devoutish | IC contact for wethelost

[ His expression gets sharp. ]

Don't be stupid. You said you would not, on your own, wish for your memories of Norfinbury. But you would if I was going to. How do you expect for that not to weigh on me?

Don't do it to prove a point at me.

It's not about proving a point--

[He turns towards the wall and smacks a hand against it, holding himself up with it. His voice isn't angry, exactly, but it's tight with emotion.]

Your trauma isn't a badge of honor that you wear proudly, Royce, it's a fucking cage. Everything around you, you see through its bars.

[ Royce goes rigid, the words sending a sting through his chest like a sword. Like he's been stabbed clean through. It's not as accusatory, sure, but it still feels... bad. He's angry, defensive, and he doesn't want to back down, he doesn't want to say he's wrong, he's always wrong, even when he's trying to do things the right way, trying to talk about what bothers him. It's never right, it just ends like this, with Royce feeling like an idiot. A sour taste rises up in his throat and for a second, he grips at the edge of the sink so hard that he thinks if he was just a little stronger, he'd leave marks. ]

Yes, well. This is what you signed up for. [ He says, tone icy. ] You need to pick one narrative, Alfie. Either it's okay for me to feel upset and talk to you about why I find something upsetting, or it's not, and I keep secrets from you so that we don't end up with you fucking scolding me.

[ It's not really fair of him to say, but he's frustrated - he thought he was doing really well. ]

Scolding you, fucking scolding you; I'm trying to help.

[He forces himself to stop and take a breath so he doesn't yell.]

Yes, you can feel upset; yes, you don't have to hide your troubles. But let me ask you something, right - why am I not allowed to disagree, or tell you when you've got something wrong? I'm not telling you you're in a fucking cage because I want you to hide away in it, Royce, I'm telling you I want you to keep trying to come out.

[ He turns, furious. ]

Because I'm not wrong! [ He snaps. He tries not to yell, but - he is, by the end of it: ] You are telling me right now that what I am feeling, my feelings, are wrong - that's what you're doing right now. It's not an objective argument. I'm telling you that I'd feel guilty and I'd have to think more about this decision because of that, and you're telling me what I'm feeling is wrong! It's not! Because you're not the one feeling it! You can't fucking tell me that I'm feeling wrong!

Feelings can be wrong! Feelings are wrong all the fucking time! Feelings can be fucking nasty to you, they can trick you, they can do all sorts of things. And when your feelings tell you you're responsible for something you're not, Royce, and that you should feel guilty about it - I am never going to tell you that they're right.

[ He wants to break something - he can't remember the last time he was this angry. And maybe it's better, maybe it's better to be angry than sad. If he's sad, he cries, and he doesn't want to do that anymore. So he channels it into anger, slamming his hand against the counter and trapping the scream of frustration in his throat. Calm down. Breathe. ]

I don't understand why you'd encourage me to be open with you if you're just going to tell me I'm wrong. I'm trying to figure out if this is worth it, but no, apparently you think I'm too stupid to realize I know I shouldn't feel guilty about this.

Did you not hear a fucking word I fucking--

[His voice almost breaks so he cuts himself off, and presses the heels of his palms tight to his eyes. He can feel actual tears coming on, which in this situation just feels humiliating and uncharacteristic.]

I heard you.

I know I shouldn't feel guilty. I do, and I can't change that just because you say I shouldn't. If it were that easy, we wouldn't be having this conversation. I don't want to put you through having to deal with my guilt and bad memories, and I am, surprisingly, smart enough to realize that if I went through with the wish, I'd be doing just that. Voluntarily.

[Alfie rubs a hand down his face, hard.]

You can't change it with a snap of your fingers, but it's not a permanent fucking state, Royce; it can get better. You've gotten better in so many ways, so why not this?

I'm trying. [ Royce says, his voice wavering. No, no upset. Just anger, and sharpness. ] I'm trying to get it to be better, but I'm also aware of my limits, and I'm not willing to put you through hell, dealing with what I know would happen, just to satisfy my curiosity.

I worry it would ruin any progress you've made.

[He says, voice quieter now.]

I remember what the MN poisoning did to you.

Yeah, I remember too. [ He remembers how much Alfie had to do for him, and he never wants it to be that unequal again. ] I don't care about what it did to me as much as I care about what it did to you.

I care about what it did to the both of us.

[But he thinks it was worse for Royce.

(A little niggling voice reminds him that that's just what he remembers. Who knows how long they were there after? Who knows what happened to them?) ]

That's great, Alfie, wow. Suddenly, I've changed my entire mindset and outlook and now I suddenly care exactly the same way as you do, just because you said something. Amazing, that's all it took.

Stop.

[ His expression sours further. ]

I don't want to put you through having to deal with me.

I want to deal with each other. Together.

[ A pause, and he turns around again, anger fading slowly. He faces the sink, head bowed. ]

I want that, too, but we both know that isn't how it'd end up.

So work on that. We'll do that together, too.

[ His grip tightens again. He visibly struggles, for a long moment, like he's fighting with himself, and then, like it hurts to say, like it's humiliating: ]

I'm scared to.

[Alfie's fingers curl, then uncurl - and then he holds out a hand to Royce.]

Do you remember the day you brought me to the beach in the evening?

[They've gone to the beach in the evening plenty of times, but he's thinking of one time in particular - not a time when they'd just decided to go together, but a time when Royce had taken him. He'd been melancholy and broody and generally down in the dumps, and Royce had done it to calm him and do something nice for him.]

[ Royce doesn't see the hand at first - it takes him a good long moment to actually look over his shoulder, and when he does, he hesitates. He's still holding onto the sink with a deathgrip. ]

... Yes. I do. [ Or at least - he's pretty sure he knows what Alfie is specifying. ]

I need that from you more than I need guilt, Royce. One hundred times more.

[ Royce's jaw works, expression a little hurt. ]

I know you do. I don't understand why you think I want to feel guilty, Alfie, I don't. It just happens. I keep telling you that and it doesn't stop just because you tell me I shouldn't.

IC contact for wethelost

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