Indeed, 7PM isn't the worst time. It's not his favorite time (rather close to when he wants to sing for his daughter in his nightly ritual of keeping sanity) but it's not the worst. Still, he doesn't think too much of it.
He gets up and makes his way to the door of his room, some small bit of control rather than calling out and having Dodger teleport right in. He opens it up and takes Dodger in, looking for injuries or worse.
He, himself, is sporting a fair few. Cuts, scrapes, scratches, and one wing is looking a little more limp than the other, but most of it's on his face in scabs and bruises that have eased their swelling somewhat in exchange for colors.
Dodger actually looks.. completely fine. There's no bruises or new scars, which is something of an anomaly with the way he lives. But he takes in everything on Hector, and bristles a bit. Who the fuck would hurt Hector of all people?
Like he's one to talk.
"Everything's fine." He mutters after an awkward pause. "Just... wanted some company. It's real quiet in my house."
Without thinking, he reaches out to run a hand over Hector's cheek, carefully warming his skin to try and soothe those bruises. If he was feeling himself, maybe he'd be out for blood. Lately, he's just been... tired.
Of course, Hector can always tell when he's hiding something. He takes a deep breath, and lets Hector pull him into the room, still looking him over and feeling his heart sink a bit more each time he notices a new injury.
"What happened to you?"
He's stalling. He really doesn't want to talk about it, after talking to the two other people in his friend group (Nekane doesn't count, apparently).
He can tell Dodger's stalling. It makes him turn that look of concern right back on him.
"Same as a lot of people, I imagine," He says with a shrug. "I don't remember all of it. I was going to try and make sure the cult didn't rip Nekane apart. They made me drink that awful stuff along with everyone. I remember fighting for... no reason, really."
He remembers dragging the both of them back, patching Nekane up, and then passing out on the spot. But Nekane is feeling guilty enough without being grilled about it.
"It wasn't anything personal. Just Hell's usual messing with people's heads. You didn't go, did you?"
He's silent for a few moments. He'd come along, but he'd stayed in the shadows. He'd taken a drink out of curiosity, but he'd been holed up alone when the visions took hold. Mostly he'd just watched and taken notes, and for a while it had felt like his job back home. Letting everyone else do the hard work and spring the traps, while he sat back and reported to Augustine.
Except now, thinking about it, he feels like a piece of shit for not helping anyone else.
"No, I didn't go." He mutters, for once managing to sound honest through the lie, "Do you need anything? I'm not a medic or anything, but I've patched myself up a lot, I could... I don't know."
He believes Dodger's lie. It brings him visible relief. He wouldn't want Dodger near the cult either, aside the lot of them being monstrous, that was near as much bad history as Nekane had. He smiles at the offer.
"I'm alright," He assures. "Nekane and I patched each other up after the fact. Everything else is waiting." He bumps Dodger's arm lightly. "Besides, I've toughened up since coming down here, you know."
Still a breakable toothpick of a man so he expects Dodger to laugh, but that's fine. Everything truly bothering him at the moment was in his own head. He pulls Dodger to sit on the bed. He really should put chairs in here considering Dodger's visits but... ah, some other time.
"You didn't bring your guitar," He notes. "That's usually the kind of company we keep, you know. Did you have something in mind?"
No laugh. He'd kind of hoped to lighten things before prodding on. The softness of the smile disarms him and he wishes he could take the time to appreciate it more.
At the same time, he fears to, because this is the sort of thing that makes him fall for Dodger and he can't afford that, never could. Not the flirting or the attempts to bed him, this. But he goes with it.
"Go on. Lay back then. Don't make me crawl around you with these stupid things."
Dodger takes a moment to kick off his shoes, and lets go of Hector's hand so he can teleport onto the bed. He's already relaxing a bit when he reappears; he can smell Hector on the sheets, and it sets his nerves at ease. And once Hector joins him, he curls in closer and runs a hand carefully over the other man's side, wanting to touch without accidentally hitting a bruise.
"Funny how Hell keeps giving us time to recover from all the shit they pull, huh?" He mutters idly, "That's something I got taught when I was learning how to make people talk. You hurt someone too much and they get numb... but if you give them time to heal and gather their thoughts, then they can get hurt all over again."
He shouldn't be surprised that Dodger would teleport even inches to the side. Of course he would. But, so long as he's not being dragged along, that's fine by him.
He curls close as well, half just to bask in the warmth. He doesn't flinch at the touch this time. He just lets himself feel it.
"Well that's... a terrible thing to learn," He says with half a laugh, if that. "But it makes sense." In its twisted way. He always found the breaks to be a relief. Then again, no one said it couldn't be both. (Part of him wonders if those shrieking souls in the lakes of fire are ever numb to it. Another part thinks of Nekane and Dodger who went so numb the pieces broke right off. Maybe there is no good option.) "And where are you right now? Recovering? Or tormented?"
He's silent for a while, but.. well. He can't stall forever.
"Francis disappeared. About a week ago. They took all his stuff, now my house is just.. empty. Ivar disappeared last month, Jason is missing but his stuff is still there, and..."
...And there's more, but he doesn't really know how to put it in words. He just sinks into Hector's arms with a quiet sigh.
"...I'm worried that Lucifer knows something. That he's punishing me specifically by taking away the people I care about. I'm... worried you're next."
"Oh." Concern immediately twists his expression. "Oh, Dodger..."
He pulls Dodger in closer. His arms go fully around and he holds the man tight to his chest. Two weeks. Dodger should have told him. But then, he should have checked in and asked. Stupid. He'd assumed, being happy with Francis, that it was the better time to step back.
"It's not all at once," He says. "And Jason's not gone. He could still come back and say for certain if it has anything to do with you. Even if he does know, you're not the only one acting against him. There's no reason to punish just you."
It sounds logical to his ears. Good. He can't afford anything less.
"I'm so sorry." That is the more important thing to say.
"Don't be." He mutters, but he still presses closer and lets Hector hold him. "I got too comfortable. That's all it is."
All of Hector's logic is sound, but it doesn't make him feel any better.
"Ivar left before I could apologize. I really fucked him over. Francis too, I... lost my temper. Killed him. He never woke back up. And Jason..." He laughs quietly, "I've been using Jason since we met, months before I got here. He's used to it, doesn't mean I don't owe him.... something."
Dodger doesn't move when Hector pulls back. He can't make eye contact, and just lays there staring at some spot on Hector's shirt.
"I don't know. I don't know, I lost my temper. I don't even remember what we were fighting about. At some point I just... blacked out. When I came to, he was on the ground and the dogs were whining."
A pause.
"It's kind of a relief. In a fucked up way. I thought I was changing, I didn't recognize myself... but I'm still the same sick fuck."
He's stammering. He's stammering and staring in horror and confusion and some wry cruel part of him reminds that he knew this, he knew, this isn't a surprise, what did he honestly expect?
Maybe that's the problem. Besides the murder, of course, maybe that's what his whole issue is. He thought and believed and hoped and... and he hoped. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
"I. thought. You were. Happy," He says dumbly, confused, a pause between each word as his brain struggles to function and stumbles over each. "I thought you were. Doing better..."
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
And why did he think that? To assuage his conscience? To believe in the good of all, the redemption of everyone? To retroactively redeem himself through someone worse? To redeem Ernesto by the same count? No, no, no, he wanted Dodger to be happy, he really wanted... He wanted to believe Dodger could be happy and okay because he does love this terrible, awful man. And now all he can think of is Squalo taunting him, shouting, asking him what the difference was between that cruel path and the kinder one, while he insisted back that the former didn't make Dodger happy. Well what now then?
He sits up. He turns his back. He wants to laugh, to cry, to scream. To go to Nekane and ask them to finish the job they started, just beat his skull in so he doesn't have to think, so he doesn't have to exist with himself, at least for a while.
"So that's it then?" He asks, and he sounds far away. "Are you... is this what you want after all? To be..."
Yeah, that's fair. He's gotten used to Hector just accepting him for all the fucked up broken parts and sharp edges, but... this is more than the man's had to deal with before. This is as good a breaking point as any, right?
He doesn't answer, because he doesn't really have an answer. He just watches Hector, wondering if it would help or hurt to sit up and touch him.
"I don't know." He shakes his head, finally sitting up and leaning against the wall. "I thought I wanted it. And him. But I... thought I wanted a lot of things. I mean.. it was fun for a while, playing house with him. But that's not me. I should've known that by now."
He was never really happy. It was all just a game. A quick game of pretend. Someone is dead because of a game. Everything he'd hoped for with Dodger, everything he... he encouraged... just a game.
Dodger's hurt him before. Dodger's betrayed him before, murdered him, hurt his friend, then sold him out-- for both the very same people he's killed, no less. But this is different. This time, he was the one who caused the pain. And he didn't even know it. He didn't even mean to. But he did.
"Right," He says softly. "I see. I understand." His voice is quiet and dull. "I am... sorry then. For leading you... I don't know. I'm sorry. I thought... I thought you were doing okay. I was proud and stupid. And I'm sorry. I thought you were doing it because you wanted to." Damn him, his voice is starting to break a little. He doesn't turn back. "I didn't want to force you into anything. I didn't want you to be what I wanted because I wanted you to be... I didn't want to mould you like everyone else. I thought I was letting you choose. I didn't see what I was doing. But you're right. That's not you."
He bends a moment, presses his palms to his eyes, and then straightens again. He forces his breath even.
"So what's the plan now? Did you come here to decide that? Or do you already know?"
It hurts a bit, seeing Hector like this. He knows it's his fault, it always is. Hector believes in him, and every single time he lets him down.
"I don't have a plan. I don't really want to make a new one." He shrugs awkwardly. "I just wanted to see you. You always make everything better."
He's quiet for another moment, but he takes the risk of moving closer, leaning gently against Hector's back and being careful not to disturb his wings. He just wants to give him some warmth, some reassuring weight.
"You don't need to apologize. You didn't know. I... it's not the first time I've tried getting better like this. Back when I was with Janet, I almost fooled everyone. I even fooled myself. Because I loved her and... I wanted to be someone she could depend on. I got further with Fran, I really started cutting people off that made me want to cheat. We talked about getting married and getting kids, or... more dogs. And the more I went for it the more... empty it felt."
Like a suit that kept getting bigger, while he stayed the same size. It feels stupid now, thinking he could have kept it going.
In that quiet moment, he feels the warm weight of Dodger against his back. It both soothes and aches with the injury. That was Dodger most of the time, it seemed. Both soothing and inflicting pain.
Part of him wants to ask, to cry out, why wouldn't you just be yourself? But he knows why. No matter he can, how he tries, Dodger doesn't separate himself from pain and murder. Maybe he never will.
You always make everything better.
"How?" He asks, voice taught. "How is this better? How has anything I've tried to do actually made anything better?!" His voice cracks and splinters like wood rotted through. "I try, sure. But I always fuck it up. I was supposed to get in and out of that stupid cult and keep Nekane safe and I failed twice over and left them feeling terrible. You... I didn't see any of this with you, I just let it go on and on and you've been alone for two weeks and I didn't check or anything. Squalo tries to help me and half the time I end up hurting him and I still can't admit I want to be friends again. You came to me to feel better and all I can do is feel sorry for myself."
His wings move, even the injured one in painful jerking motions. They fold around him like a shield or a place to hide.
"I've only made everyone miserable. I don't know how to help anyone. I don't even know how to help myself." Stupid, stupid... "You tried to tell me. You did, when you said you wish things could work with us. I told you you had Fran. You loved Fran. I should have known."
Hector's wings stretch and for a moment, Dodger's head swims. That janky movement brings something to mind, something that doesn't belong in his head. Squalo had given him shit for not taking his meds, and he's still not remembering every day. But he closes his eyes, presses his forehead to Hector's shoulder, and slowly wraps his arms around the younger man's waist.
"Hindsight's 20/20, Hec. And... listen, Squalo likes getting hurt. And he probably knows you want to be friends, he probably wants it too. You'll figure it out sooner or later."
This feels nice. He can relax a bit, feeling Hector's body against him, breathing in his scent. He wishes things could be simple, that they could just be friends or lovers and he could stick to one person, be who they wanted him to be, and not wonder about the other options.
"You make me feel like I matter. Like my choices matter. Even when I fuck up, it means something, you make me work my way back up, and that's... different. Other people just forgive me, or they bottle it up, or they beat me and then everything goes back to normal and yeah, all of that's easier. But I'm.. learning something, with you. Fuck, Squalo and I wouldn't be friends again if I didn't know you. I wouldn't have lasted with Fran as long as I did, I... probably would have gone back to Ivar. And Ivar would have treated me like a dog, because that's... all I wanted, before I met you."
Just to be an object. And to like it. To stop wishing for anything else. It would be simple, but... he feels like he's more than that, now.
"You know what kind of person I am, but you still think there's a chance for me, and that's... it keeps me going. I would have given up a long time ago, if I didn't have you."
This is all backwards. He should be helping Dodger. He should be doing something. But no, it's Dodger who puts his arms around him, the warmth seeping in. It's Dodger with the assurances, the forgiving words, the kindness. His hands lower down to rest over Dodger's arms, to hold him there.
"Oh," He says softly, when Dodger's finished. He's surprised that there isn't really anything there to argue.
Fool, he is. Still stupid, but for other reasons nows. He likes this man too much.
"I do think there's a chance. You do matter." Even now. Even with this terrible hitch in it all. That thought brings clarity. "There's got to be a balance for you. A way for you to be you and still happy. Not all perfect killer or perfect husband with nothing between. I want things for you, of course, but I don't want to force you into anything. Does that make sense? Is there a difference between healing and building someone into what you want?"
His wings start to withdraw from being a cage, though he doesn't fold them back with Dodger there. He doesn't want Dodger to let go, but he wants to turn around and face him.
"Would you tell me, if you felt like you were being forced into something?"
Dodger shifts, moving one leg to each side of Hector so he can hold onto him properly. It's good for both of them, apparently, although he also wishes he could reach Hector's face. Right now he just wants to hold him close, like that will protect him from this place.
It certainly won't protect him from Dodger.
"I can't promise that, no. I force myself into things. People offer me new roads and I take them without thinking. I stuck with Augustine because he cut off everything else, he punished me if I slipped off his path. So it was easy to stay with him. I didn't have to think."
He pauses, and presses a kiss to the back of Hector's neck.
"I'm sorry I never choose you. I take it for granted, that you're always gonna be waiting for me. You put up with so much of my shit and... it's not fair for you."
With all that, he can't help leaning back. Warmth and comfort and the illusion of security. It does feel good.
The words don't. Those hurt and they make him afraid. He doesn't want to be responsible, even if he feels so already.
"I don't want to hurt you," He says.
He feels that kiss and it makes him shiver. His hand rises up and goes back, just to tangle in Dodger's hair.
"...No. No, I don't want you to choose me." He's said it before, but this time he admits; "I might think sometimes that I do. You still mean a lot to me. You're very good at breaking my heart. And I'm good at setting myself up to hurt. I imagine everyone thinks those idle thoughts time to time about having only the sweetness of affection and none of the pain. But it's better for both of us in the end if you don't choose me. You need to be free. I will be gone someday. Just, not out of punishment for you." And then, because he never said it without shouting. "I still love you."
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He gets up and makes his way to the door of his room, some small bit of control rather than calling out and having Dodger teleport right in. He opens it up and takes Dodger in, looking for injuries or worse.
He, himself, is sporting a fair few. Cuts, scrapes, scratches, and one wing is looking a little more limp than the other, but most of it's on his face in scabs and bruises that have eased their swelling somewhat in exchange for colors.
He asks, "Everything alright, amigo?"
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Like he's one to talk."Everything's fine." He mutters after an awkward pause. "Just... wanted some company. It's real quiet in my house."
Without thinking, he reaches out to run a hand over Hector's cheek, carefully warming his skin to try and soothe those bruises. If he was feeling himself, maybe he'd be out for blood. Lately, he's just been... tired.
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He stiffens as Dodger reaches out, bracing for the press against bruises. Then comes the heat and he sighs into. He gives himself just a moment.
"Come on in. And maybe tell me the truth this time."
He takes the hand on his face and uses it to pull Dodger inside.
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"What happened to you?"
He's stalling. He really doesn't want to talk about it, after talking to the two other people in his friend group (Nekane doesn't count, apparently).
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"Same as a lot of people, I imagine," He says with a shrug. "I don't remember all of it. I was going to try and make sure the cult didn't rip Nekane apart. They made me drink that awful stuff along with everyone. I remember fighting for... no reason, really."
He remembers dragging the both of them back, patching Nekane up, and then passing out on the spot. But Nekane is feeling guilty enough without being grilled about it.
"It wasn't anything personal. Just Hell's usual messing with people's heads. You didn't go, did you?"
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Except now, thinking about it, he feels like a piece of shit for not helping anyone else.
"No, I didn't go." He mutters, for once managing to sound honest through the lie, "Do you need anything? I'm not a medic or anything, but I've patched myself up a lot, I could... I don't know."
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"I'm alright," He assures. "Nekane and I patched each other up after the fact. Everything else is waiting." He bumps Dodger's arm lightly. "Besides, I've toughened up since coming down here, you know."
Still a breakable toothpick of a man so he expects Dodger to laugh, but that's fine. Everything truly bothering him at the moment was in his own head. He pulls Dodger to sit on the bed. He really should put chairs in here considering Dodger's visits but... ah, some other time.
"You didn't bring your guitar," He notes. "That's usually the kind of company we keep, you know. Did you have something in mind?"
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"I know you have." He runs his thumb over the back of Hector's hand and...
...And his shoulders slump a bit, when Hector presses him again.
"Just... I don't know. Wanted to see you. Thought we could just... lay on the bed and talk?"
And for once, there's no playful note in his voice, betraying that he's scheming to get in Hector's pants. He legitimately just wants to hang out.
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At the same time, he fears to, because this is the sort of thing that makes him fall for Dodger and he can't afford that, never could. Not the flirting or the attempts to bed him, this. But he goes with it.
"Go on. Lay back then. Don't make me crawl around you with these stupid things."
He'll be laying on his side in a moment.
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"Funny how Hell keeps giving us time to recover from all the shit they pull, huh?" He mutters idly, "That's something I got taught when I was learning how to make people talk. You hurt someone too much and they get numb... but if you give them time to heal and gather their thoughts, then they can get hurt all over again."
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He curls close as well, half just to bask in the warmth. He doesn't flinch at the touch this time. He just lets himself feel it.
"Well that's... a terrible thing to learn," He says with half a laugh, if that. "But it makes sense." In its twisted way. He always found the breaks to be a relief. Then again, no one said it couldn't be both. (Part of him wonders if those shrieking souls in the lakes of fire are ever numb to it. Another part thinks of Nekane and Dodger who went so numb the pieces broke right off. Maybe there is no good option.) "And where are you right now? Recovering? Or tormented?"
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"Francis disappeared. About a week ago. They took all his stuff, now my house is just.. empty. Ivar disappeared last month, Jason is missing but his stuff is still there, and..."
...And there's more, but he doesn't really know how to put it in words. He just sinks into Hector's arms with a quiet sigh.
"...I'm worried that Lucifer knows something. That he's punishing me specifically by taking away the people I care about. I'm... worried you're next."
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He pulls Dodger in closer. His arms go fully around and he holds the man tight to his chest. Two weeks. Dodger should have told him. But then, he should have checked in and asked. Stupid. He'd assumed, being happy with Francis, that it was the better time to step back.
"It's not all at once," He says. "And Jason's not gone. He could still come back and say for certain if it has anything to do with you. Even if he does know, you're not the only one acting against him. There's no reason to punish just you."
It sounds logical to his ears. Good. He can't afford anything less.
"I'm so sorry." That is the more important thing to say.
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All of Hector's logic is sound, but it doesn't make him feel any better.
"Ivar left before I could apologize. I really fucked him over. Francis too, I... lost my temper. Killed him. He never woke back up. And Jason..." He laughs quietly, "I've been using Jason since we met, months before I got here. He's used to it, doesn't mean I don't owe him.... something."
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But then Dodger confesses to killing Francis and he pulls back. He looks shocked, confused, even disappointed.
"You killed-- Why?" There was a bit about Jason in there but he's fixed on the middle point at the moment. "I thought you were-- what happened?"
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"I don't know. I don't know, I lost my temper. I don't even remember what we were fighting about. At some point I just... blacked out. When I came to, he was on the ground and the dogs were whining."
A pause.
"It's kind of a relief. In a fucked up way. I thought I was changing, I didn't recognize myself... but I'm still the same sick fuck."
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He's stammering. He's stammering and staring in horror and confusion and some wry cruel part of him reminds that he knew this, he knew, this isn't a surprise, what did he honestly expect?
Maybe that's the problem. Besides the murder, of course, maybe that's what his whole issue is. He thought and believed and hoped and... and he hoped. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
"I. thought. You were. Happy," He says dumbly, confused, a pause between each word as his brain struggles to function and stumbles over each. "I thought you were. Doing better..."
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
And why did he think that? To assuage his conscience? To believe in the good of all, the redemption of everyone? To retroactively redeem himself through someone worse? To redeem Ernesto by the same count? No, no, no, he wanted Dodger to be happy, he really wanted... He wanted to believe Dodger could be happy and okay because he does love this terrible, awful man. And now all he can think of is Squalo taunting him, shouting, asking him what the difference was between that cruel path and the kinder one, while he insisted back that the former didn't make Dodger happy. Well what now then?
He sits up. He turns his back. He wants to laugh, to cry, to scream. To go to Nekane and ask them to finish the job they started, just beat his skull in so he doesn't have to think, so he doesn't have to exist with himself, at least for a while.
"So that's it then?" He asks, and he sounds far away. "Are you... is this what you want after all? To be..."
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He doesn't answer, because he doesn't really have an answer. He just watches Hector, wondering if it would help or hurt to sit up and touch him.
"I don't know." He shakes his head, finally sitting up and leaning against the wall. "I thought I wanted it. And him. But I... thought I wanted a lot of things. I mean.. it was fun for a while, playing house with him. But that's not me. I should've known that by now."
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He was never really happy. It was all just a game. A quick game of pretend. Someone is dead because of a game. Everything he'd hoped for with Dodger, everything he... he encouraged... just a game.
Dodger's hurt him before. Dodger's betrayed him before, murdered him, hurt his friend, then sold him out-- for both the very same people he's killed, no less. But this is different. This time, he was the one who caused the pain. And he didn't even know it. He didn't even mean to. But he did.
"Right," He says softly. "I see. I understand." His voice is quiet and dull. "I am... sorry then. For leading you... I don't know. I'm sorry. I thought... I thought you were doing okay. I was proud and stupid. And I'm sorry. I thought you were doing it because you wanted to." Damn him, his voice is starting to break a little. He doesn't turn back. "I didn't want to force you into anything. I didn't want you to be what I wanted because I wanted you to be... I didn't want to mould you like everyone else. I thought I was letting you choose. I didn't see what I was doing. But you're right. That's not you."
He bends a moment, presses his palms to his eyes, and then straightens again. He forces his breath even.
"So what's the plan now? Did you come here to decide that? Or do you already know?"
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"I don't have a plan. I don't really want to make a new one." He shrugs awkwardly. "I just wanted to see you. You always make everything better."
He's quiet for another moment, but he takes the risk of moving closer, leaning gently against Hector's back and being careful not to disturb his wings. He just wants to give him some warmth, some reassuring weight.
"You don't need to apologize. You didn't know. I... it's not the first time I've tried getting better like this. Back when I was with Janet, I almost fooled everyone. I even fooled myself. Because I loved her and... I wanted to be someone she could depend on. I got further with Fran, I really started cutting people off that made me want to cheat. We talked about getting married and getting kids, or... more dogs. And the more I went for it the more... empty it felt."
Like a suit that kept getting bigger, while he stayed the same size. It feels stupid now, thinking he could have kept it going.
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In that quiet moment, he feels the warm weight of Dodger against his back. It both soothes and aches with the injury. That was Dodger most of the time, it seemed. Both soothing and inflicting pain.
Part of him wants to ask, to cry out, why wouldn't you just be yourself? But he knows why. No matter he can, how he tries, Dodger doesn't separate himself from pain and murder. Maybe he never will.
You always make everything better.
"How?" He asks, voice taught. "How is this better? How has anything I've tried to do actually made anything better?!" His voice cracks and splinters like wood rotted through. "I try, sure. But I always fuck it up. I was supposed to get in and out of that stupid cult and keep Nekane safe and I failed twice over and left them feeling terrible. You... I didn't see any of this with you, I just let it go on and on and you've been alone for two weeks and I didn't check or anything. Squalo tries to help me and half the time I end up hurting him and I still can't admit I want to be friends again. You came to me to feel better and all I can do is feel sorry for myself."
His wings move, even the injured one in painful jerking motions. They fold around him like a shield or a place to hide.
"I've only made everyone miserable. I don't know how to help anyone. I don't even know how to help myself." Stupid, stupid... "You tried to tell me. You did, when you said you wish things could work with us. I told you you had Fran. You loved Fran. I should have known."
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"Hindsight's 20/20, Hec. And... listen, Squalo likes getting hurt. And he probably knows you want to be friends, he probably wants it too. You'll figure it out sooner or later."
This feels nice. He can relax a bit, feeling Hector's body against him, breathing in his scent. He wishes things could be simple, that they could just be friends or lovers and he could stick to one person, be who they wanted him to be, and not wonder about the other options.
"You make me feel like I matter. Like my choices matter. Even when I fuck up, it means something, you make me work my way back up, and that's... different. Other people just forgive me, or they bottle it up, or they beat me and then everything goes back to normal and yeah, all of that's easier. But I'm.. learning something, with you. Fuck, Squalo and I wouldn't be friends again if I didn't know you. I wouldn't have lasted with Fran as long as I did, I... probably would have gone back to Ivar. And Ivar would have treated me like a dog, because that's... all I wanted, before I met you."
Just to be an object. And to like it. To stop wishing for anything else. It would be simple, but... he feels like he's more than that, now.
"You know what kind of person I am, but you still think there's a chance for me, and that's... it keeps me going. I would have given up a long time ago, if I didn't have you."
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"Oh," He says softly, when Dodger's finished. He's surprised that there isn't really anything there to argue.
Fool, he is. Still stupid, but for other reasons nows. He likes this man too much.
"I do think there's a chance. You do matter." Even now. Even with this terrible hitch in it all. That thought brings clarity. "There's got to be a balance for you. A way for you to be you and still happy. Not all perfect killer or perfect husband with nothing between. I want things for you, of course, but I don't want to force you into anything. Does that make sense? Is there a difference between healing and building someone into what you want?"
His wings start to withdraw from being a cage, though he doesn't fold them back with Dodger there. He doesn't want Dodger to let go, but he wants to turn around and face him.
"Would you tell me, if you felt like you were being forced into something?"
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It certainly won't protect him from Dodger.
"I can't promise that, no. I force myself into things. People offer me new roads and I take them without thinking. I stuck with Augustine because he cut off everything else, he punished me if I slipped off his path. So it was easy to stay with him. I didn't have to think."
He pauses, and presses a kiss to the back of Hector's neck.
"I'm sorry I never choose you. I take it for granted, that you're always gonna be waiting for me. You put up with so much of my shit and... it's not fair for you."
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The words don't. Those hurt and they make him afraid. He doesn't want to be responsible, even if he feels so already.
"I don't want to hurt you," He says.
He feels that kiss and it makes him shiver. His hand rises up and goes back, just to tangle in Dodger's hair.
"...No. No, I don't want you to choose me." He's said it before, but this time he admits; "I might think sometimes that I do. You still mean a lot to me. You're very good at breaking my heart. And I'm good at setting myself up to hurt. I imagine everyone thinks those idle thoughts time to time about having only the sweetness of affection and none of the pain. But it's better for both of us in the end if you don't choose me. You need to be free. I will be gone someday. Just, not out of punishment for you." And then, because he never said it without shouting. "I still love you."
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HELLO IM BACK TO THIS
\o/
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