He means to say I believe you, or maybe, perhaps contradictory, there are no real terms, but what he says first, in a tight fast ugly burst, is, "I'm afraid of the dark."
There's a hot blush slightly blotchy across his cheeks, and his throat works for a moment, silently, as he tries to say anything else, and also tries not to throw up, which feels very abruptly possible. He takes short, careful, deliberate breaths.
"Like a fucking two-year-old," he elaborates, harshly, the verbal equivalent of digging his nails into his palms, which he is also doing. He swallows. He swallows again. This wasn't where he meant to go -
"There aren't real terms. Or even soldier's terms. I've got a weak spot the size of a white sun for children being hurt, and Fives - you can just guess how much he doesn't." He breathes through his nose.
"I believe you. That there's bad things. You're right, that I was being dismissive, I'm sorry. I really should know better. But I don't think Fives really - you told me, he said that to you, in the context of you warning him about magic. If you asked him what the context was - I mean, he might just stare and you and recite the conversation, because what even is context. But I think he heard you in the context of telling him he might be scared enough to back down and not try something. Anything. That he might not be up to the task he'd been set. And he'd go through a lot of very bad things by any standard before that, or even admitting that, which - would make it come across even more terribly, right? The 'of course it'll be fine' that doesn't even feel optional to him. I don't think you need to shut up next time. I just -"
He unclenches his hands. Breathes. He has a sense of what he would ask, but not the words for it.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2018-03-24 04:21 am (UTC)There's a hot blush slightly blotchy across his cheeks, and his throat works for a moment, silently, as he tries to say anything else, and also tries not to throw up, which feels very abruptly possible. He takes short, careful, deliberate breaths.
"Like a fucking two-year-old," he elaborates, harshly, the verbal equivalent of digging his nails into his palms, which he is also doing. He swallows. He swallows again. This wasn't where he meant to go -
"There aren't real terms. Or even soldier's terms. I've got a weak spot the size of a white sun for children being hurt, and Fives - you can just guess how much he doesn't." He breathes through his nose.
"I believe you. That there's bad things. You're right, that I was being dismissive, I'm sorry. I really should know better. But I don't think Fives really - you told me, he said that to you, in the context of you warning him about magic. If you asked him what the context was - I mean, he might just stare and you and recite the conversation, because what even is context. But I think he heard you in the context of telling him he might be scared enough to back down and not try something. Anything. That he might not be up to the task he'd been set. And he'd go through a lot of very bad things by any standard before that, or even admitting that, which - would make it come across even more terribly, right? The 'of course it'll be fine' that doesn't even feel optional to him. I don't think you need to shut up next time. I just -"
He unclenches his hands. Breathes. He has a sense of what he would ask, but not the words for it.