tinylittlebox | day 235 ● an empathy test

Entry tags:

● imeeji ● emotion share

day 235 ● an empathy test

Wednesday:
☑ Blade: restraint; blindfold; food (9 pt)
☑ Cobalt: food; movie; hug; pampering; teaching (8 pt)
☑ Hiryuu: worries (3 pt)
☑ Hurricane: never have i ever (3 pt)
☑ Levi: hug; hair washing (4 pt)
☑ Moxie: hug; worries; activity (7 pt)
☑ Sabre: hold hands; confession (6 pt)
☑ Shrike: hold hands (1 pt)
☑ Thorn: piercing; hug (6 pt)
☑ Yugi: hold hands; learning (2 pt)

K:
☑ A: worries (3 pt)
☑ D.Va: confession; hold hands; fast car; activity (12 pt)
☑ Hiryuu: stab (5 pt)
☑ Hurricane: confession (5 pt)
☑ Skylark: fight; broken rib (10 pt)

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[Oh]

[That's]

[But he does? It's in there, a small doki, a thread of interest. Then a rush of embarrassment when he realizes it's come to the forefront, a wave of apology after that, and of shame, and something flustered, unsettled, uncertain]

[The anxiety is stronger than before, somehow, creeping up near to panic]

You don't - you don't gotta say sorry.

Don't I?

[Is he misreading this?

[He definitely felt - something, but...]

I thought - I was freaking you the fuck out. And you know I get it it's okay? I've done this like three times now it's gotta be getting stupid, like is any of this worth doing when I won't just - take a hint and back off or something and - and it's gotta be getting old.

[K couldn't look at him. Stupid, this is stupid and it must be all over his face, mustn't it, how much he just wants this anyway and what right does he have, have you met yourself, K? Why would anyone--

[Now he makes himself.]

Right?

I've been making this weird for months.

You ain't making it weird.

[There's a different kind of unease, now, and a bright spark of pain, when he digs his fingernails into the palm of his hand]

[The anxiety is about as crushing as it was when he first realized there was emotionshare on in the first place, some unpleasant feedback loop that goes: the same thread of interest, with embarrassment slipping in after, then the impulse to close it down and back away, shame when he can't, and a rush of something apologetic, with still more anxiety.]

We were gonna - see. Right?

What happened.

Are you okay?

[Yeah.

[That's why he can't just walk away. Stupid. Stupid. K's got one hand out, even, an awkward inch or two from Hurricane's wrist. Because he doesn't like to see him like this, because he wants to somehow keep him from the worst of it, because he likes him too much.]

I - look. I don't wanna make this any worse for you. I - kinda thought maybe it'd help if we got out of it. Because...

Because I don't care. You know? I mean I care, I wanna be here for you, but... I don't care what's... on the other end of this. I like you. I ain't seen anything yet that's made me stop. I still haven't. I...

You don't have to be different.

[Something apologetic, stronger now, a sickening sort of wave that comes with more anxiety. He's messing it up, he should be holding it together but instead here's K, worrying because he's a goddamn mess inside]

Wh-

[He stops; swallows]

What do you mean, be different.

Don't be.

[He doesn't know what to do with his face, his hands. The only thing K understands is that he needs to look at him.]

I mean... I like you. Now. Not - what you could be, or what you ought to be whatever the fuck that is or - any of that shit. If you got baggage, it's okay. I'm... God. I'm no better.

You ain't gotta tidy up first.

[The response isn't any less complicated, any less messy]

[It's some twisting kind of surge, of denial that K is a mess - K is fine, K is better than fine K is - or that Hurricane doesn't need to tidy up. (There's something under that, something that runs cold and deep, the tip barely brushing the surface before he shoves it down - something ugly and tangled about exactly what Hurricane thinks of himself, but he scrambles away from thinking about that so fast it leaves him reeling)]

Then... then, what.

Then nothing, if you want it to be.

[It hurts, but it's true: if he doesn't want this, doesn't want anything from him but what they have or - or less, less still - then that's what it's gonna be, isn't it? Because anything else would be--he recoils from it. It's fucking repellent. If you feel like this about someone, if you - if you love someone but they don't feel the same... then you have to love them by walking away. End of story, that's all she wrote.]

I'm not gonna tell you how to feel about me. All I got is - what I feel. And if that's all it is then - then it's my problem.

[You love him, don't you?

[Fuck.]

[That's]

[That]

[He's so taken off guard he feels blind-sided, like someone tripped him going down the stairs]

[It's enough to put a hiccup in the feedback loop of anxiety-apology-panic, but it's - flustered, and uncertain, and he isn't sure what to do with it]

[Somewhere underneath, there's a thread of interest, a rush of embarrassment - curiosity and what can only be a crush, flustered and uncertain]

[But love is]

[Big]

[Love is a lot, and he doesn't know what to do with that]

[Well...

[... nor does K, really.

[Should have done something about this ages back and not let it get so - so. Whatever. Should have stayed small and deniable. How do you, though? Just - leave? Never talk to one another again? Impossible even if this place didn't have a population of twelve and Intensity's dragon girlfriend. There just aren't enough people here and he likes him too much. He couldn't ignore Hurricane if he tried all year.

[At least he doesn't feel nothing, K tells himself: he's been trying to ignore it but he can't do that either and that almost makes it worse, doesn't it, it'd be so much easier to walk away if there was nothing there, if he could tell himself he was an idiot wasting his time: the problem is, what now? He doesn't know what to do with that either. Maybe if he was someone different he could do something stupid and smooth and - pushy, fucking pushy, he doesn't want that, wouldn't want to even if he could but that leaves him right back where he started with this in-bloody-tractable what now...

[He can at least break the silence.

[He can at least do that.]

Uh. You still want that drink?

[Maybe all he can do is keep on waiting.]

[There's... a lot]

[Hurricane feels a lot, and very loudly, and it's as messy before, if all in a different way]

[Guilt, and the spiraling need to undo the damage that's just been done, and anxiety again, or still, or always, so thick it feels caught somewhere in the back of his throat]

[He takes a breath, and it isn't quite a full breath. Takes another.]

[He has what he has, and what he has is flustered affection, and genuine attraction, and the off-balance notion that they had promised to see how it went, and then - nothing, and then this, and now K's upset, is hurt, and what Hurricane has isn't enough (when is it ever enough, when is he ever enough), and that's. And this is.]

[He doesn't want to not talk to him again, but the thought of talking to him right now - of sitting down and hashing this through while he's been peeled back and exposed like an orange - makes him absolutely dizzy with distress]

I.

[His voice breaks. He licks at his lips]

Can I, like. Can I take a raincheck?

... probably best, ain't it.

[Yeah. Waiting it is.

[You've made this weird, whoever-you-are: you know it.

[K smiles, and it's genuine enough - a little strained, a little raw, but God dammit he wants to smile at him and so he's going to. Even if it's strained, and raw. Because he cares, doesn't he, cares too fucking much to just let him walk away with nothing--]

You--

[shit this is gonna sound desperate. He knows it, for once in his life, before he speaks. Should bite it back. can't.]

I... afterward. I'll. Speak to you afterward fuck. What a stupid game I suck at this--

This ain't on you.

[If only he could make him believe it.]

Sorry, dude.

[It's barely a whisper]

[K's right about one thing, at least; he definitely doesn't believe that it's not on him]

[He ducks his head - makes to go]

Sorry. I -

Later, kay?

[And he is out]

Don't--

[Apologize, is what he wants to say. He can't even manage that much.

[K just stands there for a moment, because he doesn't know what else he should be doing: let's count all the ways I fucked that up. It's not even like he's not interested: he just knows better, and who wouldn't. Looked in the mirror lately, what's your name? Exactly how much does he know about you?

[Enough to steer clear, apparently.]

Fuck.

[Definitely gonna need that drink.]

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day 235 ● an empathy test

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