground isn't enough to distract from that awful, terrible, ache in his chest.)]
So wh-why?
[His voice cracks, pitches, and distantly, he thinks it sounds as disgusting as he feels he is in this moment.]
Why... care...?