Newt Geiszler | Pacific Rim (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
groupiedrifter) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ximilialog2021-08-14 11:31 pm
groupiedrifter) wrote in ximilialog2021-08-14 11:31 pm
OPEN | he's just LIKE that (redux)
CHARACTERS: Newton Geiszler groupiedrifter and you!
LOCATION: The Ximilia Station; see each prompt for details.
DATE: Post-mission and onward.
CONTENT: Newton's time after the mission is... something. Don't worry, the Pizza Party's coming soon enough.
WARNINGS: nightmares, talk of possession/bodily autonomy kinda, nothing too wild; newton is currently struggling with the beginnings of alien possession/brainwashing from post-PR1, just as an FYI!
I. Just Another Manic Monday | The Lab | OPEN
[Newton finally gets the rest he told people he would, after checking on those who'd ended up in the infirmary.
... Sort of.
The first night, he sleeps like a rock. It's plagued with strange, abstract dreams, of course — Newton's hands becoming monster-like and impossible to use to administer a serum to anyone else, or So-Yeon's brother demanding Newton bring her back or else he would rip him apart from the inside out with those black, shadowy tendrils. But they're strangely not so difficult to manuver, those dreams. It's not like he hasn't had nightmares from time to time after an extremely destructive Kaiju attack.
It's complicated, isn't it? They spent almost two months in that city. That's long enough for most people to fall in love with someone. That's long enough to madden a new convict in prison, just before the numbing can begin. That's how long it took him to really, really like his team and the people in it. So the dreams aren't weird. They're par the course.
The next few nights, however, are uncomfortable. Different.
He wakes up startled, eyes peering around the room in a panic, as if trying to find someone lingering over him, but his memory always seems to fail him; whatever it was he had dreamt, he'd come up empty recollecting it. Either way, he ends up so shaken with feeling on these occasions that he ventures to the lab when everyone else is asleep, trying to keep his mind preoccupied. The first week, he does so by slowly piecing together the wrinkled, written copy of the reports he'd made about the infection on the planet. He can be found there at his new favorite stool at unusual hours when most have retreated to sleep, too lively and hyper for someone who should by all means be sleepy. His knee jostles as his foot bounces the speed of a humming bird's wings.
Anyone passing by can hear someone playing the Ramones as loud as they can on their iPhone — and a certain scientist obnoxiously singing along:]
♪ Hurry, hurry, hurry, before I go insane!
I can't control my fingers,
I can't control my brain,
Oh, no no, no, no, no! ♪
[It's not remotely unusual activity, if you've known him at the PPDC.
He's created a special cabinet in the lab where he has began a meager collection: behind one glass door, there's a few tiny jars marked 'GYEONGJE - MONSTER TISSUE SAMPLES H - L'. People passing can probably hear him speaking into his small recorder, putting his findings to spoken word, too. Some people can't read, after all. It's only fair.
The lab is where he lives, half the time. Maybe more, if we're talking cold hard percentages.]
... Note to self — [He says, into his recorder, looking at the very, very concerning boxes of different tech parts.] Build big-ass speakers.
II. It's Just a Jump to the Left | Mess Hall | OPEN
[So anyway, he builds a big-ass speaker.
Anyone walking by the Mess Hall at, once again, obnoxiously late hours will find the music playing much more loudly; for some poor souls, it may be reverberating in their brains if they're on the right-hand side of the Ximilia. His haphazardly created speaker, formed by what practically looks like Frankenstein's monster (actually, he's named it Frankenstein's Speaker, thank you), plays a playlist off his phone:]
♪ It's just a jump to left...!
And then a step to the ri-i-i-iiiight!
With your hands on your hips,
You bring your knees in ti-iiight!
But it's the pelvic thrust,
That really drives you insane!
Let's do the time-warp again,
Let's do the time-warp again! ♪
[Newton is very pleased with himself where he stands and studies his work in action, eating the last scoops of peanut butter straight out of a jar as he loosely, absently wiggles out the Time Warp dance (by sheer virtue of not being able to not move his ass a little). It seems, once again, that he's rather hyperactive and full of unparalleled energy. In fact, you might just, uh. Start to realize this isn't a rare occurrence. In fact, it's going to slowly become the norm. The expected. The anticipated.
Rest in peace, Ximilia crew.]
III. Not Under the Bed, Just in Your Head | Outside of Room / Communal Area | OPEN
[Newton wakes up asleep.
Wait, no, that's not it. He's asleep. He knows he's asleep. But he's awake.
He realizes it's definitely a dream when he reaches up to adjust his glasses and finds they're not there. Everything's crisp and lit a familiar, humming blue color at the edges. His hands are the pale blue of a drowned man's lips, and the space around him is practically empty, save for the pulsing, root-like growths that crack the smooth white floor. He stands there for a long moment, and then some frightening clarity comes to him.]
I've been here before. I've been here before, haven't I? In my sleep? [A long, awful shadow stretches out over him, casting him in the dark (he's always hated the dark). The veins in his wrists are glowing; the veins in the crease of his elbow, too. He looks up from the sight of it, eyes wide.] It's — It's you, isn't it? I drifted with you; I know what you are. You're —
Precursors. Yes. [It sounds like many voices at once, all bouncing around him. His blood feels like melting snow sluicing through his veins.] Very astute observations, Newton. How unfortunate it is, that you're apparently some of the best of what humanity has to offer; not very bright creatures, are you?
[Newt folds his arms. It's supposed to look like defiance, but he just looks frozen with chilled fear.]
... Fuck you, man. We met you, step for step. And we won. This isn't real. I'm just —
Like we've said: not very bright creatures. This is your mind, and it's a dream, but it is very real. Haven't you felt us?
[Newton swallows hard. Dozens of rows of beady, dead eyes look at him from high above. Outlines of unnatural, long-limbed beings lumber over him and smother out the lights. He shrinks, just a little. Just enough to lose. He never had the high ground, here. As he thinks back, his heart lurches in his chest; he can see the memories from that first drift as clearly as he could the beings looking back at him. He felt their coldness, their indifference to life; he felt the multitude of them, lurking in the shadows. He was terrified to tell Hermann the extent of it, that first time - the fear that still rattled him, right beside an exhilaration he didn't understand. He hated it. He wanted to do it again. The paradox doesn't escape him as much, now, knowing they're here.
In his head.]
... No. The — the Drift. The first trial run. You...!
Us. Yes. We'll admit, it is taking us an unfortunate amount of time to pull your feet out from under you; we've never commandeered a human being's mind before, after all. Even beings like us have... new and exciting ventures. This would be so much easier with the right equipment.
What do you mean, 'commandeered'? What the fuck? I thought we-
Killed us. Won the war. Stopped the threat. Right. Not very bright and unabashedly vain. But then again, we've already had this conversation with you, haven't we? It's a dull loop to entertain. To the point: we're not happy with you, Newton. We do value your mind, and we... had hoped you would be of greater use — as you tend to be — but it's clear you're too incompetent a species to be left to your own devices. It's not your fault, really. Just genetic misfortune.
What are you saying? What do you want from me?
Silly little man. It's easy to mock you during these talks of ours, but you are brighter than what they give you credit for. We want the power they're collecting, of course. These orbs, they're worth our time and effort, just as much as they're worth yours or anyone else's.
[His mouth parts with quiet realization.
They want to collect them, too. They want to use them; who doesn't?
He dares not imagine what they want them for.]
You failed us on Gyeongje by not completing your required task, though we do appreciate sight-seeing for potential new... 'workspaces', I think you'd call them? Future mining opportunities? Either way, we'll be giving you the proper pushes you'll need to not let us down again. You will be a perfectly respectable member of our army. You liked them, didn't you? What was it humans called our weapons? 'Kaiju'?
Well, this is your chance to be one for us. Is that not one of the greatest honors a human can receive?
... I won't... Fuck. I refuse! [He runs his hands through his hair and trembles like a leaf. Then blinking hard, he shakes his head, paces in a tight circle and mutters under his breath; his chin snaps up sharply, and he points at the beings that tower over him and spits:] This is insane! No, fuck no, I won't let you! I'll tell everyone about you before you can even do anything. I'll warn Hermann, and-
[A horrible peal of laughter drowns his thoughts out. He suffocates in it. A mental monsoon, one that makes him cower down like a child, the dignity draining out of him. He curls up with his hands over his ears, looking too much like the limp, whimpering mess that Otachi's offspring had almost devoured on the tangled streets of Hong Kong. The Precursors look down, and their voices drip with restrained amusement and hollow pity when he peers back up at them from the ground.]
Oh, Newton. You won't remember this.
You never do.
[Newt wakes up drenched in sweat, eyes peering around the room in a panic, as if trying to find someone lingering over him, but his memory always seems to fail him; whatever it was he had dreamt, he'd come up empty recollecting it. The dark shadows that cast all over his room become overbearing, and he turns on every light in his room before giving up on the prospect of staying in it, rushing out into the community area to pace his nerves away.
Only he'd forgotten his glasses, and he pretty quickly makes his presence known by bumping his knee super hard into a table and saying motherfucker! with feeling.
Maybe Newton Geiszler literally can't enter a room without being a beacon of physics in action.]
IV. Mission Impromptu Sleepover | CLOSED to Hermann
[Look, he's not particularly proud of where he ends up, but something just... pulls him here. He's not sure how to explain it, but the decision was... it was like being in a game of tug-of-war, only your arms are the rope, and you're just hoping nobody rips them off. One half of him said to go back to his room, to face the dark and the restless sleeping, and one half — the drift half — it said go on, it'll make you feel better.
Anyway, that's how he ends up sneaking into Hermann's room. Hermann's only just been cleared to leave the medical bay, albeit with a wheel chair and lots of teasing from Newton and reminders to not try to go using his cane until he's sure he's good (which dredged up a lot of fantastic bickering, thanks for asking). Point is, he doesn't wanna interrupt his rest, so he'll just... not bug him.
If he's quiet, he tells himself, he can go in, get some shut-eye, and then leave before Hermann even knows he's there.
It's foolproof.
So he does what any sane friend would do! He finds a spot on the floor, whips a blanket over him that just manages to cover those chicken legs of his, and tries to close his eyes and sleep from the comfort of... Hermann's bedroom floor.
It's fine. It's not weird at all.]
V. Wildcard
[I'M EASY TO PLEASE, hit me!
I'm open to PMs or![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
simpledog PPs if you wanna plot something out that isn't on here!]
groupiedrifter and you!LOCATION: The Ximilia Station; see each prompt for details.
DATE: Post-mission and onward.
CONTENT: Newton's time after the mission is... something. Don't worry, the Pizza Party's coming soon enough.
WARNINGS: nightmares, talk of possession/bodily autonomy kinda, nothing too wild; newton is currently struggling with the beginnings of alien possession/brainwashing from post-PR1, just as an FYI!
I. Just Another Manic Monday | The Lab | OPEN
[Newton finally gets the rest he told people he would, after checking on those who'd ended up in the infirmary.
... Sort of.
The first night, he sleeps like a rock. It's plagued with strange, abstract dreams, of course — Newton's hands becoming monster-like and impossible to use to administer a serum to anyone else, or So-Yeon's brother demanding Newton bring her back or else he would rip him apart from the inside out with those black, shadowy tendrils. But they're strangely not so difficult to manuver, those dreams. It's not like he hasn't had nightmares from time to time after an extremely destructive Kaiju attack.
It's complicated, isn't it? They spent almost two months in that city. That's long enough for most people to fall in love with someone. That's long enough to madden a new convict in prison, just before the numbing can begin. That's how long it took him to really, really like his team and the people in it. So the dreams aren't weird. They're par the course.
The next few nights, however, are uncomfortable. Different.
He wakes up startled, eyes peering around the room in a panic, as if trying to find someone lingering over him, but his memory always seems to fail him; whatever it was he had dreamt, he'd come up empty recollecting it. Either way, he ends up so shaken with feeling on these occasions that he ventures to the lab when everyone else is asleep, trying to keep his mind preoccupied. The first week, he does so by slowly piecing together the wrinkled, written copy of the reports he'd made about the infection on the planet. He can be found there at his new favorite stool at unusual hours when most have retreated to sleep, too lively and hyper for someone who should by all means be sleepy. His knee jostles as his foot bounces the speed of a humming bird's wings.
Anyone passing by can hear someone playing the Ramones as loud as they can on their iPhone — and a certain scientist obnoxiously singing along:]
♪ Hurry, hurry, hurry, before I go insane!
I can't control my fingers,
I can't control my brain,
Oh, no no, no, no, no! ♪
[It's not remotely unusual activity, if you've known him at the PPDC.
He's created a special cabinet in the lab where he has began a meager collection: behind one glass door, there's a few tiny jars marked 'GYEONGJE - MONSTER TISSUE SAMPLES H - L'. People passing can probably hear him speaking into his small recorder, putting his findings to spoken word, too. Some people can't read, after all. It's only fair.
The lab is where he lives, half the time. Maybe more, if we're talking cold hard percentages.]
... Note to self — [He says, into his recorder, looking at the very, very concerning boxes of different tech parts.] Build big-ass speakers.
II. It's Just a Jump to the Left | Mess Hall | OPEN
[So anyway, he builds a big-ass speaker.
Anyone walking by the Mess Hall at, once again, obnoxiously late hours will find the music playing much more loudly; for some poor souls, it may be reverberating in their brains if they're on the right-hand side of the Ximilia. His haphazardly created speaker, formed by what practically looks like Frankenstein's monster (actually, he's named it Frankenstein's Speaker, thank you), plays a playlist off his phone:]
♪ It's just a jump to left...!
And then a step to the ri-i-i-iiiight!
With your hands on your hips,
You bring your knees in ti-iiight!
But it's the pelvic thrust,
That really drives you insane!
Let's do the time-warp again,
Let's do the time-warp again! ♪
[Newton is very pleased with himself where he stands and studies his work in action, eating the last scoops of peanut butter straight out of a jar as he loosely, absently wiggles out the Time Warp dance (by sheer virtue of not being able to not move his ass a little). It seems, once again, that he's rather hyperactive and full of unparalleled energy. In fact, you might just, uh. Start to realize this isn't a rare occurrence. In fact, it's going to slowly become the norm. The expected. The anticipated.
Rest in peace, Ximilia crew.]
III. Not Under the Bed, Just in Your Head | Outside of Room / Communal Area | OPEN
[Newton wakes up asleep.
Wait, no, that's not it. He's asleep. He knows he's asleep. But he's awake.
He realizes it's definitely a dream when he reaches up to adjust his glasses and finds they're not there. Everything's crisp and lit a familiar, humming blue color at the edges. His hands are the pale blue of a drowned man's lips, and the space around him is practically empty, save for the pulsing, root-like growths that crack the smooth white floor. He stands there for a long moment, and then some frightening clarity comes to him.]
I've been here before. I've been here before, haven't I? In my sleep? [A long, awful shadow stretches out over him, casting him in the dark (he's always hated the dark). The veins in his wrists are glowing; the veins in the crease of his elbow, too. He looks up from the sight of it, eyes wide.] It's — It's you, isn't it? I drifted with you; I know what you are. You're —
Precursors. Yes. [It sounds like many voices at once, all bouncing around him. His blood feels like melting snow sluicing through his veins.] Very astute observations, Newton. How unfortunate it is, that you're apparently some of the best of what humanity has to offer; not very bright creatures, are you?
[Newt folds his arms. It's supposed to look like defiance, but he just looks frozen with chilled fear.]
... Fuck you, man. We met you, step for step. And we won. This isn't real. I'm just —
Like we've said: not very bright creatures. This is your mind, and it's a dream, but it is very real. Haven't you felt us?
[Newton swallows hard. Dozens of rows of beady, dead eyes look at him from high above. Outlines of unnatural, long-limbed beings lumber over him and smother out the lights. He shrinks, just a little. Just enough to lose. He never had the high ground, here. As he thinks back, his heart lurches in his chest; he can see the memories from that first drift as clearly as he could the beings looking back at him. He felt their coldness, their indifference to life; he felt the multitude of them, lurking in the shadows. He was terrified to tell Hermann the extent of it, that first time - the fear that still rattled him, right beside an exhilaration he didn't understand. He hated it. He wanted to do it again. The paradox doesn't escape him as much, now, knowing they're here.
In his head.]
... No. The — the Drift. The first trial run. You...!
Us. Yes. We'll admit, it is taking us an unfortunate amount of time to pull your feet out from under you; we've never commandeered a human being's mind before, after all. Even beings like us have... new and exciting ventures. This would be so much easier with the right equipment.
What do you mean, 'commandeered'? What the fuck? I thought we-
Killed us. Won the war. Stopped the threat. Right. Not very bright and unabashedly vain. But then again, we've already had this conversation with you, haven't we? It's a dull loop to entertain. To the point: we're not happy with you, Newton. We do value your mind, and we... had hoped you would be of greater use — as you tend to be — but it's clear you're too incompetent a species to be left to your own devices. It's not your fault, really. Just genetic misfortune.
What are you saying? What do you want from me?
Silly little man. It's easy to mock you during these talks of ours, but you are brighter than what they give you credit for. We want the power they're collecting, of course. These orbs, they're worth our time and effort, just as much as they're worth yours or anyone else's.
[His mouth parts with quiet realization.
They want to collect them, too. They want to use them; who doesn't?
He dares not imagine what they want them for.]
You failed us on Gyeongje by not completing your required task, though we do appreciate sight-seeing for potential new... 'workspaces', I think you'd call them? Future mining opportunities? Either way, we'll be giving you the proper pushes you'll need to not let us down again. You will be a perfectly respectable member of our army. You liked them, didn't you? What was it humans called our weapons? 'Kaiju'?
Well, this is your chance to be one for us. Is that not one of the greatest honors a human can receive?
... I won't... Fuck. I refuse! [He runs his hands through his hair and trembles like a leaf. Then blinking hard, he shakes his head, paces in a tight circle and mutters under his breath; his chin snaps up sharply, and he points at the beings that tower over him and spits:] This is insane! No, fuck no, I won't let you! I'll tell everyone about you before you can even do anything. I'll warn Hermann, and-
[A horrible peal of laughter drowns his thoughts out. He suffocates in it. A mental monsoon, one that makes him cower down like a child, the dignity draining out of him. He curls up with his hands over his ears, looking too much like the limp, whimpering mess that Otachi's offspring had almost devoured on the tangled streets of Hong Kong. The Precursors look down, and their voices drip with restrained amusement and hollow pity when he peers back up at them from the ground.]
Oh, Newton. You won't remember this.
You never do.
[Newt wakes up drenched in sweat, eyes peering around the room in a panic, as if trying to find someone lingering over him, but his memory always seems to fail him; whatever it was he had dreamt, he'd come up empty recollecting it. The dark shadows that cast all over his room become overbearing, and he turns on every light in his room before giving up on the prospect of staying in it, rushing out into the community area to pace his nerves away.
Only he'd forgotten his glasses, and he pretty quickly makes his presence known by bumping his knee super hard into a table and saying motherfucker! with feeling.
Maybe Newton Geiszler literally can't enter a room without being a beacon of physics in action.]
IV. Mission Impromptu Sleepover | CLOSED to Hermann
[Look, he's not particularly proud of where he ends up, but something just... pulls him here. He's not sure how to explain it, but the decision was... it was like being in a game of tug-of-war, only your arms are the rope, and you're just hoping nobody rips them off. One half of him said to go back to his room, to face the dark and the restless sleeping, and one half — the drift half — it said go on, it'll make you feel better.
Anyway, that's how he ends up sneaking into Hermann's room. Hermann's only just been cleared to leave the medical bay, albeit with a wheel chair and lots of teasing from Newton and reminders to not try to go using his cane until he's sure he's good (which dredged up a lot of fantastic bickering, thanks for asking). Point is, he doesn't wanna interrupt his rest, so he'll just... not bug him.
If he's quiet, he tells himself, he can go in, get some shut-eye, and then leave before Hermann even knows he's there.
It's foolproof.
So he does what any sane friend would do! He finds a spot on the floor, whips a blanket over him that just manages to cover those chicken legs of his, and tries to close his eyes and sleep from the comfort of... Hermann's bedroom floor.
It's fine. It's not weird at all.]
V. Wildcard
[I'M EASY TO PLEASE, hit me!
I'm open to PMs or
no subject
It's another great night on the station.]
Then let's go back to bed.
[There's a pause, and the corner of her mouth tips upward.]
I'll tell you a story.
[Like that's going to be an incentive.]
no subject
It better not make me feel like I'm 10 and you're reading the Princess Bride to me.
[He appreciates that she doesn't mention just how jittery his fingers are, laced with hers. He appreciates that her hand always seems to be where he needs it. And man, he's happy he didn't revoke her handholding rights.]
... Though on second thought, I guess that would be pretty awesome.
[Predictable.
But he can't help but feel a little afraid, wandering back toward the room. Feeling like there's something there, waiting for him, breathing over him — that was awful, and it makes his stomach twist up in knots. Shit, he's really cracking these days, isn't he?]
Man, I took you out of a good sleep, huh? You were getting awesome shut-eye.
no subject
[Her hand squeezes his to let him know that it's okay he woke her up. She doesn't mind. He can't control his dreams, and she's not going to stop worrying about him just because she desperately needs a full night of sleep.
It's with a gentle tug that she starts to head back, keeping her pace a nice and slow shuffle.]
It was nice not being alone, I guess. Sometimes you just have to feel that connection so you can shut your mind off.
[She has a feeling that maybe he'll understand.]
no subject
Hermann might have done well on his own, but Newton was needy. He's always been needy, and that's one of the reasons it was so easy to annoy his partner. Push his buttons, be loud, be obnoxious; Hermann's pissed off attention was attention all the same. In that way, Newt knows he's a selfish bastard. Always has been.
It was just nice, not being alone.
He smiles a wince.]
Yeah. When it's quiet is when it's the loudest.
... At least, for me it is.
[He squeezes her hand back.]
I want you to be able to sleep some more, y'know.
no subject
[She'd feel pathetic asking, but this is Newt and she doubts he'll judge her for it. She feels a little needy, but sometimes she supposes it's okay to be that way. Especially since they're helping one another out here. The idea of falling asleep to the sound of his talking while she traces his tattoos with her fingers sounds incredibly appealing right about now.
And if that helps her get a full eight hours or more of sleep?
She's all for trying.]
We could turn on some of your music.
[Then it wouldn't be quiet, and maybe he'd be able to properly rest too.]
no subject
[He'd disapprove of the feeing pathetic for it, because Newton's — well, he's practically in the same boat. Right now? He just wants to lay next to someone, wants to hear them say everything's cool, everything's fine. They can wear the same hat tonight. Same sad, needy hat.
His brow twitches upward, and he looks a little less frazzled and a little more hopeful.]
You wouldn't mind? Music before bed.
[Clara has already solved what Newton's love language is so effortlessly.]
no subject
It'd be good for the both of us, I wager.
[Though she's reserving the right to veto any songs she doesn't care for. ]
no subject
... Sounds good, honestly.
And hey, if you chain me to the bed, I won't do running off and freaking you out.
no subject
[She counters with a tired sounding tease, tipping her head to give him a flirtatious glance.]
I'm not sure either of us have enough energy right now to handle all that would entail.
[But still, if he needs to be kept from running off...she'll just try acting as a dead weight that's cuddled up against him.]
no subject
... Literally. I'm way too frazzled and tired to object.
[But he looks amused either way, and returns to the room a lot calmer than when he'd practically launched himself out of it. There's only the smallest hesitation before he turns off some of the lights — and he hopes she doesn't notice how he very specifically leaves one on, as some kind of comfort. He realizes maybe he's been too quiet, the trip back. It's not very him, but he can't think of anything to say right now. He just — keeps circling back to this anxious feeling in his stomach, like he'd just had a near-death brush with a firing squad.
It's insane. It's absolutely nuts to react like that to a dream, no matter how scary it could've been. Fucking childish. So he heaves a deep breath and flops down face-first on the pillow, laying there in temporary defeat.]
I know I'm super badass and cool, but sometimes I wonder -
[ - he says, muffled somewhat by his pillow - ]
- what the hell's wrong with my wiring.
[As much as he would like to pretend this is the first mental wall he's slammed into, there are way too many times in his life he's asked that very question. Often lying facedown on a pillow, too. It's like clockwork.]
no subject
Thankfully, his words give her some kind of purpose. She slips into bed next to him, hand lightly running along his back. She quickly becomes distracted by tracing her finger along the outlines of his tattoos instead. Another tactile connection that helps anchor them together and keeps their minds from wandering too far.]
Everyone's wired differently. That doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you.
no subject
You sound like my uncle.
[And that's not a bad thing. He owes his uncle a lot. His dad was always good at soothing him from his strange anxieties in his childhood, but his uncle? His uncle taught him how to manage all of the — the doubt, or the fear of being wrong or weird or built improperly. The panic over being unwanted or unloved or only just tolerated by the people who came into his life.
Maybe because they were so alike — but Illia knew him. He knows him so well, it's hard to not be able to text or call him for guidance right now.
He slowly turns over, flopping on his back with his hands on his stomach, not bothered or fazed by the hand that traces along his tattoos. Instead he stares at the ceiling, gnawing at his lip; clearly, his mind is working overtime about something.]
How do you know, though? That there's nothing wrong?
Sometimes, I feel or act a certain way, and I... think, way later, like — 'What the hell's the matter with you? What's your problem, you pain in the ass?' And a lot of the time, I don't really know how to answer that.
Like, tonight. I'll ask 'what the hell's the matter with me'?
And I'll just... come up blank.
no subject
That's just it. There isn't anything wrong with you. There's something different about you, maybe, but that doesn't make it wrong.
[Her head turns, and she presses a kiss to his collarbone.]
Not every difference has to have a label or be proven wrong. You are who you are.
[Even if his nightmare and his behavior after she found him are worrying. She's sure it's nothing that she needs to be completely concerned about.]
You are a pain in the ass, though. Just in case you were wondering.
no subject
... Yeah, fine. I'll own up to that.
[It's just hard when you grow up with that nagging suspicion that different was synonymous with wrong. It took him a long time to own that — and to just be himself. He's not about to stop that anytime soon, but nights like these, it does give him that unwieldy hesitation.
He runs a hand over the back of her head, relieved to have another living being at his side. He feels a little less on-edge. A little less alone. Whatever it is he was so afraid of, it's a whole sleep behind him, and he can just focus on the next one. Right...?]
Thanks, Clara.
... I'm not gonna go running off anywhere again, so you can sleep if you're still tired. Just try not to drool on me, or I'll hold it over your head later.
no subject
Not much of a drooler, thanks.
[She's more of a mumbling in her sleep and stealing all the blankets kind of sleeper. And don't get her started on her bed head in the mornings, which she would kill him if he dared to hold over her head.
That's all a problem for another time though. Now she's cuddled up against him and is using him as a pillow, and everything is warm and safe and alright.Her eyes feel heavier by the second.]
I mean it, though. I care about you too much to let you think there's something wrong with you. No matter what, I'm on your side. Always remember -
[She's cut off by a heavy yawn.]
Remember that.