I thought he came because he cared about me. He said he came because he cared. But--
He's so tired. Has he ever felt this tired before? After Larson, getting back to the barge--it felt not unlike this. Complete with the very tenuous grip on his willingness to persist.
Out of the night that covers him, black as the pit from pole to pole. He's never going to be as strong as either John or Arthur.
He said I 'came in hot.' He said I desecrated John's kingdom by showing up mad. He said he wanted to understand and then he didn't listen. He said I yelled and that John didn't rise to it, because of course it's my fault, everything is my fault to him.
There's a beat of a quiet, a bubble of - not real fury, but bristling outrage nevertheless, as Jedao's attention is caught for a moment on entirely the wrong thing, like snagging his sweater on a door handle only for half the garment to yank and unravel.
Desecrated his kingdom??? It's not the most important part, but maybe they're both kind of tired of dwelling on the important part. Maybe it's okay for Jedao to just be gobsmacked for a minute.
What a pompous lilyfucking dunce. The audacity of him, honestly. I'm going to put glitter on the insides of all his gloves. He probably won't really. But for a moment, he really wants to.
Jedao cuddles him tight and just keeps going, since it seems like this is okay.
What an ass. Fire and ash. Yes, this is definitely the thing to be poetically melodramatic about, Arthur. You cracked walnut. You pickled wolf gizzard. Fuck. I'm sorry he was - was such a pugnacious prick to you, baby.
It will not be catalogued in his head as a mature moment, no, but Edwin can't help it. He lets Jedao go on a bit. It's a relief, it's such a relief to know that he wasn't wrong to feel bad about how Arthur put things, that it wasn't him being stupid or not understanding a turn of phrase.
He said just because I hate Charlie, that doesn't mean I can make John choose between us. Just because I hate Charlie. I don't hate Charlie. I don't fucking hate Charlie. Maybe I wouldn't even be mad at any of them if it wasn't always about fucking Charlie. Charlie Charlie Charlie be patient with Charlie be kind to Charlie let him say whatever he wants to you and tackle you when you're not doing anything and look at you like something from a clogged sink that just came alive but don't for a minute think about anything but how Charlie feels.
He still has octolimbs. This is progress from "ball."
I could break him, is a though Jedao doesn't mean to share, a distant whisper on the mental breeze. Charlie is all open wounds, still, and it would be easy to tear him apart, like a cat disemboweling a stuffed toy. Jedao could yank his paranoia so hard he couldn't even look at John anymore, and probably fuck him up badly enough that he couldn't function as a warden, either.
It would be intolerably cruel, and it wouldn't fix this fight, and it might backfire if in a trauma-fueled panic Charlie got himself demoted instead of leaving, making him someone Edwin was obligated to be concerned for. It's not a useful strategy and it's not the person Jedao chooses to be.
But he could do it. He can see how.
His pain and fear aren't an excuse to be cruel to you, Jedao says first, firmly.
Jedao ducks his head to give Edwin another little kiss on top of the octopus head, and keeps cuddling him with one arm. With the other arm he reaches over to his calligraphy brush, and writes on the currently laid-out strip of paper, I am kind. I want good things even for the person who makes me feel miserable and stuck, in neat, flowing script. Then puts his brush back down, letting the ink dry.
Is it possible that he didn't tell you right away because he didn't want to hurt you? Or even...just wanted it to be private?
Jedao is quiet for a little while, stroking Edwin's head.
Will you help fold this one, for me? he asks, nudging the now-dry strip of paper that says I am kind toward Edwin with a mothpush, while he reaches with one hand to lay out another piece of paper for his brush.
The octopus becomes less of an octopus as Jefao strokes him and instead... well, instead he ends up looking like the little winged fox thing he was in the red blobby, complete with looking slightly more like a stuffed animal than the real thing. His colors are different though, vibrant and varied, the wings white and tipped in gold and black, his fur a mottled orangey-red.
He sits up to fold the paper and stares at it instead, feeling like half his insides have been replaced by lead.
"Does it matter if I'm kind if--"
Ah, there go words again.
"Sometimes it feels like it doesn't matter if I'm kind."
He remembers the constant low-level fear and hatred of his Kel, the way it ate at him. Not that he had all that many opportunities to be kind to them. He thinks of sitting with Dhanneth in Medical, needing to make sure he was okay. And Dhanneth killed himself just the same, in unbearable revulsion at having touched Jedao, having been forced to love him.
"It does matter, though. It doesn't always make the changes we wish it would. But it matters, every time. It's easy to check, if you think about how it would be different if we were cruel, instead."
He writes on the next slip, in very precise, small letters, I try to pay attention to the little things, with people I care about. Even when it's scary, even when I don't know what they mean.
His ears flick backwards at that note, somewhere between guilty and ashamed.
"I was-- I was cruel with John. He tried to hug me and I didn't let him. I should have let him. It would have helped. It would have helped both of us. But I w... I wanted him to try again and he didn't, but that's-- I should have just let him hold me when he wanted to."
"...No? I- I don't think so. I was just so... angry, and scared, and-- it's like I said to Malcolm. That I'm... scared of people leaving me. Giving up on me. Finding other people they like better. I wanted-- I wanted..."
His voice quiets, ashamed again. "I wanted proof he-- proof, I don't know."
That's not right, the words aren't right but he's not sure how else to frame it.
"That-- That-- That he knows I always want to be there, even if I'm being stupid and hurt, that he can hug me even when I'm mad if he needs it. That he can get mad at me, too, that he can yell and break things and be that kind of angry too and that won't scare me. Breaking things doesn't scare me. Things people say scare me."
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He's so tired. Has he ever felt this tired before? After Larson, getting back to the barge--it felt not unlike this. Complete with the very tenuous grip on his willingness to persist.
Out of the night that covers him, black as the pit from pole to pole. He's never going to be as strong as either John or Arthur.
He said I 'came in hot.' He said I desecrated John's kingdom by showing up mad. He said he wanted to understand and then he didn't listen. He said I yelled and that John didn't rise to it, because of course it's my fault, everything is my fault to him.
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Desecrated his kingdom??? It's not the most important part, but maybe they're both kind of tired of dwelling on the important part. Maybe it's okay for Jedao to just be gobsmacked for a minute.
What a pompous lilyfucking dunce. The audacity of him, honestly. I'm going to put glitter on the insides of all his gloves. He probably won't really. But for a moment, he really wants to.
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What an ass. Fire and ash. Yes, this is definitely the thing to be poetically melodramatic about, Arthur. You cracked walnut. You pickled wolf gizzard. Fuck. I'm sorry he was - was such a pugnacious prick to you, baby.
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He said just because I hate Charlie, that doesn't mean I can make John choose between us. Just because I hate Charlie. I don't hate Charlie. I don't fucking hate Charlie. Maybe I wouldn't even be mad at any of them if it wasn't always about fucking Charlie. Charlie Charlie Charlie be patient with Charlie be kind to Charlie let him say whatever he wants to you and tackle you when you're not doing anything and look at you like something from a clogged sink that just came alive but don't for a minute think about anything but how Charlie feels.
He still has octolimbs. This is progress from "ball."
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It would be intolerably cruel, and it wouldn't fix this fight, and it might backfire if in a trauma-fueled panic Charlie got himself demoted instead of leaving, making him someone Edwin was obligated to be concerned for. It's not a useful strategy and it's not the person Jedao chooses to be.
But he could do it. He can see how.
His pain and fear aren't an excuse to be cruel to you, Jedao says first, firmly.
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Don't. Don't hurt him, he-- He doesn't deserve it. He deserves to be happy. I just--
When he's around I feel like a monster, and now John will want to be with him more, and...
He didn't even bother to tell me.
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Is it possible that he didn't tell you right away because he didn't want to hurt you? Or even...just wanted it to be private?
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Sometimes John looks at me like Charlie does when he's scared. That's not me thinking of the worst thing, that just happens.
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Will you help fold this one, for me? he asks, nudging the now-dry strip of paper that says I am kind toward Edwin with a mothpush, while he reaches with one hand to lay out another piece of paper for his brush.
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He sits up to fold the paper and stares at it instead, feeling like half his insides have been replaced by lead.
"Does it matter if I'm kind if--"
Ah, there go words again.
"Sometimes it feels like it doesn't matter if I'm kind."
He starts folding almost robotically.
TW, suicide mention
He remembers the constant low-level fear and hatred of his Kel, the way it ate at him. Not that he had all that many opportunities to be kind to them. He thinks of sitting with Dhanneth in Medical, needing to make sure he was okay. And Dhanneth killed himself just the same, in unbearable revulsion at having touched Jedao, having been forced to love him.
"It does matter, though. It doesn't always make the changes we wish it would. But it matters, every time. It's easy to check, if you think about how it would be different if we were cruel, instead."
He writes on the next slip, in very precise, small letters, I try to pay attention to the little things, with people I care about. Even when it's scary, even when I don't know what they mean.
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"I was-- I was cruel with John. He tried to hug me and I didn't let him. I should have let him. It would have helped. It would have helped both of us. But I w... I wanted him to try again and he didn't, but that's-- I should have just let him hold me when he wanted to."
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"...No? I- I don't think so. I was just so... angry, and scared, and-- it's like I said to Malcolm. That I'm... scared of people leaving me. Giving up on me. Finding other people they like better. I wanted-- I wanted..."
His voice quiets, ashamed again. "I wanted proof he-- proof, I don't know."
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That's not right, the words aren't right but he's not sure how else to frame it.
"That-- That-- That he knows I always want to be there, even if I'm being stupid and hurt, that he can hug me even when I'm mad if he needs it. That he can get mad at me, too, that he can yell and break things and be that kind of angry too and that won't scare me. Breaking things doesn't scare me. Things people say scare me."
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"I don't know. I don't know what I wanted. I don't know why I'm always angry now."
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