[god, he cannot just do this. this is mortifying, how he finally blinks and tears spill in earnest and this is exactly the sort of thing that gets people like him killed. moments of weakness, opportunities to dig the knife in, hints you can be exploited for a soft heart.
but it's started now and he doesn't know how to turn this off, not after a good decade or two of careful compartmentalizing that's now ripped at so many seams he doesn't know where to start. what's worse is he knows some of it is just for pal, because viktor cares too much and pal's entire existence now is such a pointlessly cruel series of events it's nauseating. that god damn palamedes can still care so much after everything instead of shutting it off like viktor thinks anyone sensible would.
he sucks in a breath, shaky and unable to let go of pal's wrist to hastily try to wipe at his damn face.] It-it is different. [he insists, forcing himself to meet pal's eyes. ones that maybe don't quite fit his face.] I am getting rid of- of excess. Pointless things. You are destroying yourself and I cannot simply accept that.
[and pal is cupping his cheek, his grip on pal's wrist tightening for a brief moment before it goes lax in defeat. he closes his eyes and swallows down what he's sure would be a pathetic sound, this is all so pathetic he could scream. and yet he's leaning into pal's palm like he's starving for the warmth of it, hands lowering to pal's elbows, grip tight on the fabric there.]
I am not worth the risk. [he manages finally in an exhale, pained but easier because it's the truth. pal fought and fights the powers that drag him down, he's steadfast for this girl most likely lost, he's steadfast for viktor and what has viktor done? helped singed shut rio's brain off, worked for the chembarons, scraped by until his own death illuminated how little he's done to prove his life was even worth living.]
no subject
but it's started now and he doesn't know how to turn this off, not after a good decade or two of careful compartmentalizing that's now ripped at so many seams he doesn't know where to start. what's worse is he knows some of it is just for pal, because viktor cares too much and pal's entire existence now is such a pointlessly cruel series of events it's nauseating. that god damn palamedes can still care so much after everything instead of shutting it off like viktor thinks anyone sensible would.
he sucks in a breath, shaky and unable to let go of pal's wrist to hastily try to wipe at his damn face.] It-it is different. [he insists, forcing himself to meet pal's eyes. ones that maybe don't quite fit his face.] I am getting rid of- of excess. Pointless things. You are destroying yourself and I cannot simply accept that.
[and pal is cupping his cheek, his grip on pal's wrist tightening for a brief moment before it goes lax in defeat. he closes his eyes and swallows down what he's sure would be a pathetic sound, this is all so pathetic he could scream. and yet he's leaning into pal's palm like he's starving for the warmth of it, hands lowering to pal's elbows, grip tight on the fabric there.]
I am not worth the risk. [he manages finally in an exhale, pained but easier because it's the truth. pal fought and fights the powers that drag him down, he's steadfast for this girl most likely lost, he's steadfast for viktor and what has viktor done? helped singed shut rio's brain off, worked for the chembarons, scraped by until his own death illuminated how little he's done to prove his life was even worth living.]