caycay | IC Inbox - Duplicity

[With the passing of the immediate danger, adrenaline leaves Cater feeling shaken. His hands quake as he continues to work on freeing Riddle from the suit, abandoning the knife altogether out of fear of slipping from a lack of steadiness. Riddle's not even upset about it, and that only makes his guilt feel that much more real.]

I nearly killed you--why are you thanking me? You should yell at me, lecture me, collar me--something!

[What would've happened if he'd taken too long or been less careful with that knife? As it is, Riddle's still bleeding and that's another thing to address once he's finished freeing him. Cater wants to throw his arms around Riddle in sheer relief, but he doesn't let himself stop what he's doing for an instant.]

[Oh... Sweet Cater.

Riddle's breath slowly evens out, brow furrowing slightly. Once his arms are free, he reaches out...

And wraps his arms around his dear friend.

Firmly:]

It's not your fault.

[Even Cater didn't anticipate just how hard this incident would hit him. Despite how bad the outcome could have been, it really did boil down to a stupid mistake. He didn't know how the product worked, and there was never any real guarantee that it wouldn't be faulty, considering where they'd bought it from. It's just that it's the most recent blow in a line of punches that don't seem to be stopping and he's finally, truly reached a point where he doesn't know how much more he can take.]

I should've--I--

[He chokes, his angry, self-loathing rant too boiled over and confused inside of himself to be coherent. And Riddle, holding onto him with such understanding. How is he supposed to accept those words when this pattern of disaster keeps following him?]

Every time you're around me, all I do is let you down. [His face is so hot. His eyes burn as he struggles to hold back a torrent of frustrated misery that's pushing up against his willpower.] From the first day I got here, you've had to save me--I've been nothing but trouble for you and everyone else. If I'm not putting myself or you or someone else in danger, I'm being an inconvenience at the very best. Why should you have to put up with it?

[Everyone would be better off if he'd just hurry up and disappear.]

[Slowly, Riddle's brow draws together. After a moment, he tugs Cater firmly, aiming to have him rest on top of Riddle.]

You didn't let me down when we were at the dog park. Or when you threw that wonderful Unbirthday party. Or... [Teasingly] the night before your final exam.

[One hand comes back to stroke through the orange locks.]

But I understand. It's all been a bit much lately. Duplicity... [His expression dims somewhat.] I think everything that it is has the effect of making a lot of people feel worse about themselves, or in general.

[Cater sags, giving in to Riddle's determined embrace as he takes in a long, shaken breath. Those words help, but he can't stop feeling like, like...]

But I am worse.

[The only things he was ever good at, that he could ever feel any kind of pride about or take solace in...gone. No Split Card, no magical broom, not even Magicam, for all that was worth.]

I'm not a capable soldier anymore.

[Firmly:]

That's for your queen to decide. Not you.

[He continues stroking through his hair. He murmurs, confused and concerned:]

You prosecute yourself as if you were liable of murder or treason. Why?

[Cater doesn't say anything right away, settling against Riddle as he focuses on the sensation of fingers going through his hair. Why--it's such a clear, concise, one-word question. It's also one that he doesn't have any kind of answer for. Cater closes his eyes and breathes slowly. As he does, the erratic rise and fall of his chest from holding back sobs starts to even.]

Because I'm a coward.

Edited 2023-08-18 02:28 (UTC)

[A coward...

He vaguely recalls that conversation they had the first day. He's been slowly piecing things together. He presses his lips together, and a hand comes up to gently lift Cater's chin and look him in the eyes.]

I don't believe there's a person alive who isn't afraid of loss.

[Even as Riddle lifts his chin, his eyes do everything they can to avoid meeting them. He's already confessed so much to Riddle but there's more, so much more, that he hasn't told anyone. Things that he knows are more indicative of his real character than anything he ever puts out there.]

Sure...but it's what you do with that fear that really matters, right?

[His gaze softens. What a haunted look. A prisoner of his own mind. It hurt to see him suffer so much...]

Bravery is a muscle you must exercise. A person who isn't used to facing their fears and charging forward faces a much greater obstacle than one who has done so so many times in their life.

[He continues to talk in spite of the pain, in spite of the way the movements of his mouth further agitate the cut.

His expression tenses slightly.]

...though, I... know my words have little, if any effect on what are clearly long-held beliefs.

[Cater winces. He knows, logically, that Riddle didn't mean anything harsh by the sentiment--he was being understanding, not judgmental. Unfortunately, in his state of mind, logic is hard to grasp onto. Cater reaches up to take Riddle's hand in his own and gently pull it away from him.

He starts to sit up, clearing his throat.]

Well, anyway, we should clean that up and get the rest of this thing off of you. Let me grab a washcloth and some antiseptic.

Edited 2023-08-18 04:01 (UTC)

[Riddle studies him for a few moments... Then lets out a little sigh, and nods.

He shifts, hands coming up to help tear the suit off him. It's a relief once he's completely out, as is evidenced by the much heavier sigh.

He looks to Cater, then gives a little smile.]

You handled that situation very well, by the way. You were able to keep yourself calm enough to assess and act as quickly as you could. My airflow wasn't even cut off that long.

And the wound itself only feels to be superficial, which is the best outcome that one could have hoped for.

[Getting all of that taken care of helps Cater get himself back on track. When Riddle smiles, he smiles back--even if it's weary around the edges, a mask that hasn't been put back into place quite so seamlessly.]

You know me, Queen. Cay Cay always performs best under pressure!

[He takes a second to run a hand through the torn scraps of velvety membrane through his fingers before gathering up as much as he can to toss into the waste bin.]

Well, the whole day's plan is kinda in scraps. Any ideas what to do, instead?

That's alright.

[He seems reinvigorated, suddenly, a hand coming up to his chin thoughtfully.]

After this wound is treated, I know just the topic for conversation.

Oh yeah? You have me all in suspense!

[He's deeply hoping that it isn't a return to what they were just talking about. What's the point, anyway? It's like Riddle said: he's incapable of change. The life he lives is a hopeless spiral of self-imposed cowardice and emotional isolation.

Talk is cheap, just like he is.

Cater hums to himself as he returns from trashing the fibrous scraps and wets the washcloth with cleaning solution. He sits beside Riddle so he can dab carefully at the cut.]

It doesn't look too deep...as long as we keep it clean, it should heal over fast and not leave a scar.

Mhm.

[A small smile as Cater treats him.]

A small price to pay. I owe you a great debt.

Ahaha...

[Cater's façade is so touch-and-go right now and he knows it. He's afraid if he opens his mouth too much, he's going to say something he regrets. So, he focuses on his work until he's satisfied that things are as good as they're going to get, for now.]

There! All set.

[He gathers up the first aid supplies and moves to put them back where he got them from, the washcloth in the laundry hamper.]

You know, I bet you'd be extra sexy with a battle wound, tbqh.

[At least despite the obvious struggle, Riddle still seems calm and relaxed. Learning more of the real Cater hasn't turned Riddle off of him, or has him considering him any less of a friend.

And that much might be obvious with the way a small noise gets caught in his throat, a slight blush rising to his cheeks.]

T-b-q-h...?

To be quite honest. Or TBH for just to be honest. Kinda on brand with imho/imo, which is in my (honest) opinion. And that's your hashtag Cay-Cay lesson for the day!

[Cater gives a peace sign and winks, posing cutely.]

But you don't need extra credit in sexiness, Queen. You're hashtag perfect just the way you are.

[Another little sound at all of that as Riddle briefly ducks his head.]

You're too much sometimes...

[And then he looks up at Cater, and pats the space next to him.]

I'm a Diamond: I gotta shine bright!

[Larger than life, yolo, go big, etc. Taking an easy breath and hoping to keep things steered away from harder conversation, Cater slides into the space Riddle pats like a dog coming on command. Sit, stay--he'd roll over, too, if asked.]

But it's not like you can't handle me even when I'm at my most extra.

Hmm.

[An amused sound from Riddle. When Cater comes over, a sly look enters his eye, and with deceptive strength, he suddenly grabs Cater and pulls him down on top of Riddle.]

I can handle you at your most extra... and at your least, too.

[His gaze gentles as he brings a hand up to stroke through the orange locks. His voice quiets.]

I know it's a lot to ask for out of you, my dear soldier. We'll get through this together.

Now, can you tell me what you've tried to do to change your behavior?

Whoa--!

[Cater always forgets just how strong Riddle is. Like, he still isn't a paragon of physical strength, but he's still much more capable than he looks. Part of it is just the decisive way in which he strikes. Somehow, Cater was completely unsuspecting, barely catching himself from fully slamming his body on top of Riddle's. Looking down at the redhead, he sighs, expression dimming.]

You're not going to let it go, are you?

Let go of the thing that's making your life hell?

[Firmly:]

Not a chance.

[With a sigh, Cater runs hand through his hair, ducking his head in a moment of thought before forcing himself to look into Riddle's eyes again.]

Okay. [He'll talk. He doesn't like it, but he'll do it. Even if he doesn't know how to say I'm the one making my life hell.] If you woke up tomorrow and I'd disappeared from the city, what would you do?

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