Mostly it's just not knowing much about Jedao and Eiffel's relationship. He knew there was one, given Eiffel's location at all the parties, but he had no idea of what it meant or how they felt about one another and they never really discussed it. Sometimes he wonders if his friends thinks he doesn't care about the rest of their lives because he's so careful with what he asks, how he tries not to delve.
That's a different problem and not the one that's really relevant now.
There was some rawness, rawness that wasn't Jedao's problem and wasn't, in some ways, his business. Rawness that he found another solution for. But John's pretty good about his emotions once there's been some action on them, once they've seen light, so it's a lot less about that.
Mostly it's the 'not knowing what's welcome' thing. So yeah, he waits.
But eventually, he will paint something small, postcard sized, something with dark stars and shifting galaxies, something that somehow carries the music of the spheres within it and he'll put it in an envelope and label it specifically for Jedao and place it next to his door. On the back of it is written: ]
I hope everything is okay. Let me know if I can help. I love you. - John Doe
[He left, for a minute or less, barge time, but he was exhausted when he came back, emotionally more than any effort it had taken to pop Pryce's head like a grape. Eiffel hadn't liked it, but he was going, going where Jedao couldn't look after him, so he didn't get a say about what Jedao did instead.
He's come out for duty, to check on Justine and putter about in the Engine Room, caring for the barge and letting her hum, gently, around him. But then he's mostly gone back to his room and curled up in quiet, like he used to do when he was injured, like some other part of him was still rebuilding itself.
He stares at the card for a long time, trying to find words that stick in his throat. And he doesn't write a nice note back, because - it feels like too much, having to put his face on to go deliver it. So the answer is just on the comms, when it comes.]
[It's not true to say I never lost a friend before. He lost Reid, and Daniel, and James, and now Shen Wei. He'd left Hemiola behind, even though he told himself it was only for a while. But feels true. It feels like this is unprecedented, irrevocable, unbearable. Not quite unrecoverable, but -
- he can't say any of it that matters by text, and his whole chest feels locked up, aching with it.]
[He's so tired, from nothing, and he half wants to say come pick me up, but then he might cry all over John right in the hallway like an idiot, so he doesn't do that. He makes himself get up and give his hair a fast comb so he doesn't look like a mangy cat and climb all the way to the deck before he texts back.]
[Jedao does look a little different, some of the slow changes he'd started after he realized Shen Wei had graduated more clear than they'd been at the time of the party. The throat scar is gone, and his face looks a little bit younger, his shoulders a little narrower, under a sweater that actually fits him instead of obscuring breadth and muscle. He looks tired, but mostly in the eyes and shoulders, rather than in anything physiological.
He doesn't take John's hand, yet, but manages a weak smile.]
[ The scars don't surprise him. And the rest is the sort of thing he wouldn't notice. After all, his own appearance shifts here or there. Sometimes his hair is a little longer or shorter. Sometimes he's more clean shaven and other times, there's scruff and there's no logic to which day will be which. His height fluctuates here or there, a few inches or more if someone's being intimidating.
He's mostly concerned with the sadness.
He nods. And he'll lead the way in to what appears to be a great forest. The trees aren't all the normal color of trees but there's still a certain consistency between them, like a family portrait. There is the strange sensation of being watched but not with any menace. Just curiousity.]
He closes his eyes and tilts his head back after he steps inside, feeling the space and weight ripple out around him in his mothsense. He doesn't know how the barge does it, but it always feels real. He takes slow, deep breaths, tasting air that hasn't been recycled a million times. Suddenly his face scrunches and he gulps more air, his one hand reaching haphazardly for John.
John had given him some space, had tried not to be too close to let him have air, so he isn't close enough for his arms to be around him first. Instead, the tentacles wrap close and tight around Jedao and he'll be pulled into John's arms, scooped up and immediately nuzzled and kissed with deep affection.
He balls up his fists, arms bundled in against his chest; his shoulders hunch up around his ears. He doesn't really react much to the kisses; he just - wants to press his face against John's shoulder, wants to hide in him.
The kisses are just to say what words feel too brusque for: I love you, I'm here. And he'll let Jedao clutch and hide for as long as he likes. He'll just keep gently petting his hair and holding him against him.
He tenses up for a second and then goes almost completely limp, all the tension gone as he lets John's tighter grip hold him up, completely trusting to his strength.
"I don't know," he admits, voice raspy, silent tears rolling down his cheeks and soaking into John's clothes. Eiffel isn't dead. Jedao isn't grieving him. He just -
There's another soft kiss and John's going to start walking until he finds a rock with some moss, a good place to sit and just cradle Jedao in his arms.
Jedao tolerates the slack while they trundle along; when John finds a place to sit, he only says, "Tighter," with a hitching little breath.
He's wallowing, but he doesn't know what else is left. He's sulking like a child, because his friend went away. It's not like he didn't know, after Hera showed up, if not before. Eiffel had a dozen best friends, more, because wanted to befriend everyone, and he was the best friend you could ask for, every time. And Jedao had been fooling himself, all long, that he could beat those odds.
The arms but mostly the tentacles tighten and more of them joint in; tentacles looping around his arms and legs and shoulders, wrapping close and tight, pressure from every angle.
"If there's one thing I know you aren't, it's stupid." But he'll give a little squeeze. "...but I know that doesn't change feelings. In some ways, it makes them worse."
"I didn't want him to go," Jedao says, the stupid little-kid stubbornness that keeps welling up in his mouth, like blood from a too-deep wound. He tries to breath around it, tries to think. Tries.
"I've lost people I loved before. But it was always because I killed them." It was awful, it was almost unbearable, but he did it, he chose it. It feels impossible that it could simply happen to him, like a tornado twisting down out of a clear sky, like planets abandoning their orbits, plummeting into fire or the dark.
Being out of control, having things happen to you, having things happen entirely without you doing anything. It sounds insane, but it's not something he'd been used to. And it's terrifying.
Plenty of other things have happened to him - and really, if he thought about it rationally for a single second, which he hasn't, Dhanneth very much took him by surprise, no matter how much Jedao blames himself for his suicide. But it feels true, at the moment. Because -
"He loved me back," Jedao croaks out, on an awful, wretched sob. "I know he did, I know it wasn't a lie this time. But I still wasn't enough."
This is- well, this makes a lot of things make more sense. He'll keep the pressure on Jedao, press a few kisses to his hair mostly to give him something else to focus on. Then-
"He did. He does, I'd bet. But his choice wasn't because you were... deficient." His voice goes softer. "There's no such thing as 'enough'."
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Mostly it's just not knowing much about Jedao and Eiffel's relationship. He knew there was one, given Eiffel's location at all the parties, but he had no idea of what it meant or how they felt about one another and they never really discussed it. Sometimes he wonders if his friends thinks he doesn't care about the rest of their lives because he's so careful with what he asks, how he tries not to delve.
That's a different problem and not the one that's really relevant now.
There was some rawness, rawness that wasn't Jedao's problem and wasn't, in some ways, his business. Rawness that he found another solution for. But John's pretty good about his emotions once there's been some action on them, once they've seen light, so it's a lot less about that.
Mostly it's the 'not knowing what's welcome' thing. So yeah, he waits.
But eventually, he will paint something small, postcard sized, something with dark stars and shifting galaxies, something that somehow carries the music of the spheres within it and he'll put it in an envelope and label it specifically for Jedao and place it next to his door. On the back of it is written: ]
I hope everything is okay. Let me know if I can help. I love you. - John Doe
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He's come out for duty, to check on Justine and putter about in the Engine Room, caring for the barge and letting her hum, gently, around him. But then he's mostly gone back to his room and curled up in quiet, like he used to do when he was injured, like some other part of him was still rebuilding itself.
He stares at the card for a long time, trying to find words that stick in his throat. And he doesn't write a nice note back, because - it feels like too much, having to put his face on to go deliver it. So the answer is just on the comms, when it comes.]
im just really sad
i dont know how to talk about it
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Lots of things.
Or nothing. Whatever you need.
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i like all your art
i dont know what i need
i never
[It's not true to say I never lost a friend before. He lost Reid, and Daniel, and James, and now Shen Wei. He'd left Hemiola behind, even though he told himself it was only for a while. But feels true. It feels like this is unprecedented, irrevocable, unbearable. Not quite unrecoverable, but -
- he can't say any of it that matters by text, and his whole chest feels locked up, aching with it.]
will you show me somewhere new?
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Meet me at the Enclosure?
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ok
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He doesn't take John's hand, yet, but manages a weak smile.]
Inside?
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He's mostly concerned with the sadness.
He nods. And he'll lead the way in to what appears to be a great forest. The trees aren't all the normal color of trees but there's still a certain consistency between them, like a family portrait. There is the strange sensation of being watched but not with any menace. Just curiousity.]
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"He -
- he was -"
He swallows and swallows, forgets to breath, drags little breaths in again, shudders.
" - he was the first kind person who ever smiled at me," he finally says, in a broken little voice that glitters like glass.
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So this was like-
A little like if he lost-
Oh.
His arms and the tentacles squeeze a little tighter.
"I'm glad you had him. And I'm sorry that he's not here anymore. Do you... want to talk about him?"
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"I don't know," he admits, voice raspy, silent tears rolling down his cheeks and soaking into John's clothes. Eiffel isn't dead. Jedao isn't grieving him. He just -
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There's another soft kiss and John's going to start walking until he finds a rock with some moss, a good place to sit and just cradle Jedao in his arms.
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He's wallowing, but he doesn't know what else is left. He's sulking like a child, because his friend went away. It's not like he didn't know, after Hera showed up, if not before. Eiffel had a dozen best friends, more, because wanted to befriend everyone, and he was the best friend you could ask for, every time. And Jedao had been fooling himself, all long, that he could beat those odds.
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"I've lost people I loved before. But it was always because I killed them." It was awful, it was almost unbearable, but he did it, he chose it. It feels impossible that it could simply happen to him, like a tornado twisting down out of a clear sky, like planets abandoning their orbits, plummeting into fire or the dark.
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Being out of control, having things happen to you, having things happen entirely without you doing anything. It sounds insane, but it's not something he'd been used to. And it's terrifying.
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"He loved me back," Jedao croaks out, on an awful, wretched sob. "I know he did, I know it wasn't a lie this time. But I still wasn't enough."
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Hm.
This is- well, this makes a lot of things make more sense. He'll keep the pressure on Jedao, press a few kisses to his hair mostly to give him something else to focus on. Then-
"He did. He does, I'd bet. But his choice wasn't because you were... deficient." His voice goes softer. "There's no such thing as 'enough'."
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