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victor's full of surprises.
say someone asks you out.
[ look, he's too tired to be as sneaky about this as he'd like to be. ]
say someone asks you out.
[ look, he's too tired to be as sneaky about this as he'd like to be. ]
[ All right, now he's awake, because the timing of this is a little too on the nose to not feel pointed and intentional. ]
okay, i'm imagining it
[ Vividly. ]
okay, i'm imagining it
[ Vividly. ]
okay.
[ he doesn't actually have to formulate a question, does he? please don't make him ask ]
[ he doesn't actually have to formulate a question, does he? please don't make him ask ]
am i supposed to be doing something with this mental picture or not?
right now i'd really like to shelve it and get 2 more hours of sleep
are you asking me what i would do in this hypothetical scenario where i get asked on a date?
are you asking me what i would do in this hypothetical scenario where i get asked on a date?
[ drag it out of him, why don't you. S I G H. ]
after someone said they didn't want a relationship and got mad that you figured they meant it.
after someone said they didn't want a relationship and got mad that you figured they meant it.
oh
okay well
let me see if i'm getting this
hypothetically someone i liked said they weren't looking for anything
and then hypothetically i backed off to respect that
if they hypothetically got mad after that i guess it could be that they were
i don't know
playing hard to get? or were just confused?
what would they hypothetically be mad about?
okay well
let me see if i'm getting this
hypothetically someone i liked said they weren't looking for anything
and then hypothetically i backed off to respect that
if they hypothetically got mad after that i guess it could be that they were
i don't know
playing hard to get? or were just confused?
what would they hypothetically be mad about?
confused maybe. let's say confused.
hell if i know what there is to be mad about.
hell if i know what there is to be mad about.
hypothetically, do i still like this person and would i consider going out with them?
eh, you aren't really the dating type. hypothetically.
so i'm hypothetically only looking for something casual
well, there's casual dating. dating isn't always a lock-it-in formal thing.
but if i were only interested in something casual, i'd just say so up front
or say so and also say i'd like to go on this date, because i might actually enjoy myself
and if i don't, then it is what it is.
but if i were only interested in something casual, i'd just say so up front
or say so and also say i'd like to go on this date, because i might actually enjoy myself
and if i don't, then it is what it is.
eh, might work.
you know. if it ever comes up.
you know. if it ever comes up.
[ It's a little over a week since the last of them, himself included, got back from the Aerie. This is one conversation he's not sure it's time for, if it ever will be, but at the very least there's a courtesy due. ]
I'll be going back to work in the next week or so. I intend to work around existing shifts and I'll add myself to the schedule to make that easier on everyone, but I wanted to make you aware that I'll be back in the building.
[ It doesn't quite say all it needs to. The conversation doesn't even look to be on the table, and that's taking a different flavour of control. What he's trying to do is to take none. He's had more than his share of dominion over other peoples actions. ]
There are no expectations. If you need to minimize the risk of an encounter, let Clarke know you're taking leave and I'll ensure you're paid.
[ And that's— all he can say, really. Without overstepping his purpose and placing any undue pressure on Nate to engage. It feels cold, but better that than warm.
A notice. Nothing more, nothing less. It's the best he can do. ]
I'll be going back to work in the next week or so. I intend to work around existing shifts and I'll add myself to the schedule to make that easier on everyone, but I wanted to make you aware that I'll be back in the building.
[ It doesn't quite say all it needs to. The conversation doesn't even look to be on the table, and that's taking a different flavour of control. What he's trying to do is to take none. He's had more than his share of dominion over other peoples actions. ]
There are no expectations. If you need to minimize the risk of an encounter, let Clarke know you're taking leave and I'll ensure you're paid.
[ And that's— all he can say, really. Without overstepping his purpose and placing any undue pressure on Nate to engage. It feels cold, but better that than warm.
A notice. Nothing more, nothing less. It's the best he can do. ]
right. hypothetically.
i'd just be up front. it sucks but at least then i'm not guessing, you know?
i'd just be up front. it sucks but at least then i'm not guessing, you know?
[ which is all fair and right about when sam falls asleep. and then he wakes up again, looks at That Message again, and all the ask if this is something casual or not goes out the window. ]
if anyone asks, you don't know anything about this.
[ but. ]
you ever wanted to be steve martin in roxanne?
if anyone asks, you don't know anything about this.
[ but. ]
you ever wanted to be steve martin in roxanne?
[ There's an instant, spasmodic fear upon seeing Stephen Strange's name cropping up in his inbox. Like twenty years of being the racehorse in someone's barn jerks a leash he knows isn't there anymore. The sensation dissipates just as soon as it arrives and Nate is left
tired. ]
i've been considering quitting. not because of you or the aerie, just because it's not the best job for me right now, and this seems like a good time to officially do that. you don't have to worry about running into me on shift.
[ Everyone keeps beating around the goddamn bush, himself included. He should probably let it lie but the freedom of emotional honesty is really starting to show its merits. ]
for the record, though, this apology kind of sucks? we all did shitty things. i've got a lot of blood on my hands i get to account for, but i'm not sending people office memos about it like an hr rep navigating someone's sexual harassment case at telemarketers, inc.
i'm not your employee. i'm your fucking friend.
tired. ]
i've been considering quitting. not because of you or the aerie, just because it's not the best job for me right now, and this seems like a good time to officially do that. you don't have to worry about running into me on shift.
[ Everyone keeps beating around the goddamn bush, himself included. He should probably let it lie but the freedom of emotional honesty is really starting to show its merits. ]
for the record, though, this apology kind of sucks? we all did shitty things. i've got a lot of blood on my hands i get to account for, but i'm not sending people office memos about it like an hr rep navigating someone's sexual harassment case at telemarketers, inc.
i'm not your employee. i'm your fucking friend.
[ A bubble swells and bursts somewhere in his chest, leaving behind it a churning miasma of dread. Having avoided feeling much of anything until now, it doesn't come as too much of a surprise to find himself faintly nauseous. This was not a conversation he'd wanted to do wrong.
New habits born of really, really old ones kick in. He replies as the rest of him is still busy reeling, and there's a whole paragraph of justification blinking in his messaging box before he catches up with himself and has just enough wherewithal to delete it before it's sent. All that's left is one line: ]
I'm sorry. I made the wrong call.
[ Apologizing for what happened in the Aerie with his message had never been the intention - you can't apologize for what he'd done to Nate with a text. But he'd clearly made a misjudgement in choosing allowing him space over reaching out. Or perhaps just in the way he'd done it. The frantic, reawakened part of him races in circles of thought, searching for the moment he should've come to a different conclusion and made a different choice, desperately seeking out a resolution that can't retroactively be made.
The rest, disconnected, watches impassively on, content in the deed having been done and its consequences having already come to pass. A thin strain of indignation, perhaps, at his giving so much ground without a fight. ]
New habits born of really, really old ones kick in. He replies as the rest of him is still busy reeling, and there's a whole paragraph of justification blinking in his messaging box before he catches up with himself and has just enough wherewithal to delete it before it's sent. All that's left is one line: ]
I'm sorry. I made the wrong call.
[ Apologizing for what happened in the Aerie with his message had never been the intention - you can't apologize for what he'd done to Nate with a text. But he'd clearly made a misjudgement in choosing allowing him space over reaching out. Or perhaps just in the way he'd done it. The frantic, reawakened part of him races in circles of thought, searching for the moment he should've come to a different conclusion and made a different choice, desperately seeking out a resolution that can't retroactively be made.
The rest, disconnected, watches impassively on, content in the deed having been done and its consequences having already come to pass. A thin strain of indignation, perhaps, at his giving so much ground without a fight. ]
[ Nate gets that tickling, tingling sensation that suggests he just managed to narrowly dodge an essay's worth of material. ]
yeah, probably. i'm sorry for being a dick, but i'm trying to compensate for the 2 decades where i was doormat, so we're all screwing up in some form or another.
i can't say i'm not going to instinctively seize up the next time i see you, but i figure it's like exposure therapy. pretending it's not a thing doesn't make it go away. trust me, i've tried that.
i've also done the whole 'feel really crappy about awful things you did that affected other people' thing before and it doesn't help anybody, so don't feel like you have to do social parkour for my sake. we can't move forward if we keep feeling bad about what we can't take back.
yeah, probably. i'm sorry for being a dick, but i'm trying to compensate for the 2 decades where i was doormat, so we're all screwing up in some form or another.
i can't say i'm not going to instinctively seize up the next time i see you, but i figure it's like exposure therapy. pretending it's not a thing doesn't make it go away. trust me, i've tried that.
i've also done the whole 'feel really crappy about awful things you did that affected other people' thing before and it doesn't help anybody, so don't feel like you have to do social parkour for my sake. we can't move forward if we keep feeling bad about what we can't take back.
[ The tension in that loose hold, the sudden tightening, feels like being hooked and anchored. Despite the buoy of something solid against his hip he knows better than to think he can't still drift, curling his fingers to more properly hold Ian's hand.
Okay.
It's a gasp of real air after a long dive and Nate can't help the crooked smile that immediately overtakes his face, the quiet huff of laughter in response to Ian's best efforts at levity. It's still a defense mechanism - Nate knows, he has the same damn one - but it's not worth calling out when the memory is so bright and solid. ]
I could find some, if you think it'll help.
It's a gasp of real air after a long dive and Nate can't help the crooked smile that immediately overtakes his face, the quiet huff of laughter in response to Ian's best efforts at levity. It's still a defense mechanism - Nate knows, he has the same damn one - but it's not worth calling out when the memory is so bright and solid. ]
I could find some, if you think it'll help.
( And this is about when Ian realizes what a fucking snitch this empathy bond is going to be, and the gently mortifying fact that he can't actually do anything about it. It tips his whole hand without a scrap of sympathy about his carefully crafted externalized aloof chill, and it takes approximately .25 seconds.
What he's not ashamed of: the quiet care and relief that settles in when he feels Nate just let go a little and lighten somewhere inside himself. He'd say that out loud, no problem; hey man, I'm really glad you feel a little better.
It's the damn reaction to Nate's fingers tightening properly, and as if that weren't enough there's a kind off doubling down that peaks at the sound of laughter, the expression it's paired with. It's that feeling, that stupid curl of immature infatuation which faintly constricts around his heart for a second. That feeling of a flush of quiet pleasure and satisfaction at having accomplished something. The automatic pang that comes with being attracted to a particularly appealing face. He mastered artfully downplaying this shit back when he was like a teenager, when coming on too strong was like the worst possible faux-pas on the planet — and it never really stopped being that, to him. He is so, so god damn good at it, but it just strolls right the fuck on through because the door's wide open and he couldn't catch it in time if he tried.
So that's cool.
He hates it, thanks, and it's followed quickly by the yet unnamed self-aware emotion that goes along with a flat look and yeah, I know, don't even start, shut up. Real tempted to let go, abort mission, evacuate, but he's making a solid effort to power through and not be... you know, who he is as a person usually. Or was, before. Is, but wasn't in the Aerie. He's still reconciling the whole thing, check back on a concrete definition in like a year. )
I'm not sure you walking in fully disco ball would really cut it. I'm tempted to say you should give it a try, but I'm like 60% sure you'd actually do it and I'd be spending the rest of my life cleaning glitter out of my apartment.
What he's not ashamed of: the quiet care and relief that settles in when he feels Nate just let go a little and lighten somewhere inside himself. He'd say that out loud, no problem; hey man, I'm really glad you feel a little better.
It's the damn reaction to Nate's fingers tightening properly, and as if that weren't enough there's a kind off doubling down that peaks at the sound of laughter, the expression it's paired with. It's that feeling, that stupid curl of immature infatuation which faintly constricts around his heart for a second. That feeling of a flush of quiet pleasure and satisfaction at having accomplished something. The automatic pang that comes with being attracted to a particularly appealing face. He mastered artfully downplaying this shit back when he was like a teenager, when coming on too strong was like the worst possible faux-pas on the planet — and it never really stopped being that, to him. He is so, so god damn good at it, but it just strolls right the fuck on through because the door's wide open and he couldn't catch it in time if he tried.
So that's cool.
He hates it, thanks, and it's followed quickly by the yet unnamed self-aware emotion that goes along with a flat look and yeah, I know, don't even start, shut up. Real tempted to let go, abort mission, evacuate, but he's making a solid effort to power through and not be... you know, who he is as a person usually. Or was, before. Is, but wasn't in the Aerie. He's still reconciling the whole thing, check back on a concrete definition in like a year. )
I'm not sure you walking in fully disco ball would really cut it. I'm tempted to say you should give it a try, but I'm like 60% sure you'd actually do it and I'd be spending the rest of my life cleaning glitter out of my apartment.
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