streetwalkers | YAN-PARA au master post

[He goes silent for a moment, staring at Cu with an expression very much as if he's just been slapped in the face. Then his smile comes back, spreading slowly and undeadily across his face while at the same time his eyes fill up with very much heartfelt tears.]

That's a joke, right? To just "get over it"... That's impossible. I'd have to forget I love you.

[Fuck. Fuck, no, we are not doing this. Not now. Not when he's stuck here, unable to ignore it away.

Maybe that confession would have been okay not even an hour ago. Maybe he would have grinned, ruffled Diarmuid's hair, and told him he didn't know if he could get it up for Diarmuid, but they'd always be like brothers. It would have been okay. He's sure it would have been okay.

Now it just makes him angry, because "I love you" doesn't make this better.]

It's not a fucking joke, though I wanna ask you the same fucking thing.

Don't look at me like it's my fault.

[He doesn't know what he wants to do right now. One voice wants to smash Cu's face in and crack his ribs open. One wants to walk away and never look at him again. One wants to curl up and die. There are entirely too many "if"s and "but"s and "maybe"s swirling around in his head, but Cu's anger is like a siren, shrill and piercing and warning of danger.

He knows he's mad. He knows why he's mad, too. His heart just couldn't take the path he was forced onto, and it shattered. But there's still the old him there, spun about and frightened and chasing the pieces.]

It's not my fault. I never wanted this.

Yeah, I figured. It's not really you. I can tell.

[He's trying to bite back the anger, because he knows it'll make things worse, but it's hard and the pain is making his logic more than a little fuzzy.]

But you still fucked with me, and there's still a fucking hole in my side, so real-Diarmuid should do something about that.

I am me. I'm just--

[He has to search for the right words. How is he supposed to sum up all the things that are wrong and all the things he feels and wants and fears? Nothing makes sense, and it's visible in the way his eyes dart around the room that for him it's a real undertaking to sort through the blaring noises and confusing pictures he knows aren't real.]

...splintered?

[He's not sure that fits either, but it's the only word that comes to mind that he's sure fits into the sentence in a "coherent" way.]

The bits don't fit together. It tastes funny. I get lost a lot.

[There's another pause. His hands curl in the bottom of his shirt, and he chews his lip.]

It's only a little hole... If I wrap it will you stay with me?

[Will he stay? He doesn't know -- it hurts, feeling his trust in Diarmuid get so badly fractured, but--

But, well, he's still there, at least a little bit, and most people wouldn't be worth the effort, but Cu knows he's already fucked up once.

He pauses, frowning.]

Not if that means being locked up.

You have to be. I can't let you go.

[Even though one of the louder voices would really like to, it's simply not something he can do, and he wishes Cu would understand that.]

You don't want me to be punished, do you?

[God fucking damn it, Diarmuid]

And sitting here and letting them drag me off isn't being punished?

You can't imagine what they'd do to me if I let you walk away. If you're in prison you'll be safe. I'll kill anyone that hurts you.

[The last line is delivered with a fierce sincerity. He reaches for Cu's hands, just trying to hold them and make a connection, and gives a feverishly desperate pleading expression.]

Please. Don't leave me again. She'll let me see you if we're good...

So running isn't an option, huh?

I wouldn't let you.

...Oh.

[Hesitant, taken aback, he instinctively pulls his hand back]

[A frustrated noise escapes him, and he slams the heel of his hand into Cu's stab wound. It isn't that he hates him. It's just that he's angry and confused and doesn't know how to articulate the jumble of feelings except to lash out.

You can't go! I told you, just-- Listen-- Or don't, I don't make sense anyway. I just don't want you to hate me!

[GOD SHIT FUCK WHY?!]

FUCK!

[He shouts, hissing and squirming until he manages to regain some measure of composure]

I'm listening and you're--

[owowowowow]

I don't hate you, but you're--

[OW]

And I'd rather not go--

[OW........]

To jail!

And I'd rather not go back empty handed!

[There's something satisfying about seeing and hearing Cu in pain. It can't equal what he's been through, but the feel of blood on his hand is thrilling. He starts to dig his fingers into the open wound, and snarls.]

This pain you feel? It's nothing to what I'd get if I let you go.

[His reply is an angry, pained snarl and involuntary struggling as Cu feels Diarmuid's fingers dig into that gash. He tries to say something once, twice, but can't manage to muster anything but strangled, snarling curses]

[He pulls his fingers loose, breathing hard both from the effort not to let CU out of his grasp and the struggle not to rip him to bits. He's not sure which urge is the right one -- to kill the man in front of him or to take care of him. Either way, it's probably best to wait for orders on the matter, so he tries to keep himself at least a little in check.

Anyway, the loving compulsions are stronger than the violent ones right now.]

Shhh... You get it, right? You can't run, but I need you...

[He wants to just lay back and sink into the mattress, but his whole body has gone tense from the sudden pain. Slowly he focuses on breathing, on trying not to think about what just happened or how much it hurt. Slowly, carefully, he replies, but he's no less angry than he was while he was screaming]

...fine. Do whatever.

I will.

[Cautiously, he reaches out to thread his bloody fingers through Cu's hair. The gesture is hesitant and as gentle as his previous actions were harsh.]

I'm sorry. I'm really sorry for everything. But if you go, I'm afraid I'll forget who I am. You've reminded me, so... Please endure it a little longer.

[He knows you gotta do what you gotta do sometimes. He knows that sometimes being a friend is less important than other obligations. But he knows Diarmuid's crossed a line, and he doesn't want to think about it. So he frowns and looks away, even as he lets Diarmuid run fingers through his hair.

He can take the silence as cooperation. Cu doesn't quite care right now.]

[Even that much cooperation is more than he deserves, and he knows it. He knows he's horrible, he knows Cu ought to hate him, but he can't really control his own mind or body. He's confused and scared at the best of times, now with emotions running high the way they are now it's even worse.

He's still mad that Cu left him, and he still wants to gut him, but he also wishes he could erase the problems and curl up with him safe and warm.

In lieu of either, he fetches bandages so he can put Cu's side back together.]

[For all his anger, Cu isn't the sort of guy to keep up the silent treatment for long. Once Diarmuid starts bandaging him, he flinches and huffs]

Careful.

[He freezes for a moment, then nods quietly. He's good at first aid, and cleans and dresses the wound as carefully and gently as he can. So long as he doesn't make eye contact, he can avoid the confusing jumble for at least a little while. He cannot, however, avoid the tears that start to spill despite himself, pattering hot against the backs of his hands while he works.

He doesn't really understand those either, so he keeps his mouth shut and pretends they're not there.]

[After the quiet drags on for a bit longer, he looks up at Diarmuid and sees those tears - he finds part of himself swearing, punching something, because how dare Diarmuid act like his.

...but he already feels like he knows better. After all, half the reason he's angry is because this isn't the friend he'd had before]

...hey. You okay?

[He remembers the physical sensation of crying. He knows, in a technical way, that if he says anything it's likely to get worse. He also remembers being trained not to do it. He wishes the whole feeling would go away. He doesn't really know how to put it into words anyway. It wold be much better if he hadn't let emotion show up at all.

But the tears are already here, so after a pause where he bites his lip til it starts to bleed, he answers in a soft, strained voice.]

No? I don't understand-- I just want my head to work again.

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