[It would be easy, if he could hate anyone who had what he couldn't. He had to go everywhere in the world. He had to become good at talking to people. He had to make so many fleeting friendships that there was no way he could sustain them all when he, inevitably, had to leave them behind, again and again, like so many before them. Idia was static. Idia could put down his roots and grow however he pleased.

Or so it appeared, anyway.

All he knows, right now, is that this hurts, and that this bone-deep ache isn't all coming from Idia's side anymore. Not as he explains himself. Not as he cuts so efficiently to the root of things that he can't help but wish he never dropped the glass.]

Stupid... How... how can you not know?

[It would be easier if this was just because they were partners. It would remove their own thoughts from the equation, it would absolve them of any obligation to continue feeling this way after going home - if they remembered any of this at all.

But he had to go and insist it wasn't because of that, and it's Cater's turn to feel tears pricking at his eyes that he bitterly, bitterly tries to force not to fall.]

A-and how can you care after... [A hitch in his voice, and he lets go of Idia entirely to wrap his arms around himself instead, resolutely staring down at a smudge of dirt on his knees.]

Of course I'll remember you, I... let you... I made you... see... this...

[This awful, shivering little mandrake hidden behind a sparkly, cheerful facade.]

...You must feel so vindicated, right? The cool popular guy is a pathetic nobody...

Ah-

Sorry, I...

[No, lashing out right now didn't... feel right. Not with how raw everything is.]