Jedao swallows, and from him the dread is soft, instead of sharp, a heavy sucking-quicksand softness in his chest, the place where grief would go, if his love were unwanted once again. But Jedao knows where it is, and how to tread lightly around it.
I don't want you to hate me either. I'd beg you to promise me you'd stop without that, first, and I'd trust you if you did. But I'd risk it, if that didn't work, because I'd still rather you hated me than hated existing in your own - well. I guess it wouldn't be your own skin, and that's the horror of it.
Jedao feels like his body is a little bit wrong all the time, if he lets himself think about it too long, so mostly he doesn't. It makes him feel prickly and bitter about Envy, who made such a fucking fuss about a week of the low-grade revulsion that's been the background radiation of Jedao's entire life, ever since that Kel bullet punched into him and the wrong stuff came out, and even before then, when he realized Jedao One's body was the wrong age, wrong shape, wrong size. But that's unfair and uncharitable, and he's put it away. The only feeling for Edwin to catch is a faint pang around the edges, like distant dolorous churchbells, not sympathy but low resonating empathy. He doesn't want Edwin to feel like that, trapped in the wrongness of a body that isn't his.
I don't think it would ever actually get that far. I think, between me and Hunter and John, you have people you can come to with problems, so you won't be stuck feeling like killing is the only thing you can do. And also people you'll listen to, if there's a time when you're hurting people for any other reason. But there's a part of me that has to have a plan for the worst possible chance.
You ask really good questions, Jedao says, as he slips down from the top of the dryer and opens it up. The clothes inside are still very slightly damp - humid, at least - but in the cooler dry air of the room it'll only be a few minutes before they are fully dry.
Jedao pulls out a big heap of clothes in a pile, armfuls overflowing, probably losing a sock, so that he can bury their face in the soft warm fabric for a few long seconds.
Even though people don't always have good answers. That's one of the things I love most about you."
Edwin may or may not be contemplating the theft of that sock. Something to use to bring him back here inside his own mind when he needs it. He still feels small, but small in a different way, like something held gently in the bowl of a familiar palm.
[I like being able to ask. Not having to guess about things. Most of the time, when people aren't guessing themselves.]
[It's... both. Nice that I'm not the only one guessing, but sometimes frustrating because they pretend they aren't guessing too.]
Edwin gives each folded item an extra little stroke with his borrowed hand, matching the textures of the fabrics to the descriptions of them that he's read or created for himself.
That makes sense, Jedao agrees. Do you want to talk through your thoughts with me, if I promise to admit when I'm guessing? Or would you rather just focus on the nice things for awhile?
Jedao is genuinely happy no matter which one Edwin chooses, and he lets Edwin feel it, the quiet pleased contentment he feels, simply sharing this moment with him.
He debates. He does like talking to Jedao about things, sorting them out, making it make sense. Or at least figuring out what questions to ask. But he's also... fatigued, in a strange way. He just wants to touch warm clothes and fold and be with his friend.
[Nice things.] There's a little bit of guilt that comes with it, like a confession.
Okay, Jedao tells him, simply accepting it, feeling another little burst of affection.
Honestly, being able to pull back from something that's upsetting you and do things that help restore you instead is a really good skill, Jedao adds, as he fishes through the laundry for one of his softest sweaters, pressing it on their face for a moment. He can't make Edwin not feel guilty, but he can at least offer another perspective.
The sweater is a perfect distraction from the guilt of not Trying Harder, and Edwin wishes fiercely he could rub his face against it. It's magical, the way the gentle give of the cloth against Jedao's face feels good, the combination of textures and firing synapses creating something pleasing. It's magical that creatures would spend time and energy to finding things that feel soft to make clothes from, that they would be so dedicated to what feels good beyond the practical.
[I wish I could touch things but not have to be human doing it. ...Not that I-- I like this. I like doing this with you.]
Well, I'm not human doing it, so it's definitely possible, Jedao muses. Some of the things about my body are...still not what I want, but I'm getting them changed with my next deal.
He feels the urge to ruffle hair that Edwin doesn't have.
I like doing it with you, too. But I'll help you get what you need if I can, he promises.
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I don't want you to hate me either. I'd beg you to promise me you'd stop without that, first, and I'd trust you if you did. But I'd risk it, if that didn't work, because I'd still rather you hated me than hated existing in your own - well. I guess it wouldn't be your own skin, and that's the horror of it.
Jedao feels like his body is a little bit wrong all the time, if he lets himself think about it too long, so mostly he doesn't. It makes him feel prickly and bitter about Envy, who made such a fucking fuss about a week of the low-grade revulsion that's been the background radiation of Jedao's entire life, ever since that Kel bullet punched into him and the wrong stuff came out, and even before then, when he realized Jedao One's body was the wrong age, wrong shape, wrong size. But that's unfair and uncharitable, and he's put it away. The only feeling for Edwin to catch is a faint pang around the edges, like distant dolorous churchbells, not sympathy but low resonating empathy. He doesn't want Edwin to feel like that, trapped in the wrongness of a body that isn't his.
I don't think it would ever actually get that far. I think, between me and Hunter and John, you have people you can come to with problems, so you won't be stuck feeling like killing is the only thing you can do. And also people you'll listen to, if there's a time when you're hurting people for any other reason. But there's a part of me that has to have a plan for the worst possible chance.
Edwin understands that, Jedao is pretty sure.
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He hates how small his voice feels.
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He feels very - tender, protective in a new way.
You ask really good questions, Jedao says, as he slips down from the top of the dryer and opens it up. The clothes inside are still very slightly damp - humid, at least - but in the cooler dry air of the room it'll only be a few minutes before they are fully dry.
Jedao pulls out a big heap of clothes in a pile, armfuls overflowing, probably losing a sock, so that he can bury their face in the soft warm fabric for a few long seconds.
Even though people don't always have good answers. That's one of the things I love most about you."
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[I like being able to ask. Not having to guess about things. Most of the time, when people aren't guessing themselves.]
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What about when everyone else is guessing? Is it at least nice to know you're not the only one who's not sure, or is it just frustrating?
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Edwin gives each folded item an extra little stroke with his borrowed hand, matching the textures of the fabrics to the descriptions of them that he's read or created for himself.
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Jedao is genuinely happy no matter which one Edwin chooses, and he lets Edwin feel it, the quiet pleased contentment he feels, simply sharing this moment with him.
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[Nice things.] There's a little bit of guilt that comes with it, like a confession.
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Honestly, being able to pull back from something that's upsetting you and do things that help restore you instead is a really good skill, Jedao adds, as he fishes through the laundry for one of his softest sweaters, pressing it on their face for a moment. He can't make Edwin not feel guilty, but he can at least offer another perspective.
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[I wish I could touch things but not have to be human doing it. ...Not that I-- I like this. I like doing this with you.]
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He feels the urge to ruffle hair that Edwin doesn't have.
I like doing it with you, too. But I'll help you get what you need if I can, he promises.