[ he can hear it in bob's voice, that he's been crying or he's close to starting. his hand moves away so he can stare vacantly at the ceiling instead, his guilt a weary throb in his chest. it does it to me, too. is it always? is it now? ]
I'm not that special. [ his voice softer. to be safe from it. to be safe from you. ] I did slay a monster underneath the bed once. For Galahad, when he decided he was scared of the dark.
[ a night where they'd camped on the bedroom floor, surrounded by pillows and galahad's light-up sword. abilene had eventually come to the doorway after their extended ruckus, watching them with the light haloing the tousle of her loose red hair, and the knot of fear within him tightened that much more with the knowledge that he might not be able to protect galahad from the monsters living in their own home.
a slow inhale, surprised to find his eyes wet. his anger has bled away with the sound of bob's voice, now left with his own thorny hurt. maybe if bob keeps talking, that'll go away, too. he already knows he's not going to utter the truth. never going to say those words. you hurt me. they feel small, stupid in comparison to the kind of pain that bob has lived through. and — it's just life. his own life, and it would be beyond absurd to blame bob for making him feel the pain of it. life hurts, and he's never known it to happen any other way. it hurt every time he lied and ash couldn't see what it was costing him. when greer walked down the aisle and it wasn't to him. when abilene did her worst, and he had no one to lean on after. ]
Can I come see you? [ on the quiet edge of begging, his fingertips rubbing away the wetness at his eyes. ] Not to mess around, just to... [ his words seem to slip away, suddenly aware of his own heartbeat, an uncomfortable heat rising to his face. he swallows. ] Because I'm fucking miserable, and I'd rather be miserable with you. If you say something stupid like I shouldn't touch you anymore after what happened, just - don't. Because I'm going to. I couldn't stop even if I wanted to. And I don't want to, and you don't want me to, either.
Says he isn’t special but that he slays monsters. Unreal.
[ he likes thinking of embry that way. happy, doing all the things a dad is supposed to, making sure his kid has nothing to fear. (he likes what he knows of embry’s wife less. the fear, at her shock of red hair. the draw of the water. that she’s pretty, and embry probably thinks so, no matter what else.) ]
Yeah. [ breathed more than said, a hopeful catch in his voice. ] I’m — in my room. [ a place embry hasn’t been, that he seemingly makes a point to avoid, so he probably won’t come. ] It’s messy.
[ yesterday’s suit half-folded over his desk chair and half crumpled on the floor, the desk itself piled with an assortment of crap. books, rubik’s cube, a radio his powers fried the night he left embry’s room (that he can’t figure out how to fix). christmas wrapping he hasn’t thrown out on the floor, the presents either still in the boxes or on the window-seat, which has become the best place to store his valuables in the room’s present state. ]
Adrian organises it every week, but the house made him freaky horny, so he’s been busy with, uh. That. [ anyway. ] Just so you know how miserable it’s gonna be. If you still want to. [ heart in his throat. embry must be able to it hear it. ] I want you to.
[ he hasn't been to bob's room, and almost doesn't come now despite being the one to ask. rather — he stands outside bob's door for several long minutes, wondering what exactly he means to do. why he's even here. drawing closer to the danger feels like the complete fucking opposite of what he should be doing, and yet here he is. world's most pathetic moth, flying directly into robert reynolds' flame. if he's lucky, bob will kill him this time. if he's lucky —
bob will be on the bed, waiting for him. understanding without words the pain churning through him. the dark thing that ash hates, the thing that makes him the first one to run toward death, because if it's him, it's not anyone else. if it's him, he can stop hating himself for at least a moment.
he's lucky, because bob is there, and something spreads through embry at the sight of him. something sharp and bright, like the points of a star. he's thankful there's only the golden glow of a lamp to light the room, so maybe the heat in his cheeks and glimmer in his eyes are less visible. either way, he shuts the door behind him, trying not to think about how trapped he feels. how he walked into this trap willingly, with open eyes, each step deliberate. ]
Hi.
[ quiet. his eyes quickly scan the room, drinking in all the little details that make this place bob's — different from his own, which even after a year has little in the way of personal effects. boarding school year after year, summers at home, off to yale next, then off to a war. even his condo back home had been put together by morgan's interior designer, and playing house with abilene had been like living in a horror show.
he steps closer. closer still, until he's at the bed, his eyes shadowed, dark hair in a messy sweep along his forehead. he looks at bob and thinks about the void, a cold shudder creeping along his spine. ]
I don't want anything. [ his throat bobs, then the bed dips slightly as he lowers himself down. head on the pillow, he lifts his hands to press the heels of his palms into his eyes. ] I just want you.
[ dressed in an oversized hoodie and boxers (both varying shades of blue), bob waits on the bed cross-legged, picking at the pulled-back sheets. he can hear embry before he enters, the soft shuffle of his footsteps, the steady but quickening beat of his heart. something desolate in his expression. he’s not coming in, when he knows bob is the danger. he is, because he knows that and hopes for the end. no-win scenario.
except —
the door opens, and bob perks, features opening and lifting, blue eyes brighter for embry’s fleeting attention. he watches as embry peers around the space — as he considers the clutter that makes this room bob’s, bereft of any intentional decor — and holds his breath. waits for the mockery. the rejection. in for one, two, three, four. out for four, three, two, one. none comes.
embry settles, like he means to stay, and, for a moment, all bob can do is marvel at the fact of him, real and breathing beside him. not doing anything to push him away. looking much the way bob feels inside, on the verge of disintegration. bob reaches out, palm pressed into the mattress, near enough to touch. a gentle precursor, a test, before bob scoots into him, slotting into the opening beneath embry’s raised arm, head bumping his princely jaw. too late to turn him away, although he doesn’t dare ask for more, fiddling with the string and toggle of his hoodie instead of touching embry. clumsy, in his attempts at comfort, when so few have offered it to him. ]
You got me. [ here, like this. not the shadow or the light that casts it, just a boy. ] I’m glad you’re here.
[ in his room, in the house, in bob’s life despite both their efforts to break apart. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
I'm not that special. [ his voice softer. to be safe from it. to be safe from you. ] I did slay a monster underneath the bed once. For Galahad, when he decided he was scared of the dark.
[ a night where they'd camped on the bedroom floor, surrounded by pillows and galahad's light-up sword. abilene had eventually come to the doorway after their extended ruckus, watching them with the light haloing the tousle of her loose red hair, and the knot of fear within him tightened that much more with the knowledge that he might not be able to protect galahad from the monsters living in their own home.
a slow inhale, surprised to find his eyes wet. his anger has bled away with the sound of bob's voice, now left with his own thorny hurt. maybe if bob keeps talking, that'll go away, too. he already knows he's not going to utter the truth. never going to say those words. you hurt me. they feel small, stupid in comparison to the kind of pain that bob has lived through. and — it's just life. his own life, and it would be beyond absurd to blame bob for making him feel the pain of it. life hurts, and he's never known it to happen any other way. it hurt every time he lied and ash couldn't see what it was costing him. when greer walked down the aisle and it wasn't to him. when abilene did her worst, and he had no one to lean on after. ]
Can I come see you? [ on the quiet edge of begging, his fingertips rubbing away the wetness at his eyes. ] Not to mess around, just to... [ his words seem to slip away, suddenly aware of his own heartbeat, an uncomfortable heat rising to his face. he swallows. ] Because I'm fucking miserable, and I'd rather be miserable with you. If you say something stupid like I shouldn't touch you anymore after what happened, just - don't. Because I'm going to. I couldn't stop even if I wanted to. And I don't want to, and you don't want me to, either.
no subject
[ he likes thinking of embry that way. happy, doing all the things a dad is supposed to, making sure his kid has nothing to fear. (he likes what he knows of embry’s wife less. the fear, at her shock of red hair. the draw of the water. that she’s pretty, and embry probably thinks so, no matter what else.) ]
Yeah. [ breathed more than said, a hopeful catch in his voice. ] I’m — in my room. [ a place embry hasn’t been, that he seemingly makes a point to avoid, so he probably won’t come. ] It’s messy.
[ yesterday’s suit half-folded over his desk chair and half crumpled on the floor, the desk itself piled with an assortment of crap. books, rubik’s cube, a radio his powers fried the night he left embry’s room (that he can’t figure out how to fix). christmas wrapping he hasn’t thrown out on the floor, the presents either still in the boxes or on the window-seat, which has become the best place to store his valuables in the room’s present state. ]
Adrian organises it every week, but the house made him freaky horny, so he’s been busy with, uh. That. [ anyway. ] Just so you know how miserable it’s gonna be. If you still want to. [ heart in his throat. embry must be able to it hear it. ] I want you to.
no subject
bob will be on the bed, waiting for him. understanding without words the pain churning through him. the dark thing that ash hates, the thing that makes him the first one to run toward death, because if it's him, it's not anyone else. if it's him, he can stop hating himself for at least a moment.
he's lucky, because bob is there, and something spreads through embry at the sight of him. something sharp and bright, like the points of a star. he's thankful there's only the golden glow of a lamp to light the room, so maybe the heat in his cheeks and glimmer in his eyes are less visible. either way, he shuts the door behind him, trying not to think about how trapped he feels. how he walked into this trap willingly, with open eyes, each step deliberate. ]
Hi.
[ quiet. his eyes quickly scan the room, drinking in all the little details that make this place bob's — different from his own, which even after a year has little in the way of personal effects. boarding school year after year, summers at home, off to yale next, then off to a war. even his condo back home had been put together by morgan's interior designer, and playing house with abilene had been like living in a horror show.
he steps closer. closer still, until he's at the bed, his eyes shadowed, dark hair in a messy sweep along his forehead. he looks at bob and thinks about the void, a cold shudder creeping along his spine. ]
I don't want anything. [ his throat bobs, then the bed dips slightly as he lowers himself down. head on the pillow, he lifts his hands to press the heels of his palms into his eyes. ] I just want you.
no subject
except —
the door opens, and bob perks, features opening and lifting, blue eyes brighter for embry’s fleeting attention. he watches as embry peers around the space — as he considers the clutter that makes this room bob’s, bereft of any intentional decor — and holds his breath. waits for the mockery. the rejection. in for one, two, three, four. out for four, three, two, one. none comes.
embry settles, like he means to stay, and, for a moment, all bob can do is marvel at the fact of him, real and breathing beside him. not doing anything to push him away. looking much the way bob feels inside, on the verge of disintegration. bob reaches out, palm pressed into the mattress, near enough to touch. a gentle precursor, a test, before bob scoots into him, slotting into the opening beneath embry’s raised arm, head bumping his princely jaw. too late to turn him away, although he doesn’t dare ask for more, fiddling with the string and toggle of his hoodie instead of touching embry. clumsy, in his attempts at comfort, when so few have offered it to him. ]
You got me. [ here, like this. not the shadow or the light that casts it, just a boy. ] I’m glad you’re here.
[ in his room, in the house, in bob’s life despite both their efforts to break apart. ]