[He's quick to get that out, quicker to bite down on whatever was meant to follow, sounding like a thought cut short.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend. He has no desire for friendship or anything near it here, but perhaps he's going about this wrong way. If White wants to believe he can care for someone else, genuinely care for them despite his claims to being akin a devil, Will refusing that may be the absolute worst course of action. So what's left, then, if not to play into it? Kowtow for appearances' sake, and in the midst of that, extend something mutual (not common, just shared) between them. Even if that can turn into The friend of my friend is my enemy because I'm an overly possessive arrogant douchebag who doesn't understand the first thing about friendship, at least it's worth a shot.
His breathing is the only thing that can be heard for a few moments, aggravated, frustrated, fast, like manifestations of a rapid heartbeat. Someone backed into a corner, someone who's looking around and realizing other options have been taken out of the picture. The heavy sigh that follows is one of defeat, finally bowing his head and accepting that he's got to play by certain rules or risk getting stuck, again, no meals, no compassion, just visits meant to add onto the viciousness. All very much the feel of someone who has been holding back on a confession for so long it's difficult to make. Like he knows it will be good to finally get off his chest but it's still dismal, and horrible, this cruel, cruel burden upon his shoulders.]
You asked...if I knew what it was like, to have people from my home here. To be from their future. To know how things will turn out, and they don't have a clue. Waiting for the inevitability where they do know.
[His voice is steady, but strained. One wrong word or move would choke him, drown him.]
When I said I knew exactly how you felt, that. Wasn't because of how I am, that was because I'm in the same situation. With him.
[His breath hitches, a stringed instrument one centimeter turn from being too tight, from breaking. And oh, how beautifully (and badly) Will Graham can break.]
no subject
[He's quick to get that out, quicker to bite down on whatever was meant to follow, sounding like a thought cut short.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend. He has no desire for friendship or anything near it here, but perhaps he's going about this wrong way. If White wants to believe he can care for someone else, genuinely care for them despite his claims to being akin a devil, Will refusing that may be the absolute worst course of action. So what's left, then, if not to play into it? Kowtow for appearances' sake, and in the midst of that, extend something mutual (not common, just shared) between them. Even if that can turn into The friend of my friend is my enemy because I'm an overly possessive arrogant douchebag who doesn't understand the first thing about friendship, at least it's worth a shot.
His breathing is the only thing that can be heard for a few moments, aggravated, frustrated, fast, like manifestations of a rapid heartbeat. Someone backed into a corner, someone who's looking around and realizing other options have been taken out of the picture. The heavy sigh that follows is one of defeat, finally bowing his head and accepting that he's got to play by certain rules or risk getting stuck, again, no meals, no compassion, just visits meant to add onto the viciousness. All very much the feel of someone who has been holding back on a confession for so long it's difficult to make. Like he knows it will be good to finally get off his chest but it's still dismal, and horrible, this cruel, cruel burden upon his shoulders.]
You asked...if I knew what it was like, to have people from my home here. To be from their future. To know how things will turn out, and they don't have a clue. Waiting for the inevitability where they do know.
[His voice is steady, but strained. One wrong word or move would choke him, drown him.]
When I said I knew exactly how you felt, that. Wasn't because of how I am, that was because I'm in the same situation. With him.
[His breath hitches, a stringed instrument one centimeter turn from being too tight, from breaking. And oh, how beautifully (and badly) Will Graham can break.]
I care about him, too.