"I want your clown to thtop subjugglating my door. That ith my conthern," he said, glancing dubiously at the now quiet doorway.
He searched for the words, biting his lip and fidgeting. Truthfully, Psii was most concerned that Signless could make a bad decision and feel pale for him. Psii thought anyone feeling pale for him was bound for disaster. He had too many mental wounds that hurt when pressed, too much shit for anyone to sort out, too much fear of intimacy. It was hard to let feelings show when he was young and enslaved. Then he ran away and got swept up in the tides of heresy and rebellion.
He'd rather not think about reopening old woulds like moirails did, or the way Signless asked after his feelings or touched his face. He decided to discount the possibility. Instead, he concentrated on the immediate situation at hand, like he always did when he shoved his true fears down. There was a clown yelling nonsense through his door.
"In the arena, he thaid you pitied me. But he doeth too, even if I'd rather be fed to a rabid thchool of cannibalithtic thea dwellerth than get papped by him. He lookth diamondth at me becauthe of the Helmsman thing. I'm thorry—"
It wasn't an easy thing, telling a best friend that his moirail still had feelings for another. His words picked up pace, half tripping over themselves.
"I don't know what to do. If I tell him you pity me to get him off my back, that would make you unfaithful and he'll flip hith shit. If I tell him you don't, he'll keep thinking I'm hith Helmsman until I flip my shit." He looked away, crossing his arms as if he was cold, though the block remained temperature-controlled as ever. "Why ith thith even happening?"
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He searched for the words, biting his lip and fidgeting. Truthfully, Psii was most concerned that Signless could make a bad decision and feel pale for him. Psii thought anyone feeling pale for him was bound for disaster. He had too many mental wounds that hurt when pressed, too much shit for anyone to sort out, too much fear of intimacy. It was hard to let feelings show when he was young and enslaved. Then he ran away and got swept up in the tides of heresy and rebellion.
He'd rather not think about reopening old woulds like moirails did, or the way Signless asked after his feelings or touched his face. He decided to discount the possibility. Instead, he concentrated on the immediate situation at hand, like he always did when he shoved his true fears down. There was a clown yelling nonsense through his door.
"In the arena, he thaid you pitied me. But he doeth too, even if I'd rather be fed to a rabid thchool of cannibalithtic thea dwellerth than get papped by him. He lookth diamondth at me becauthe of the Helmsman thing. I'm thorry—"
It wasn't an easy thing, telling a best friend that his moirail still had feelings for another. His words picked up pace, half tripping over themselves.
"I don't know what to do. If I tell him you pity me to get him off my back, that would make you unfaithful and he'll flip hith shit. If I tell him you don't, he'll keep thinking I'm hith Helmsman until I flip my shit." He looked away, crossing his arms as if he was cold, though the block remained temperature-controlled as ever. "Why ith thith even happening?"