theafflicted | 02.50 - week two, saturday

02.50 - week two, saturday

W2 SATURDAY

Like last Saturday, everyone will get an announcement on their tablets; this time, the announcement is preceded with a bell of some sort before Lorelei appears on the screen again.

"Good morning, everyone. This is an announcement to let you know that today's lesson will take place starting at 8:15 tonight. Again, today's lesson will be starting at 8:15. Please meet at the lower campus exit near the lecture by 8:00pm; Florence will be waiting for you there.

If you have a bag for some snacks and, perhaps, an item you can use for self-defense in the case of an emergency, please arrive with those things on you. We will provide you with an overview of what to expect when you arrive at 8pm.

Thank you."

The alert ends.

You have the day to prepare, ask each other what the hell is happening -- Florence and Lorelei do not seem to be available, strangely enough. There's a lot to take in with the information you have now. But before you know it... night falls.

FULL NAV

(CODE)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[And if not in the darkness, then immediately once the light returned - though, perhaps, Idia's hair would have made finding him in the darkness easier. But they weren't proper partners. They weren't anything to each other, not really, not at the end of the day, beyond the fact that they were from the same world, but...

Well.

This world could have brought in Malleus and Che'nya, for all the connection seemed to actually matter.

But they'd done what was expected of them, now. They found each other - belatedly, sure, but there they were - and Idia wanted to carve his existence into his memory, while still threatening to halfass it - or so he felt, at the moment.

That wouldn't do.]

You think I planned this, Idia?

[He steps a little closer, closes a little more of what slim gap there is between them.]

I don't like pain, you know. It's scary. But scars are memorable, you know? You want me to remember you, right? I'll forget you out of spite if all you do is hurt me through yourself.

[There's a moment in which Idia is sincerely thinking that gets superceded when Cater strikes right at where his insecurities lie in the moment. He says he'll forget Idia out of spite and the ghoul throws a tiny tantrum and Idia's eyes go wide at the threat.]

W- Well- [and yet he's still resisting, with his words, even when he lets Cater full control his hand with the shard.]

What if I died? R- Right in front of you? You wouldn't be able to forget that, would you?! Th- the feelings of helplessness... n- no, rather, even if you don't feel anything for me it will leave a mark!

[This was why you would be forgotten, Idia. You never really want to leave your mark on others.]

[(disclaimer: not actual social or psychological advice; there are ghouls for chrissake)]

I would. I totally would.

[He... probably wouldn't, actually, but - there are ghouls, and his own is yelling, screaming, railing at him that he should be the one to be hurt, not Idia...

So he says insidious things, digs in little barbs to try and make him realize that if he just allowed himself to lash out, then all the tension that he's feeling, all the anxiety, could melt away. He wouldn't be forgotten. He can press his hurt onto his partner's memory, to be remembered forever.

He could be the only one not left as a fleeting, misty shadow of the past.]

Cater leaves everyone behind, yanno? Why would he spend any energy thinking about someone who left him behind first?

[There's something about the way he says it that gives Idia pause. Like some knock-off with slightly different branding, the third person but without the "Cay," but... it's not like he knew what an original looked like. There wasn't some distinct way to say "this isn't Cater Diamond" even though people seemed fairly sure, in this state, he wasn't just "Idia Shroud."]

E- Eeh?! No-

[He's digging at the right places, at least.]

It's not- it's not like I want to leave people behind-! It- it's not my fault!

[he reaches out with his other hand, grasping onto the fabric of Cater's clothes. While his fist contorts in the material, so does his other hand, rotating the shar and coming close to what Cater wants him to do. But not quite. And not on purpose.]

[Surely, this isn't wholly Cater Diamond, but... it's close enough, and he never reveals enough of himself, that it could be, and that little sliver of doubt is enough to sink tooth and claw into, to pick Idia apart.

It's working. Slowly, but it's working. He's being grasped tightly, the makeshift weapon coming closer, too, intentionally or not.

And Cater just continues to stand there, calmly - if anything, his expression only grows a few shades darker.]

No one ever does, you know? Usually he's the one to leave people behind, but... well, isn't it partially their responsibility to keep in touch, too? You know we're probably never gonna see each other again once we graduate, so... why are you so scared to become memorable now?

[It was true. When he graduated, any reason for them to ever see each other would go out the window. He accepted that. Why was it suddenly so unacceptable?]

[Was it just because they'd been chosen, now? Would anyone he got paired with here have inspired desperate and wavering feelings? Could it have been Azul? Could it have been Malleus? Did he just want someone to remember him? No, no, he already argued, it wasn't worth it for just anyone.]

... keeping in touch... d- don't talk about it like it's easy and anyone could do it.

[He doses some pessimism on it, like a salt to make things more palatable to him.]

Th- that's why, when there's a special event, shouldn't it be taken advantage of?!

[he readies the shard, now holding it with a bit more certainty, he brings it up and presses it just under the neckline of Cater's shirt]

If neither of us can have a fun "high school event to remember" then let's least remember this together.

[Cater had been through it time and time again before. He'd leave. He'd never see anyone from his past again. The only difference now was that he'd get a chance to graduate with the class he entered school with.

Some would believe some bullshit about that bonding them together.

Some would also believe a situation like this could bond them together, too, and maybe that was a little more correct... or would be, if Idia found his courage.]

It is easy. People from his past contact Cay all the time, yanno? He ignores them every time. They just want something from him, anyway, they're not real friends. They didn't force him to remember why they meant something.

[He takes that pessimism and makes it worse, he knows. Really uses it to dig into Idia's current insecurities.

And then agrees with him outright.]

But we're the only ones that can take advantage of this event, right? So why are you hesitating? Don't you want this memory? With me?

[He even tilts his head back a little for him to punctuate the question, baring his neck (dangerous) and making sure there's nothing to get in the way of whatever Idia wants to do with that shard.]

[There's something infuriating about it. To be likable enough that people do want to call or text you. To be able to return their calls. He can't sympathize from where he's standing. He can't understand it. He just knows that he doesn't want to be forgotten.]

[It's not even that he wants to be the one that calls he just wants an easy solution to it all. A cheat code. A convenient red thread to keep him from falling down into a pit.]

... y- you know, [he mumbles] ... you're pretty uncute right now...

[There would be something different, if Cater were acting like how he "normally" did. After all, it's not like the popular and casual Cater attracted his attention. The only moment he started acting more naturally was when they both showed these sides of themselves. If this was what he could be given then, then...]

[His grip tightens on the shard and Cater will feel the corresponding pain. Then, Cater will feel his own. A pressure point that causes blood to start to well up, then dragging it down. It catches against the neckline of the shirt, not quite sharp enough to tear through cloth despite damaging skin.]

[The problem was... the thing they liked wasn't genuine, so their liking wasn't genuine. They only ever reached out when he could give them something, anyway, because he was ~just that nice of a guy~ so what was the harm in ignoring them?

He wasn't ignoring Idia now.]

Totally uncute.

[An agreement - followed by a wince of sympathetic pain as he feels the shard dig into his hand through Idia.]

And it'll be super memorable for you to see me at my most disgusting, right?

[So what are you waiting for?

Though it seems like he didn't need to goad him further that time. Regardless, he doesn't regret it, as he feels the broken, jagged edge drag through his skin. It catches on his shirt, but that really only digs the point in a little deeper, there, and serves to stain the blue dark with red.]

[If everything was fake, then... "at my most disgusting" had to be real, right? The part of him that was cruel, that didn't trust anyone, and told Idia in no uncertain terms that if he jumped through the hoops presented he might get a treat. Or he might not. He doesn't know. He doesn't understand.]

[He moves the shard slightly, seeing if he can get through the fabric-]

[Despite his intent to hurt, to scar, he doesn't want to push down very hard into Cater's actual skin. He reaches up, hooks his finger under the neckline, and pulls in tandem with the force applied by the shard of glass. That's enough to tear the cheap fabric of the university shirt.]

[Although seeing the skin exposed does take a moment to recover from.]

[You know, threatening to die in front of a classmate or to make them with a shard of glass was one thing but, s- stripping them...]

[Possession or not, this ugly side of him had just enough reality that "at my most disgusting" might as well have been real. Real enough, at any rate.

The shard moves. It stings. The fabric doesn't tear until Idia reaches up and pulls in tandem with the attempted cut, and that's enough. With the neckline torn into, the rest tears all too easily.

And while Idia recovers, Cater takes the moment to lightly drape his arms over Idia's shoulders. There's no strength behind the act, but there's some part of him that wants to be close, to encourage all this, there's some part of him that wants to hold on just in case the pain gets to be too much (and clinging to Idia was, apparently, preferable to collapsing onto the ground), and the rest...

The rest he's pointedly not thinking about, thank you.]

[His heart-rate hadn't been normal since he really started getting amped up in the possession. Here, though, he really feels it pounding with intensity. Cater isn't saying anything. He's letting it happen. He was asking, coyly, to be seen at his most disgusting and Idia was meeting him there with some dark desire to be remembered at any expense.]

[he moves his fingers over to the exposed skin, dragging his fingertips along the surface. Since the skin had been covered until just now, there was a strong warmth to it. The body heat of someone who had been panic, frantic, and hiding until this happened. Those finger probe, dipping under the clothes that were still there, exploring the heat.]

[in his right hand, he tugs down ever so slightly, extending the red line down Cater's sternum]

[he gasps, feeling the pain in the exact same moment, and then clenches his other hand to dig nails into Cater's shoulder. He was prepared. He was prepared to do it to himself. So, why does doing it to Cater make him want to cry?]

[Likewise, his heart-rate hadn't been normal since the lights flicked off - perhaps even prior to that. But now? He's certain Idia can feel it under his hand, the way his heart flutters against his ribcage, despite how otherwise calm he feels - looks.

Cold fingers over heated skin... in any other situation...

Well.

He truly was the lowest of the low, wasn't he?

And yet, when the glass drags lower, extending the reddening line along with it, making Idia gasp instead of Cater, he shifts his sickly affection to cup his cheeks - just as Idia can feel his pain, he can feel the tears pricking at the back of Idia's eyes.

He'd been willing to do this to himself, sure, but that was keeping the control of sensation in his hands. Here... well, it was different, wasn't it? Alien. Like someone else was doing harm at the same time.]

Hm... You're being cute.

[Through all this, that's what he's decided. That the little wibbly sentiment is, somehow, endearing.]

You can cry. I won't tell anyone. This is our memory, right?

[This wasn't a cold, unthinking, unfeeling thing. The warmth of his skin and the beat of his heart proved it. It wasn't real but it wasn't not real. And somewhere deep inside himself he thinks that it's not like he really ever wanted to hurt someone.]

[He was a victim of circumstance. It was a chance he had to take. It wasn't his fault.]

[Cater calls him out, he blinks, and the tears start to coalesce and fall. The details of his vision start to blur a bit through the tears. His ears are just fine, though, and he knows what Cater said. He said Idia could cry. He didn't say Idia could stop.]

[he drags it down further. He drags and drags until he's past the sternum, where there was a firm force stopping him from potentially going too far. He's about half-way down the chest. The line of red has begun to leak and spill down, through the rivet and onto his offending hand. He can feel it on himself, too, despite the fact he was entirely covered.]

... does it hurt?

[Obviously, he knew. So, why ask? To hear the other person say it, of course.]

[It wasn't real, but it was closer to real than anything they'd had yet - either here or before. Sure, they probably could have come closer without causing - receiving - pain, but...

That was a hypothetical for a better time, a better place.

Idia starts to cry, and there's an odd, cathartic release of emotion that comes with the tears. He doesn't cry, in turn, but watching him, feeling the tears run over his hands like Idia is surely feeling his blood on his... It's something. It cements the reality of the experience.

The glass drags further, and he whimpers, high and pathetic, but that's not enough to answer the question. He knows it isn't.]

Mmhm. It hurts... but this isn't enough for you, right? Look at it, it definitely won't leave a mark once it heals.

[...It might, actually, but what was having boundaries in this self-hate spiral, anyway? He did promise he'd show the worst of himself, after all.]

[They didn't know how to barter in the actual feelings that the ghouls wanted so this was the closest alternative. Their way of lashing out became Cater and Idia's, as their wants and desires blend together.]

[Cater's whimper makes his breath hitch. He glosses over the part where Cater's clearly making it about him. After all, with emotions so high, who could really tell which one of them wanted it? If Cater didn't want it then he should be able to refuse him. His compliance was assumed to be consent, regardless of the truth.]

... you're right. It's not enough. It needs to leave a scar.

[So, he goes up to where he started the mark and digs the glass in again- slightly deeper. He pulls it down slightly quicker. The pain is fresh and he involuntarily lets out another pitiful yelp of pain as he does so. The blood, which was confined to the initial cut before, spills over slightly to tickle down Cater's abdomen.]

... f- fuehehe, [he mumbles a laugh again, eyes still wet with tears]

I'm painting Cay red, aren't I?

[Close enough would have to be good enough for the ghouls. Cater's seemed satisfied that he was taking the pain that Idia had intended for himself, at the very least, and that's all that mattered in this moment. As for Idia's... well, it wasn't leaving him. This was good enough.

He hated this. Hated the pain. Hated how his emotions didn't quite feel like his own, but... if he wanted to leave, then he should be able to. There was nothing but his own will holding him here, or so it seemed, so clearly he wanted this just as much as Idia did, just as much as his continuing indicated. Complicity, if not consent.

Close enough.

He's not entirely sure which of them yelps when the mark is run over again, deeper, this time. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was Idia. Maybe the bond of pain extended in that moment to be a bond of reaction, too. What he does know is that Idia laughs, and he smiles in response, and somehow the bright, sunshiny grins of their school days are more impenetrable than this one.

It's raw. Disgusting. Something akin to real.]

Does that mean I'm your rose, then~?

[Real enough he doesn't hide behind third-person.]

[There was a kind of beautiful to be found in things that were disgusting or discarded. An ugly toy at the bottom of a crane machine. A stray cat with matted fur. A smile full of bile and emotions he couldn't recognize.]

[Am I the only one to see you smile like this?]

[The grin spreads on his face, looking slightly more peaceful despite the pain coursing over his own chest. The hand that left nail imprints in Cater's shoulder comes down to trace a red line further under Cater's torn shirt with his fingers. Under the covered fabric his hand draws,]

[I... D... I... A... of course, drawing them all in such confined quarters means that it's hardly anything readable by the end. It's just a smear of blood against his abdomen.]

If you remember me. If you...

[the confidence starts to waver again]

... if you can- care... Right now, I feel like I'd give anything for that.

[he leans forward slightly, shifting his weight onto Cater's hand, the mess of tears up above and blood down below.]

[Someone, somewhere, had to have some affection for those ugly, discarded things. Right now, Cater had to hope Idia was that someone, as he showed that he was one of those things.

His fingers curl on Idia's cheeks as that hand drops down, twitching slightly as even the skin under his tracing tenses. An intimate gesture. A short reprieve from pain. An act of possession, rubbed away almost as soon as it was made, by smudging of blood and what would surely be rubbing of fabric, too.

But they knew it was there.

They knew it had made his breath hitch all the same.]

Anything~?

[There's a dark little hum in his voice as he clearly considers it.

And then he decides. Then he leans forward slightly, too, dropping his voice low to a conspiratorial almost-whisper. A temptation.]

Give me everything. All the awful, disgusting things you thought of to get my attention? Everything else you came up with since? Or will come up with in the meantime? If you give me that, I won't have any choice but to care, right?

[And after the demand, he leans back, his tone brightens, somewhat.]

Because then I'll be even more terrible than I already am, and you'll have no choice but to care about me, too, right?

["If you give me that, I won't have any choice but to care, right?"]

[Idia knew smooth talkers. He knew people who would rather twist themselves into knots than admit to a bad deal. He knew the way they twisted their words to about liability as much as they could. He did it, too, to escape responsibility for the things he said. Say he does that. Say he puts every bad thing into Cater. Say he tries to isolate him, manipulate him, the way they did in that photo he tore up earlier-]

["I won't have any choice but to care, right?"]

[his hands grip again. He leans forward heavily, less like leaning into the other and more openly relying on him. It's a bit much and while he's trying not to fall he doesn't seem to care if Cater stumbles a bit.]

[his hand drops, and the bloody shard of glass lands on the floor somewhere to the side of their shoes]

... I- ... I don't know if I like you. [he says, forehead now pressed against the other's shoulder]

Sometimes I think- I really hate you- ... after all, I can think of such disgusting things.

[There's no physical pain happening. Except for the pressure of Idia leaning his body weight on Cater he's pulled away all the things he could hurt him with.]

... but you feel it, right? That it hurts?

[A small ache, pounding, as he thought about Cater being forced to care. That the only way it could be given would be if it was taken by force and ripped out of whatever tightly enclosed cocoon it was in.]

... that hurt... m- means... I'm choosing... t- to care.

[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.]

Why... care...?

[It would be easy, if he just hated Cater. Sometimes he could indulge in those simple, clean emotions. Cater could go anywhere in the world. Cater was good at talking to people. Cater could make so many friends that he refused to call them back. Even if there was nothing more than idle curiosity behind it, people would ask "where did Cater Diamond go?" Those emotions would be a fountain of blot that, in another world, might sustain him.]

[but it's not that easy]

[the two crumple to the ground. Idia shifts their bodies ever so slightly so he doesn't put too much of his weight on Cater as they fall. The nook that he was hiding in can snugly hold each of their shoulders.]

[He pulls his face back and nearly loses his nerve. Looking in Cater's eyes, just like blood or tears, reminds him this is real. This isn't some dream he'll wake up from.]

... I- ... it's l-like I said, I don't know exactly...

[his eyes dip down to the mark he left on Cater's chest. Without thinking, he starts tugging some of the torn fabric over and dabbing it to pick up the stray blood.]

I could say it's because we're partners but, h- [a hiccup, a deep breath] honestly, it's a lot easier to care about some of the other people here!

[And if it was because they were partners, then, wasn't that also just being forced? He can distantly remember something Hien was asking him. If there were other people who cared about him, did it still matter if Cater did?]

[Did he need Cater to reciprocate, in order to care about him?]

... I- ... care. [he says it again. His next sentences are stammered, mixed with moments of choking on his words.]

And, it's- okay- if you don't care back. And it's okay- i- if this heals- a- a- a-and maybe if it heals you'll still look at it and think... "Ah, Idia was crying then"- b- but-

-even if you don't-

I will.

[I care about you. I'll remember you. I want so much in return but if I take it I can never truly enjoy it.]

[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.]

[He feels the hurt. The feels his own ache. He feels the deep pain Cater was experiencing. He feels the stings and cuts on his right hand. He feels the line drawn sharply down Cater's chest.]

[he sees a mess in front of himself and he also sees himself]

[Cater withdraws into a little ball and it feels familiar. He knows but it doesn't cross over into knowing. They still weren't that close. He couldn't say that he understood exactly what Cater was feeling. He was just now at the point where he could try to.]

[He reaches out a hand, like he's done so many times in this encounter, and sets it on Cater's arm. It isn't forcing its way into his space. He's allowed to keep his fortress of knees and wrapped arms. Idia's cool fingertips have been warmed by everything they've gone through.]

... nah, I probably... would have said the same sort of thing.

[An admittance of his own lashing out, or the kind he was capable of. They were both raw from the pain they'd experienced. A single brush against their nerves would inflame it and start a new wave. Still, he feels like a ghoul-shaped weight was off his shoulders. It was exhausting and it was tiring but it was all his in this moment.]

You're not easy to care about a- and neither am I.

[Idia closes his eyes and lets out a heavy breath.]

... won't... tell anyone...

[Aches and pains and stings and knowing but not knowing settles into an odd, disconnected numbness. Distantly, there's the realization that it's all too much. That he's feeling overwhelmed, along with everything else.

And then Idia's hand is on his arm.

It's not a trespass like it was before. It's warm, now, after everything. The touch is light enough that if he wanted to, he could shrug it off and have the confidence that Idia would actually let him.

He'd lashed out, and Idia reassured him in return, not with platitudes, but with an acknowledgement that he would have done something similar.

It's more of a comfort than it has any right to be, and finally, finally, the tears start to fall in big drops that make his vision blur and his eyes sting, even as he hurriedly rubs at his eyes with his sleeves to try and force it away.

There's being seen, and then there's being Known, and if this small bit of affection is enough to make him sob, then Idia is one step closer to Knowing him, much as that ship may have already sailed.]

W-we're really not, are we? [A sniff, a hitch of breathing, and finally, at the quiet assurance that Idia won't tell anyone about this? He breaks. He doubles over entirely, allows himself to just sob, because even now there's that worry, that fear of being known, that that's the final push to topple the remaining shreds of his composure.

It's not cute. It's raw and open and before long there's a hand clutching far too tightly at the hem of Idia's hoodie in some feeble reach to reciprocate some kind of connection.]

02.50 - week two, saturday

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)