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."
"You don't have to hurt me. Fran never did." He sighs, "But.. I get attached, and I try to make myself into what someone wants. I just want to be what they need."
He can't be what Hector needs, and part of that is comforting. Hector's wife is already everything the man needs, and Dodger can't compete with that. But- fuck, it's hard to think so rationally when Hector's hand is in his hair.
He's silent for a few moments after that last admission, just holding Hector close and breathing in his scent.
"I love you. You're everything I'm never gonna get." Another kiss to his neck. "And I'm never gonna be a good enough man for you. I just... keep wishing I could make this work. Without hurting you."
"I don't want to keep you from being hurt just to assure my own self-protection. I want it because I want it."
But it's probably not something he can have. Not any more than Dodger can help from twisting the knife. His head shakes.
"You can't. You could become the greatest man in the world. But you can't bring me home." Another shiver comes with that kiss, a lighter one. "Perhaps it's good this way, for you. You did say that, you know. You didn't really like me, you just like the... impossibility of it. I'm unattainable, and that's what you're after." Which makes those words of love turned back to him pretty hollow. "Let me turn around."
He wants to argue. That's been his goal, to push the resources he has together, to make a path home for everyone who wants it. For Hector. But the people he relied on most are starting to disappear, and the people left are probably losing momentum. He can't make any promises.
And he really hates how Hector is always right. About everything.
"Alright."
His instinct is to teleport in place, to flip Hector around himself. But instead he lets go, lets him move around on his own. Dodger feels like he's aged ten years in the worst way since this conversation started, and it's probably visible on his face.
If he were always right, he wouldn't find himself depending on this man like he does. And if Dodger opened the door to him, Dodger would still see his back turned and running, in the end.
Freed now, he turns. It's slow, mostly in an effort to not whack Dodger full in the face with his feathers. He misses the warmth in those few seconds but in seconds more he's moving back in. He settles on the bed and wraps his arms around Dodger. He presses just one kiss to his mouth.
"Thank you," He says. "And thank you for putting my head back on straight. You're surprisingly good at that time to time." A flicker of a smile shows then falls. "How about we do what you want now, I let you talk, and much, much later, once this is a less terrible evening, I can fuss about where you're staying. How's that?"
Without Hector, his arms feel distinctly empty. He tries not to think about it, but it weighs on him until they're curled up again, and he's being kissed, and everything is okay.
"I learned it from watching you." Hector probably won't get the joke, but it gets Dodger to smile, at least. It isn't exactly bitter, but it's tired. So very tired.
There's a moment of pause, and he reaches up to press his thumbs to Hector's lips, and gently force a smile onto him.
"You're all doom and gloom today. Do you need me to play you something?"
He doesn't get the joke. He sees the smile only and wants to take it as good, but that tiredness is still there. That's something he understands but Hell if he knows what to do about it.
That's about the moment Dodger goes squishing his bruised up face. He yelps slightly and gives Dodger a soft shove in his protest. But not a smile is held in place.
"No, no," He huffs. "I'm setting this right, this is supposed to be about making you feel better. I should be the one playing you songs." It's really, really unfair that Dodger knows so much more music.
He moves to lay his head on Dodger's shoulder.
"Or we could play one of your records. We could dance. I'm sure you've left at least one of them around here somewhere."
"I've got my phone, it's got some music on it." He doesn't move though, reaching instead to ruffle Hector's hair playfully. "You seem comfortable, though... maybe we should just lay here."
He pulls his phone out and searches through for a while before settling on a soft, crooning love song. It plays quietly, so that he can still speak over it.
"Playing music for you makes me happy, y'know. When I was a kid... I really loved music. And when you listen, it's... it's exactly what I wanted back then. Just someone that appreciates it."
He seems to argue with himself, mouth opening and closing as he decides whether or not he wants to lay down and rest his aching body or miss the chance for a dance. Then the song plays. Dancing or no, it casts a spell immediately.
The tension in him seems to unwind. All his weight rests on Dodger with a sigh. His eyes are closed to listen, both to what's spoken and the song that's sung.
"How could I not?" He asks. The song is beautiful. Most of them are. "Sometimes... sometimes I think no one down here really knows me. Not through any fault, just that... I'm only a piece of myself. The music plays and I've got some big part of me back. Sometimes I think, if I were to play, if my family were with me... no one would recognize me. I'd be whole again." And maybe they'd see he belongs there, the way he feels it.
"You're a musician first and a human second. I like that about you."
He sinks into the bed, idly petting Hector's hair and watching him with pure affection.
"I wish I could see that. You, playing music with your family and being whole. But I don't belong in that picture... I'm sure your wife would hate me, with good reason."
A pause.
"Kids don't seem to mind me, though. Wanna tell me about your daughter?"
He laughs, somewhere between warm and rueful. He doesn't deny it. It just also happened to be the problem with him, that being a musician means he never gets to be human at all. Or maybe it's that he wants to be a father first, musician second, and everyone else after that.
He moves with Dodger, curling closer, in so much as he can. He lets himself just enjoy the feeling.
He doesn't say that Dodger could fit in that picture. It would be a lie. As would suggesting Imelda would like Dodger. But he considers Coco, eyes opening.
"She wouldn't find you scary. Not the scars, not even the magic. She'd want to see it. It would scare me half to death trying to keep her from touching the flame. She'd show you her things, her doll, the garden, the bugs in the dirt. She'd ask if you danced and what kinds you liked. If she knew it, she'd try to dance it. If she didn't, she'd ask you to teach her. I would get terribly jealous of you and your bruised feet." He's already jealous of the vision, jealous of his own past. "She would heed her Mamá, for Coco listens in her way. But she would give you your fair due of chance. She's such a soft-hearted thing."
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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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He can't be what Hector needs, and part of that is comforting. Hector's wife is already everything the man needs, and Dodger can't compete with that. But- fuck, it's hard to think so rationally when Hector's hand is in his hair.
He's silent for a few moments after that last admission, just holding Hector close and breathing in his scent.
"I love you. You're everything I'm never gonna get." Another kiss to his neck. "And I'm never gonna be a good enough man for you. I just... keep wishing I could make this work. Without hurting you."
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"I don't want to keep you from being hurt just to assure my own self-protection. I want it because I want it."
But it's probably not something he can have. Not any more than Dodger can help from twisting the knife. His head shakes.
"You can't. You could become the greatest man in the world. But you can't bring me home." Another shiver comes with that kiss, a lighter one. "Perhaps it's good this way, for you. You did say that, you know. You didn't really like me, you just like the... impossibility of it. I'm unattainable, and that's what you're after." Which makes those words of love turned back to him pretty hollow. "Let me turn around."
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And he really hates how Hector is always right. About everything.
"Alright."
His instinct is to teleport in place, to flip Hector around himself. But instead he lets go, lets him move around on his own. Dodger feels like he's aged ten years in the worst way since this conversation started, and it's probably visible on his face.
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Freed now, he turns. It's slow, mostly in an effort to not whack Dodger full in the face with his feathers. He misses the warmth in those few seconds but in seconds more he's moving back in. He settles on the bed and wraps his arms around Dodger. He presses just one kiss to his mouth.
"Thank you," He says. "And thank you for putting my head back on straight. You're surprisingly good at that time to time." A flicker of a smile shows then falls. "How about we do what you want now, I let you talk, and much, much later, once this is a less terrible evening, I can fuss about where you're staying. How's that?"
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"I learned it from watching you." Hector probably won't get the joke, but it gets Dodger to smile, at least. It isn't exactly bitter, but it's tired. So very tired.
There's a moment of pause, and he reaches up to press his thumbs to Hector's lips, and gently force a smile onto him.
"You're all doom and gloom today. Do you need me to play you something?"
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That's about the moment Dodger goes squishing his bruised up face. He yelps slightly and gives Dodger a soft shove in his protest. But not a smile is held in place.
"No, no," He huffs. "I'm setting this right, this is supposed to be about making you feel better. I should be the one playing you songs." It's really, really unfair that Dodger knows so much more music.
He moves to lay his head on Dodger's shoulder.
"Or we could play one of your records. We could dance. I'm sure you've left at least one of them around here somewhere."
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He pulls his phone out and searches through for a while before settling on a soft, crooning love song. It plays quietly, so that he can still speak over it.
"Playing music for you makes me happy, y'know. When I was a kid... I really loved music. And when you listen, it's... it's exactly what I wanted back then. Just someone that appreciates it."
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The tension in him seems to unwind. All his weight rests on Dodger with a sigh. His eyes are closed to listen, both to what's spoken and the song that's sung.
"How could I not?" He asks. The song is beautiful. Most of them are. "Sometimes... sometimes I think no one down here really knows me. Not through any fault, just that... I'm only a piece of myself. The music plays and I've got some big part of me back. Sometimes I think, if I were to play, if my family were with me... no one would recognize me. I'd be whole again." And maybe they'd see he belongs there, the way he feels it.
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He sinks into the bed, idly petting Hector's hair and watching him with pure affection.
"I wish I could see that. You, playing music with your family and being whole. But I don't belong in that picture... I'm sure your wife would hate me, with good reason."
A pause.
"Kids don't seem to mind me, though. Wanna tell me about your daughter?"
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He moves with Dodger, curling closer, in so much as he can. He lets himself just enjoy the feeling.
He doesn't say that Dodger could fit in that picture. It would be a lie. As would suggesting Imelda would like Dodger. But he considers Coco, eyes opening.
"She wouldn't find you scary. Not the scars, not even the magic. She'd want to see it. It would scare me half to death trying to keep her from touching the flame. She'd show you her things, her doll, the garden, the bugs in the dirt. She'd ask if you danced and what kinds you liked. If she knew it, she'd try to dance it. If she didn't, she'd ask you to teach her. I would get terribly jealous of you and your bruised feet." He's already jealous of the vision, jealous of his own past. "She would heed her Mamá, for Coco listens in her way. But she would give you your fair due of chance. She's such a soft-hearted thing."
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HELLO IM BACK TO THIS
\o/
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