imeeji_frontstage | (no subject)

[He's halfway to his feet before he can stop himself - taking a few steps toward her, before he can think to force himself back to stillness out of worry that she'll run]

[He opens his mouth - clothes it]

[Opens it again]

...sorry. For, like - the memory.

And everything.

You weren't the one who did nothing wrong.

[Her voice is low and still creaky with disuse, but this at least comes off with complete conviction.

Another beat, and she shuffles closer, though still attempting to make herself small]

...H-how is--everything?

Neither of us did nothing wrong.

[A little wobbly, but very earnest - a little pleading, almost]

Everything's... okay. It's been, like - you know.

[A beat, and then another]

...do you still not wanna go to the dorm?

Edited 2022-03-11 08:40 (UTC)

[She's going to put a pin in that one for now]

I just wanted to see how you were doing. After remembering that...

[Her hands clench in on themselves, as if to keep them still]

...But if things're good, then that's...good.

[Looks a little cowed, honestly, at that lack of an answer]

Ah... yeah. They been, like.

...yeah.

How bout with you?

[That was an impressive non-answer of his own, though she doesn't try to interrupt; only nods slowly, absorbing this]

[To his return question she shrugs, helpless. He can surely see the answer to how well she's doing. Or smell it, for that matter. Perhaps that's why she's actually honest, voice going even more gruff]

...Figured you'd be fine. You got people, and you're strong. But I missed you.

Edited 2022-03-11 19:46 (UTC)

I missed you, too.

[He's quiet a beat, and then another]

...I woulda been better, if you were there.

[She can't completely cover a wince, even as she attempts to keep her voice even and reassuring, perhaps to the both of them]

Nah... I woulda messed up worse. I ain't even s'posed to be here now.

You got people--good people--who know how important you are. They can--they should take care of you, the right way.

Edited 2022-03-12 10:27 (UTC)

You're one of my good people.

[He hesitates, then takes a step toward her, and another]

...here. C'mere.

I shouldn't.

[But she only shuffles closer, head bowed--as if unable to resist now that he's here--now that he's specifically asked for her]

Says who? Cause it sure ain't me.

[Another step closer - another]

Can I, like...?

[She means to put up some final protest, but there's no way it wouldn't ring hollow when there's little she wants more than what those ellipses represent, regardless of how little she deserves it.

With a wobbly, breathy "please," she carefully reaches out for him]

[He reaches out in turn - takes hold of her, very careful, to draw her in for a hug]

[She falls in too quickly, hands snaking around his back and curling greedily into the fabric of his shirt]

S-sorry. I--sorry--

No, hey, you're good. You're good, that ain't -

[Holding on a little too tight, more than a little unsteady]

It was a shitty thing for them to pull on us, but we're - we're still here, right? We're still standing.

[The only response she can manage is more shaky apologies as she buries her face in his shoulder. From the heave of her chest and the tremble of her limbs, still standing is perhaps a temporary state, and she clings on as if she might drown without him]

[He holds on just as tight, more shaky and less steady by the second]

[But he's very warm, and his embrace is very earnest, and hopefully that is enough to make up for the fact that he's trembling a little, clinging like he means to never let go]

[Undeserved or not (and it surely is), she huddles into his warmth, shoulders hitching. Her fingers knot in his shirt, holding him desperately close as she breaks down a little]

[It's fine]

[It's more than fine, honestly]

[Possibly he is breaking down a little, as well,]

[She can't complain]

[Only tightens her arms around him, squeezing him tighter]

[It goes both ways, honestly]

[By the way his shoulders are shaking, they might be here for a little while]

Edited 2022-03-14 01:01 (UTC)

[By the way her shoulders are shaking, she won't be rushing him]

[His fingers close on the fabric of her jacket, holding tight]

[He pulls her closer still, burying his face against her shoulder]

[The familiar weight of him prompts a low, aching sound from deep in her chest. Even as she weeps she curls him in, greedy for the feel of the hitch of his chest and the stutter of his breathing, as if maybe he really had needed her as desperately as she'd needed him]

[Before very long at all, the hitching shoulders give way to outright sobs, low and harsh, each sounding as though it was wrenched from his throat - from his chest]

[Her shoulder is probably going to get wet,]