He catches that hand again. Palm at Alice’s wrist, his fingers wrapping Alice’s palm, thumb resting at the back of Alice’s hand. Not forceful, not gripping, but with imploring insistence. Just. ’Hey, come on. Stay. You don’t have to go.’
(If he doesn’t think far about what’s happening, he can’t get caught in spiraled questions, in every sign and indication that… Something’s happening to this guy. A lot of things are happening to this guy (happened to this guy?)
(The weight of the way the guy looked at his hand and all that space between words, all that howling screaming silent behind Alice’s absence and pulling away and stuttered words.
(The way Alice seemed to try gathering himself.)
(The way that gathering fell apart.)
Like watching someone fall through ice, like watching someone plummet through the earth, barraged and burning. Like tapping at a stone, a strong and solid-looking boulder, and the rock-face chips and shatters and there’s magma, suddenly, lava spilling outward.
What’s happening isn’t controllable, precisely. What’s happening with Alice is bigger than this moment, and the guy’s trying to manage it (a managing that feels like closing off, like tamping down) (a managing that feels not-unfamiliar; push something away push something back into order and maybe you can seal a gap (for now) (never mind that you’re still bleeding)), but the guy’s missing some pieces, Treavor reminds himself there are things the guy’s got wrong, or it seems like the guy’s got wrong, and the whole thing feels messy right now and maybe the least Treavor can do is try to offer some amending, because maybe it’ll help, maybe it’ll keep the guy from sealing himself with these mistakes.
(That last thing the guy said. ’You should feel safe from me.’ It’s a weird fucking thing to say. It’s a hollowing thing to hear. Because there’s meaning to those words, maybe history behind them, though Treavor doesn’t know it. Because the words ache with something badly wounded.
And isn’t it strange, to think of feeling unsafe here.
Treavor’s felt - Treavor knows he’s felt - more secure this morning than he’s been in ages. (Knows this guy feels safer than anyone he’s met in years.))
If Alice has allowed Treavor to keep his hand, Treavor’ll brush his thumb against the back of that hand once, twice. Steady while Treavor looks for Alice’s eyes, seeking to fix them with his own, a variation on the usual staring; still persistent, unrelenting, but without coldness, lacking distance. Penetrating, but not hostile, not unkind. ]
Alice. Listen to me, okay?
[ ’I don’t know what’s doing on, but—‘ Not that, no. ]
You’re okay.
I’m okay.
Hey, everything’s all right. You scraped me up and gave me a place to sleep. You did a good guy thing, kept me from sleeping against a dumpster. That makes you pretty much the polar opposite of dickweed, got it?
And uh.
[ He flicks a glance away, wants to scratch his neck. Avoids the urge and fixes Alice in his stare again. ]
You can’t kick yourself for me being dense. I just figured… Like I said, I’m a dick, been a dick, I’m a mess sweating all over your very nice sofa, like I’m the last person in the world I’d bat eyes at, and my standards are pretty nonexistent. And hey, to be fair, I didn’t know you had it in you to make a, uh, suggestive joke.
[ He manages to cock an eyebrow, a little. ]
You’ve got surprises in you, Alice.
[ And, pressing that hand, if he still has that hand— ]
Hey, you didn’t do anything wrong. Look at me: self-inflicted sick aside, I’m a-okay.
You’ve been a good guy. Pretty sure you are a good guy, and you don’t need to worry. I'm not worried. Hey, that’s a Treavor Pendleton promise!
[ And? Fuck it, a minor tilt on the head, and a wink just for Alice. ]
no subject
He catches that hand again. Palm at Alice’s wrist, his fingers wrapping Alice’s palm, thumb resting at the back of Alice’s hand. Not forceful, not gripping, but with imploring insistence. Just. ’Hey, come on. Stay. You don’t have to go.’
(If he doesn’t think far about what’s happening, he can’t get caught in spiraled questions, in every sign and indication that…
Something’s happening to this guy. A lot of things are happening to this guy (happened to this guy?)
(The weight of the way the guy looked at his hand and all that space between words, all that howling screaming silent behind Alice’s absence and pulling away and stuttered words.
(The way Alice seemed to try gathering himself.)
(The way that gathering fell apart.)
Like watching someone fall through ice, like watching someone plummet through the earth, barraged and burning. Like tapping at a stone, a strong and solid-looking boulder, and the rock-face chips and shatters and there’s magma, suddenly, lava spilling outward.
What’s happening isn’t controllable, precisely. What’s happening with Alice is bigger than this moment, and the guy’s trying to manage it (a managing that feels like closing off, like tamping down) (a managing that feels not-unfamiliar; push something away push something back into order and maybe you can seal a gap (for now) (never mind that you’re still bleeding)), but the guy’s missing some pieces, Treavor reminds himself there are things the guy’s got wrong, or it seems like the guy’s got wrong, and the whole thing feels messy right now and maybe the least Treavor can do is try to offer some amending, because maybe it’ll help, maybe it’ll keep the guy from sealing himself with these mistakes.
(That last thing the guy said. ’You should feel safe from me.’ It’s a weird fucking thing to say. It’s a hollowing thing to hear. Because there’s meaning to those words, maybe history behind them, though Treavor doesn’t know it. Because the words ache with something badly wounded.
And isn’t it strange, to think of feeling unsafe here.
Treavor’s felt - Treavor knows he’s felt - more secure this morning than he’s been in ages. (Knows this guy feels safer than anyone he’s met in years.))
If Alice has allowed Treavor to keep his hand, Treavor’ll brush his thumb against the back of that hand once, twice. Steady while Treavor looks for Alice’s eyes, seeking to fix them with his own, a variation on the usual staring; still persistent, unrelenting, but without coldness, lacking distance. Penetrating, but not hostile, not unkind. ]
Alice. Listen to me, okay?
[ ’I don’t know what’s doing on, but—‘ Not that, no. ]
You’re okay.
I’m okay.
Hey, everything’s all right. You scraped me up and gave me a place to sleep. You did a good guy thing, kept me from sleeping against a dumpster. That makes you pretty much the polar opposite of dickweed, got it?
And uh.
[ He flicks a glance away, wants to scratch his neck. Avoids the urge and fixes Alice in his stare again. ]
You can’t kick yourself for me being dense. I just figured… Like I said, I’m a dick, been a dick, I’m a mess sweating all over your very nice sofa, like I’m the last person in the world I’d bat eyes at, and my standards are pretty nonexistent. And hey, to be fair, I didn’t know you had it in you to make a, uh, suggestive joke.
[ He manages to cock an eyebrow, a little. ]
You’ve got surprises in you, Alice.
[ And, pressing that hand, if he still has that hand— ]
Hey, you didn’t do anything wrong. Look at me: self-inflicted sick aside, I’m a-okay.
You’ve been a good guy. Pretty sure you are a good guy, and you don’t need to worry. I'm not worried. Hey, that’s a Treavor Pendleton promise!
[ And? Fuck it, a minor tilt on the head, and a wink just for Alice. ]