Idia can't see Cater's grin since he's still averting his eyes, but his obvious shyness pervades every inch of his posture and expression. He can't bring himself to say how nice it feels to have someone touch his hair so gently, but as Cater strokes through the flames Idia finds himself gradually relaxing. The seconds roll by, and Idia shows no signs of asking Cater to stop.
"It comes from my family's curse," he mumbles. "Long, old story, but the whole bloodline looks like this. Helps us deal with being around blot, for our research." That's simplifying it a lot, but Idia's already burdened Cater with far more of his history than he'd ever wanted to.
Cater’s own expression loses a bit of its glee as he twists Idia’s hair around his finger. With his gaze focused on the way the flames seem to dance, it’s easy to find himself falling down a rabbit hole of thought. They say a curse can be a blessing. Maybe that’s why this is all so incredible, but he can tell how big of a burden it is on Idia, so doesn’t try and minimize the weight of it.
“I tried to find out more about your family, but they’re pretty secretive, huh?” Certain things were known. The wealth, some of their big time affiliates. Now there were posts about the NRC incident, of course. But everything deeper was clearly kept away from the public eye.
Idia nods, humming a bit in thought. "Directors of STYX, a research group for the study of blot and Overblotting. It's why all the Overblot victims here were taken, so we could analyze them. My parents... they left me as acting director while they're away on a project."
It goes unsaid that Idia was directly responsible for the kidnappings of the previous Overblot victims. He doesn't want to say it out loud. Hopefully Cater is smart enough to get the implications of what he's just been told, because admitting all the awful things he did isn't easy for Idia now that those people are kind of his friends.
Cater clicks his tongue. Leaving their kid to deal with his kidnapped classmates? Sounds like a whole lot of bad parenting. But then, considering how little he’s clearly coped with his brother’s death for a decade, Cater isn’t too shocked. Idia must feel so invisible around his own family. That, if nothing else, is something he understands.
Not that he’s about to put himself on the same level as the Shroud.
“That sounds complicated,” he says, deciding not to try and bring up anything that might be too painful. “It’s a good thing you’re such a genius you can analyze anything. If I had that kind of responsibility I’d be an even bigger letdown! LOL.”
Idia finally glances over at his companion, his hair long enough not to pull from Cater's hand. Those intense, sad eyes pin the ginger the way they did the other day. "I think you probably have a higher INT stat than you give yourself credit for. You just have different side quest priorities than me."
Did... did he just tell Cater not to discredit his own brain?
Inexplicably, Cater feels his heart do a flip as their eyes meet. There's something about the deep sadness in those shimmering hues that makes them even more beautiful. Maybe because he wants so badly to see them smiling. Emergency. Cater sticks out his tongue. "Aw, Idia, I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me!"
He does have to wonder exactly what it is about himself that's changed. Why he's acting so different. Is it really just because he feels badly? He has realized that he hasn't been putting in as much effort into maintaining his happy-go-lucky, clout-chasing persona the longer he hangs around Idia, but...it wasn't exactly a conscious decision. Sure, he wouldn't have been asking so much about manga and games if he wasn't trying to worm his way into his reclusive classmate's good graces, but beyond that...why is he trying so hard?
"You can just call me Cater, you know. Or Cay Cay of you're Cray Cray." He knows Idia isn't going to call him Cay Cay, but he still had to say it. "Cate works, too."
Pretty sure at this point they're beyond being formal. Not that Cater ever was.
"So, how do you feel about a ponytail? Not too uber-stylish to harsh your vibes?"
Ouch, that was an even harder eye roll than before, it looked like it might've hurt a bit.
"Not calling you by that lame UN. I'll drop the mister if you want."
Idia idly runs his fingers through another part of his hair. "Doesn't matter to me, it's just hair. Wash like once a week and rip my fingers through it sometimes so the knots GTFO."
Cater makes a playful show of being mortally wounded by the viciousness of Idia's attack against his self-given nicknames, but the fact that his smile never drops makes it clear he's just happy for the lack of formality.
"If YDK, then I'll help myself, TYSM." Reaching up behind his head, he undoes his signature topknot, allowing the front of his hair to fall forward and frame his face. Shaking his head, Cater allows them to find their natural, tussled position. He stands, assessing, and puts the hair tie between his teeth. Idia has a lot of hair, so he's going to need both hands for this one.
And so it was that Cater reached both hands into Idia's flaming mop. He gathers it all up, smoothing as he runs his fingers upward against his scalp to keep it smooth.
Idia's hair is unruly, with little flyaway curls and waves and all manner of just not straight. But the soft strands are more cooperative than they look, the bulk of them easily guided into place by Cater's hands. Idia sighs and closes his eyes, lulled by the surprisingly gentle touch over his scalp.
"Feels nice...," he mumbles, dully intrigued by how the contact makes him feel sleepy and calm.
"That's why salons are so popular," he says with a chuckle through his teeth. Of the two of them, Cater might be the n00b, but it just goes to show that there are other things out there that Idia doesn't realize, either. Things that can surprise him because he wrote them off too soon. "I'm obviously not a professional or anything, but I'm pretty good at working with hair thanks to my sisters."
They'd always make him help. It was annoying, but he's not going to complain about knowing how to do something useful. It would be nice if he had a brush or something, but since this is an impulsive act, his hands will have to do. Cater's careful to avoid snags as he gets it all up where he wants it, centering the hair as best he can so it won't drag and cause Idia a headache.
The hair tie will have its stretchiness tested to the limits, but if it breaks he'll just grab another one from his dorm later. "Some people can find it so relaxing they fall asleep. I think it depends on what kind of stylist you get, though."
Once the hair is tied into place, Cater wraps a flaming lock around the tie to conceal it and, unable to resist, uses his fingers to tidy up his bangs a little bit before standing back. "All done! Ah, I wish I could take a picture."
The glowing mass is still heavy, of course, but the weight distribution is different now. Idia doesn't have a mirror in his room, not even the bathroom, because he doesn't need it and... well, let's face it, he doesn't exactly like his reflection. His eyes dart nervously to Cater's phone as he chews his lower lip again.
"Guess you can... t-- take a pic if you want. But no posting."
Cater's face lights up. "Okay!" He's got his camera up before Idia can change his mind, because he's pretty sure he'll change his mind. It would really be best to get a picture of him from far enough away to see the scope of his work, but...acting on instinct, Cater leans forward so their heads are side by side, holding the phone out in front of them for a selfie. "Say GG!"
One friendship selfie with Idia in a cute hairstyle: obtained.
"My eyes only, I promise." He's still beaming when he pulls away, admiring the photo. Even if Idia looks incredibly uncomfortable in it, that doesn't make Cater like it any less. It's a testament to all the weirdness they've been through these past weeks. "We look good together! Nice!"
Of course Cater wants it as a selfie. Idia will never understand the point of looking at one's own face all the time. Vanity is a weird thing. But he doesn't complain or frown in the pic, only looking wallflower-shy with his gaze fixed on something to one side of the camera.
When he stands up to look over Cater's shoulder, he... doesn't know what to think. He looks so different with his hair up, and next to the other boy's healthy complexion he comes across as almost ghostly. Maybe Eliza really did turn him into a spirit. For all the work the Shrouds do in the Underworld, they look the part. He wouldn't call what he sees in the picture "good," at least not on his end. Cater isn't bad, he has that anime protagonist look and the personality to match, but that just makes Idia stand out even more in a bad way.
"Dunno what you see in me. I'm mega-pale, total zombie movie extra."
Using his fingers to comb his own hair out of his face, he glances up at Idia from the photo. Really, he wants to know the same thing. What does he see, exactly? It's kind of hard for him to put into words. It's something he feels uncomfortable thinking too hard about it.
"I guess you can say I'm drawn to you like a moth to a flame?" he elbows Idia playfully, hoping that he isn't about to spark another self-hating spiral. Anyone with eyes can see how special you are, he almost adds, swallowing his words. After what he said earlier...well, he's trying to think before shoving his entire foot into his mouth again. "You really are your own worst critic, you know."
By now, Cater must be getting used to Idia's long, silent stares. Or they're becoming more unnerving. Either way, Idia fixes him with another one, his expression unreadable, probing.
"... you should be careful not to get too close, then."
He wanders back to his computer and shuts off the anime but doesn't sit down. Standing there in the middle of his room, he seems lost, his gaze drifting toward Ortho's pod.
Cater lets out an aimless chuckle as Idia turns away from him. His expression deflates. What should he say? That he doesn't intend to? That he only keeps his friends about as close as it takes to get one of these selfies? Magicam and move on?
"I don't know what you think is gonna happen," he finally says with a shrug. "So what if I'm interested in you? Would it make you feel better if I told you that just like everyone else, I'll move on from you like you're just my latest fad? Once the school year's over, we're probably never going to see each other again."
Ugh, so much for not putting his foot in his mouth. He didn't say anything embarrassing, but still said way too much. Cater huffs. "Do you want me to leave? And I mean, not just today. Do you want me to leave you alone?"
The hints of blue roots that have just started to peek from Idia's scalp now slide through the entirety of his hair: gloom has overtaken sweet shyness again. His fingers twist and clutch each other, a nervous tic he would normally vent with a controller or keyboard.
"So I really am a side quest for you. Use a confusion debuff on the nerd so he can't fight. You don't want to do such a boring quest, but there must be an SSR reward for completion, too OP to pass up."
Idia sounds broken, feels broken, but he doesn't understand why. These weird feelings will go away when Cater finishes this run and leaves him alone. Doesn't he want his gloomy existence to go back to normal, where his only social interaction is gaming with the people he tried to hurt?
This should be fine. It should be a boundary that he welcomes, setting up the expectation that he's not someone to trust too fully, to get used to seeing around. Why is his chest so tight, then? Why does he feel so shaken? Why can't he walk away?
Somehow his body feels both hot and cold. He lifts one foot to take a step, but finds himself stuck between going backward and going forward. There's a lump in his throat he has to push back when he manages to speak again.
"When you told me to be careful, you were really talking about yourself, weren't you?"
A quick nod, and Idia curls in on himself a little even as he remains standing. He's visibly shaking and his stomach is in knots. At that moment, the elastic tie finally snaps under the weight of Idia's hair, the blue flames tumbling down between them like a curtain of forest fire. Teal green flickers through it, rapidly turning to a more acidic yellow-green, and a nauseated groan escapes the poor nerd.
It hurts it hurts why does it hurt to be a low-ranking NPC in someone else's story? To not matter except when you're giving a quest or fighting the hero as some pathetic mook?
"I'll move on from you like you're just my latest fad."
His eyes squeeze shut and he clamps a hand over his mouth.
IT HURTS IT HURTS SO MUCH.
"Once the school year's over, we're probably never going to see each other again."
He flees to the bathroom, the door shutting and locking behind him.
This wasn't supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen. The day started off so well--but of course it all fell apart in a matter of hours. Not even lunchtime, and the whole thing's been ruined. He really can't do anything right, can he? No matter how much he tries, he always falls short, in the end.
He should leave. He's made things bad enough. Probably hurt Idia beyond repair with that awful, harsh comment that he didn't even mean to begin with. Why did he think he could ghost Idia like all the others? They were all the kind of people who could bounce back. This was someone he'd cracked open. It was different. He should've known better.
It feels like it takes him ages to reach the bathroom door, laying a hand on it. Like somehow he can just manifest a solution that doesn't exist to a problem that's way, way bigger than he is.
"I'm sorry, Idia. I really didn't mean it."
He doubts Idia will believe him. Words don't really mean much. They can hurt, but they can rarely heal.
"The truth is, I..."
I was talking about myself, too.
I'm the one who's scared.
I don't want to lose what I have here.
I don't want to lose you.
...
He doesn't deserve forgiveness, so he backs away from the door and gathers the dishes that he brought with him from breakfast.
Idia slumps over the sink, hand still pressed over his mouth as he fights not to be sick. Just a little... he'd let himself be the tiniest bit happy, and look where he is now. A one on one friend, someone who cared enough to bring him food and check on his mental well-being and share his hobbies, all undone with a few sentences. He hears Cater's muffled voice through the door but doesn't register the words through the ringing in his ears.
A lonely, broken nerd.
A brother-killer.
A slave to his family's fate.
Why did he ever think he might be allowed to have more?
But maybe it's for the best. The blot surrounds him all the time, it has to or he'll lose his magic and maybe more. He can survive it, but normal mages? They'd Overblot quickly, all because of him.
He still remembers the image from his nightmare, the camera flashes and the mocking laughter coming from the twisted form in red and black, the bloated shadow looming over it, the hateful green eyes. The memory wrecks his control over his nausea, and the sound of sickness echoes off the tiles.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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"It comes from my family's curse," he mumbles. "Long, old story, but the whole bloodline looks like this. Helps us deal with being around blot, for our research." That's simplifying it a lot, but Idia's already burdened Cater with far more of his history than he'd ever wanted to.
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Cater’s own expression loses a bit of its glee as he twists Idia’s hair around his finger. With his gaze focused on the way the flames seem to dance, it’s easy to find himself falling down a rabbit hole of thought. They say a curse can be a blessing. Maybe that’s why this is all so incredible, but he can tell how big of a burden it is on Idia, so doesn’t try and minimize the weight of it.
“I tried to find out more about your family, but they’re pretty secretive, huh?” Certain things were known. The wealth, some of their big time affiliates. Now there were posts about the NRC incident, of course. But everything deeper was clearly kept away from the public eye.
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It goes unsaid that Idia was directly responsible for the kidnappings of the previous Overblot victims. He doesn't want to say it out loud. Hopefully Cater is smart enough to get the implications of what he's just been told, because admitting all the awful things he did isn't easy for Idia now that those people are kind of his friends.
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Not that he’s about to put himself on the same level as the Shroud.
“That sounds complicated,” he says, deciding not to try and bring up anything that might be too painful. “It’s a good thing you’re such a genius you can analyze anything. If I had that kind of responsibility I’d be an even bigger letdown! LOL.”
If he says it like it’s a joke it’s fine, right?
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Did... did he just tell Cater not to discredit his own brain?
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The faintest hint of a smile touches the corners of Idia's mouth again, and this time it's enough to warm his eyes the slightest bit as well.
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"You can just call me Cater, you know. Or Cay Cay of you're Cray Cray." He knows Idia isn't going to call him Cay Cay, but he still had to say it. "Cate works, too."
Pretty sure at this point they're beyond being formal. Not that Cater ever was.
"So, how do you feel about a ponytail? Not too uber-stylish to harsh your vibes?"
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"Not calling you by that lame UN. I'll drop the mister if you want."
Idia idly runs his fingers through another part of his hair. "Doesn't matter to me, it's just hair. Wash like once a week and rip my fingers through it sometimes so the knots GTFO."
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"If YDK, then I'll help myself, TYSM." Reaching up behind his head, he undoes his signature topknot, allowing the front of his hair to fall forward and frame his face. Shaking his head, Cater allows them to find their natural, tussled position. He stands, assessing, and puts the hair tie between his teeth. Idia has a lot of hair, so he's going to need both hands for this one.
And so it was that Cater reached both hands into Idia's flaming mop. He gathers it all up, smoothing as he runs his fingers upward against his scalp to keep it smooth.
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"Feels nice...," he mumbles, dully intrigued by how the contact makes him feel sleepy and calm.
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They'd always make him help. It was annoying, but he's not going to complain about knowing how to do something useful. It would be nice if he had a brush or something, but since this is an impulsive act, his hands will have to do. Cater's careful to avoid snags as he gets it all up where he wants it, centering the hair as best he can so it won't drag and cause Idia a headache.
The hair tie will have its stretchiness tested to the limits, but if it breaks he'll just grab another one from his dorm later. "Some people can find it so relaxing they fall asleep. I think it depends on what kind of stylist you get, though."
Once the hair is tied into place, Cater wraps a flaming lock around the tie to conceal it and, unable to resist, uses his fingers to tidy up his bangs a little bit before standing back. "All done! Ah, I wish I could take a picture."
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"Guess you can... t-- take a pic if you want. But no posting."
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One friendship selfie with Idia in a cute hairstyle: obtained.
"My eyes only, I promise." He's still beaming when he pulls away, admiring the photo. Even if Idia looks incredibly uncomfortable in it, that doesn't make Cater like it any less. It's a testament to all the weirdness they've been through these past weeks. "We look good together! Nice!"
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When he stands up to look over Cater's shoulder, he... doesn't know what to think. He looks so different with his hair up, and next to the other boy's healthy complexion he comes across as almost ghostly. Maybe Eliza really did turn him into a spirit. For all the work the Shrouds do in the Underworld, they look the part. He wouldn't call what he sees in the picture "good," at least not on his end. Cater isn't bad, he has that anime protagonist look and the personality to match, but that just makes Idia stand out even more in a bad way.
"Dunno what you see in me. I'm mega-pale, total zombie movie extra."
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"I guess you can say I'm drawn to you like a moth to a flame?" he elbows Idia playfully, hoping that he isn't about to spark another self-hating spiral. Anyone with eyes can see how special you are, he almost adds, swallowing his words. After what he said earlier...well, he's trying to think before shoving his entire foot into his mouth again. "You really are your own worst critic, you know."
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"... you should be careful not to get too close, then."
He wanders back to his computer and shuts off the anime but doesn't sit down. Standing there in the middle of his room, he seems lost, his gaze drifting toward Ortho's pod.
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Cater lets out an aimless chuckle as Idia turns away from him. His expression deflates. What should he say? That he doesn't intend to? That he only keeps his friends about as close as it takes to get one of these selfies? Magicam and move on?
"I don't know what you think is gonna happen," he finally says with a shrug. "So what if I'm interested in you? Would it make you feel better if I told you that just like everyone else, I'll move on from you like you're just my latest fad? Once the school year's over, we're probably never going to see each other again."
Ugh, so much for not putting his foot in his mouth. He didn't say anything embarrassing, but still said way too much. Cater huffs. "Do you want me to leave? And I mean, not just today. Do you want me to leave you alone?"
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"So I really am a side quest for you. Use a confusion debuff on the nerd so he can't fight. You don't want to do such a boring quest, but there must be an SSR reward for completion, too OP to pass up."
Idia sounds broken, feels broken, but he doesn't understand why. These weird feelings will go away when Cater finishes this run and leaves him alone. Doesn't he want his gloomy existence to go back to normal, where his only social interaction is gaming with the people he tried to hurt?
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This should be fine. It should be a boundary that he welcomes, setting up the expectation that he's not someone to trust too fully, to get used to seeing around. Why is his chest so tight, then? Why does he feel so shaken? Why can't he walk away?
Somehow his body feels both hot and cold. He lifts one foot to take a step, but finds himself stuck between going backward and going forward. There's a lump in his throat he has to push back when he manages to speak again.
"When you told me to be careful, you were really talking about yourself, weren't you?"
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It hurts it hurts why does it hurt to be a low-ranking NPC in someone else's story? To not matter except when you're giving a quest or fighting the hero as some pathetic mook?
"I'll move on from you like you're just my latest fad."
His eyes squeeze shut and he clamps a hand over his mouth.
IT HURTS IT HURTS SO MUCH.
"Once the school year's over, we're probably never going to see each other again."
He flees to the bathroom, the door shutting and locking behind him.
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He should leave. He's made things bad enough. Probably hurt Idia beyond repair with that awful, harsh comment that he didn't even mean to begin with. Why did he think he could ghost Idia like all the others? They were all the kind of people who could bounce back. This was someone he'd cracked open. It was different. He should've known better.
It feels like it takes him ages to reach the bathroom door, laying a hand on it. Like somehow he can just manifest a solution that doesn't exist to a problem that's way, way bigger than he is.
"I'm sorry, Idia. I really didn't mean it."
He doubts Idia will believe him. Words don't really mean much. They can hurt, but they can rarely heal.
"The truth is, I..."
I was talking about myself, too.
I'm the one who's scared.
I don't want to lose what I have here.
I don't want to lose you.
...
He doesn't deserve forgiveness, so he backs away from the door and gathers the dishes that he brought with him from breakfast.
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A lonely, broken nerd.
A brother-killer.
A slave to his family's fate.
Why did he ever think he might be allowed to have more?
But maybe it's for the best. The blot surrounds him all the time, it has to or he'll lose his magic and maybe more. He can survive it, but normal mages? They'd Overblot quickly, all because of him.
He still remembers the image from his nightmare, the camera flashes and the mocking laughter coming from the twisted form in red and black, the bloated shadow looming over it, the hateful green eyes. The memory wrecks his control over his nausea, and the sound of sickness echoes off the tiles.