[ No, nobodyās seen this. Nobody thatās come in after him, anyway. He hasnāt hit the same level. Not since he first got here and realized the full implications of the situation. That first day where he woke up from a nightmarish sleep to a trial that started him in an all too familiar basement. The loud echoing laughter that followed. Realizing on the manās person was a box that shouldnāt exist.
He had to be physically restrained by the others in that trial and dragged through an exit gate, screaming obscenities until his voice was hoarse. Luckily they never spoke of it after. And so people were none the wiser.
Thereās moments, here and there where he becomes agitated but itās never cruel. Never rage filled. Never unkind.
The edge here is a culmination of an already unstable state - build up and build up until it snaps. Picking at a wound until it bleeds. It comes from a place of pain. And the pain is worse because he cares. That someone so completely innocent of anything would think to carry a weight like that? To warp their head so hard into thinking he caused any of it? The comparison is shit. No. He likes Steve and heās not standing for that. It seemed selfishly dismissive to him at worst.
But Quentin does stop. Against the lack of Steveās hope, he does. He hears wait and stops. He doesnāt turn around but he stands there, head low and tense in every definition of the word. Staring with unfocused eyes at parts of his supplies that made it as far as he did when he kicked it. ]
What? [ It comes out with a bite and then he goes quiet, waiting for whatever it is Steve needed him to wait for. To not leave on a warpath. ]
ā¦ what? [ Again. But itās like a bomb diffusing in slow motion. He looks over a shoulder at him then runs his entire sleeve over his face and turns around. Glaring at first then a microcosm of expressions. Absolute confusion because Steve whispered and he isnāt even sure he heard him correctly at first. Then annoyance. Exasperation. He fidgets in place while heās thinking it over. Sorry?
Not cruel. Not unkind. Not harsh. Steveās guilt is naively devastatingly lacking in self-esteem. He moves like he might run but never does. Oh. ]
Youāre an idiot, Steve Harrington. [ His entire body deflates as he says it, slouching with his arms hanging. Like a cartoon character about to pass out. Like he just canāt keep the energy up to stay mad at him. The words come out in a single breath, a long sigh. Tired but weirdly fond in a way. He hiccups after he says it, from still crying- from yelling-
ā¦ He shakes his head and flips Steve off. ]
Iām telling you not to be sorry. Werenāt you listening? Cut it out.
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i know this and I appreciate you
He had to be physically restrained by the others in that trial and dragged through an exit gate, screaming obscenities until his voice was hoarse. Luckily they never spoke of it after. And so people were none the wiser.
Thereās moments, here and there where he becomes agitated but itās never cruel. Never rage filled. Never unkind.
The edge here is a culmination of an already unstable state - build up and build up until it snaps. Picking at a wound until it bleeds. It comes from a place of pain. And the pain is worse because he cares. That someone so completely innocent of anything would think to carry a weight like that? To warp their head so hard into thinking he caused any of it? The comparison is shit. No. He likes Steve and heās not standing for that. It seemed selfishly dismissive to him at worst.
But Quentin does stop. Against the lack of Steveās hope, he does. He hears wait and stops. He doesnāt turn around but he stands there, head low and tense in every definition of the word. Staring with unfocused eyes at parts of his supplies that made it as far as he did when he kicked it. ]
What? [ It comes out with a bite and then he goes quiet, waiting for whatever it is Steve needed him to wait for. To not leave on a warpath. ]
ā¦ what? [ Again. But itās like a bomb diffusing in slow motion. He looks over a shoulder at him then runs his entire sleeve over his face and turns around. Glaring at first then a microcosm of expressions. Absolute confusion because Steve whispered and he isnāt even sure he heard him correctly at first. Then annoyance. Exasperation. He fidgets in place while heās thinking it over. Sorry?
Not cruel. Not unkind. Not harsh. Steveās guilt is naively devastatingly lacking in self-esteem. He moves like he might run but never does. Oh. ]
Youāre an idiot, Steve Harrington. [ His entire body deflates as he says it, slouching with his arms hanging. Like a cartoon character about to pass out. Like he just canāt keep the energy up to stay mad at him. The words come out in a single breath, a long sigh. Tired but weirdly fond in a way. He hiccups after he says it, from still crying- from yelling-
ā¦ He shakes his head and flips Steve off. ]
Iām telling you not to be sorry. Werenāt you listening? Cut it out.