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}
no subject
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?"
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.