[If he knew that Idia had obfuscated for his sake, well... he'd tell himself it was simply easier for Idia, too, to pretend he was only as he seemed. He doesn't have to care about him if all that he is is what he shows on the surface - there's nothing of substance to care about. Head like a bag of marshmallows, cute, sure, but mostly devoid of real substance.
That Cater could cry, too, sure. Idia was right, it'd be about something inane, some limited thing he missed out on, cute and calculated and photographed at just the right angle, in just the right lighting to elicit sympathy from whoever saw the post. Hashtag tragic.
His breath hitches harder when a hand settles over his own, and Idia just might feel a jolt of actual, desperate, fear through their bond, if only for a second or two. He knows he can't handle being pushed away, right now, even from someone who by all rights shouldn't actually care about him...
But says he does, for some reason.
The hoodie draped over him isn't a direct invitation to latch on, no, but the feeling at the thought of being made to let go was enough to take it as one anyway. He doesn't quite uncurl. He certainly doesn't really stop crying in the least. He does, however, rather unceremoniously crash into Idia's chest, wrap his arms around his waist, and cling as tightly as he possibly can in the slightly awkward position, while being utterly, emotionally exhausted.
If anyone came by, they'd know there was someone under there. They'd even know that someone was sobbing their eyes out. If they had a really sharp ear, they might recognize the voice sounds maybe sort of a little bit like Cater. But they couldn't prove it, so he just nods against Idia's chest. Sure, he'll duck his head. Sure, he'll let him watch over him, right now. Sure, he'll let him see just how pathetic he can be.
And sure, he'll still feel guilty about the feedback he knows Idia must be feeling.]
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That Cater could cry, too, sure. Idia was right, it'd be about something inane, some limited thing he missed out on, cute and calculated and photographed at just the right angle, in just the right lighting to elicit sympathy from whoever saw the post. Hashtag tragic.
His breath hitches harder when a hand settles over his own, and Idia just might feel a jolt of actual, desperate, fear through their bond, if only for a second or two. He knows he can't handle being pushed away, right now, even from someone who by all rights shouldn't actually care about him...
But says he does, for some reason.
The hoodie draped over him isn't a direct invitation to latch on, no, but the feeling at the thought of being made to let go was enough to take it as one anyway. He doesn't quite uncurl. He certainly doesn't really stop crying in the least. He does, however, rather unceremoniously crash into Idia's chest, wrap his arms around his waist, and cling as tightly as he possibly can in the slightly awkward position, while being utterly, emotionally exhausted.
If anyone came by, they'd know there was someone under there. They'd even know that someone was sobbing their eyes out. If they had a really sharp ear, they might recognize the voice sounds maybe sort of a little bit like Cater. But they couldn't prove it, so he just nods against Idia's chest. Sure, he'll duck his head. Sure, he'll let him watch over him, right now. Sure, he'll let him see just how pathetic he can be.
And sure, he'll still feel guilty about the feedback he knows Idia must be feeling.]
S-sorry... for being like this...