He's still thinking about things he can't control. Nightmares. Floods.
Veins and fur. He can't have what he wants. There's no escape from what he
is. There never was. That's fine.
Credence hasn't even touched his wand since the flood. Then again,
everything else has gone to hell, too. Sleeping, eating. He's been
meticulous about making sure that Goldstein is cared for.
"I...maybe."
He feels like he's letting Quentin down. He's already proven himself to be
irresponsible, selfish, stupid. He doesn't want to disappoint him even more.
He just needs to give Goldstein one final, careful stroke before carefully
depositing him onto his bed, and closing the door to keep him in. Safe, for
now, from the idiot he decided to live with.
He doesn't feel like pointing out that he asked for them not to talk
about those options again. As much as he wants them. As much as the
memories are some of his favorite places to retreat to.
He says, going really red now, completely wrongfooted, tongue tied to the point where the only thing to do now is watch the deck and put one foot in front of the other
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magician_king) wrote2020-01-12 01:19 pm
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[He's up and running.]
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What - ?
[Well, he's too sad and confused to move.]
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It didn't belong to Quentin to begin with. It might as well go where it can do some good.
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"Quentin-?"
Goldstein is still cradled against his body with his other arm.
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Says Quentin, freezing, caught. It's harder to pretend to be calm in person.
"So- that'll get you into the Enclosure."
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"I - n-no. This is yours. He gave it to you."
He holds it out, on an open palm.
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He promises, backing up a step, tucking his hands behind his back.
"Seriously. It's better if it's with you."
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He shakes his head.
"I don't want to b-be the first person who knows if you die. I'm sorry."
That's what it is, to him. Not a skeleton key, but the opportunity to know when he could have saved his friend from terrible pain and didn't.
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He points out, but stops backing off, at least.
"It'd let you be what you want to be. Without the risks."
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Credence swallows the lump in his throat.
"I - I don't think that's true."
He's still thinking about things he can't control. Nightmares. Floods. Veins and fur. He can't have what he wants. There's no escape from what he is. There never was. That's fine.
"Please take it back."
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He says, at last, baffled, but too wrong-footed to argue. He comes slowly over, holding his hand reluctantly.
"If that's what you want."
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No. Maybe. He has no idea what he wants, any more. Can't trust himself to even guess.
Freak.
He places the poker chip back into Quentin's hand.
"Thank you for offering. It's - very kind of you."
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He says, tucking it in his pocket, watching the floor.
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"You did a lot. You - I would have done something - really bad. Really stupid, and selfish, and wrong. If you hadn't talked to me."
He means it. He's flagellating himself a bit harder than usual, but the gratitude is genuine.
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He's really desperate to do something, anything.
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Credence hasn't even touched his wand since the flood. Then again, everything else has gone to hell, too. Sleeping, eating. He's been meticulous about making sure that Goldstein is cared for.
"I...maybe."
He feels like he's letting Quentin down. He's already proven himself to be irresponsible, selfish, stupid. He doesn't want to disappoint him even more.
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He promises, softly, but very sincerely.
"Just call me. That's all."
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"I will. I promise."
When he stops feeling lost and sick and terrible. That'll happen soon. Probably.
"...could you just - let me in once? And - unless it's lessons, I. I won't ask again."
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He offers, trying to read his expression carefully.
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Credence nods.
"Now. Please. I just - "
He just needs to give Goldstein one final, careful stroke before carefully depositing him onto his bed, and closing the door to keep him in. Safe, for now, from the idiot he decided to live with.
"I'm ready."
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"Fox or goose?"
He could do more, but doubts Credence wants to wait for paste.
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"W-what? No. Neither."
He doesn't feel like pointing out that he asked for them not to talk about those options again. As much as he wants them. As much as the memories are some of his favorite places to retreat to.
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He says, going really red now, completely wrongfooted, tongue tied to the point where the only thing to do now is watch the deck and put one foot in front of the other
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"No, I'm sorry." Credence doesn't blush, he blanches, his face going grey and hollow. "I - I should've been clearer. I just...need some time."
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"You can- program in whatever you'd like. Here."
Tapping it with the chip to wake the room up.
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