Wᴇ ʜɪᴅᴇ ᴏᴜʀ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴs Uɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ sᴜʀғᴀᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʀʏ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴇɴᴅ ( closed )

[righteously]

WHO: Various!
WHERE: The Aerie
WHEN: July 2512 (November 2020)
WHAT: Consolidated Event Threads
NOTES OR WARNINGS: extreme violence, angst, adult language, potentially explicit content.

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[wittingly]

[ Is there really anybody left on the planet good enough to help the victors fully recover? Some of them paint on a good face, but they're either covering up the damage or they're a fucking sociopath.

Still, some people fare worse than others. Some people go straight to parliament to scream uselessly into a political void and are never heard from again. Some kill themselves quickly, some kill themselves slowly. It's impossible to know for the first little while how it's going to go.

He's passive as she guides him, following along placidly until they get into the bedroom. He closes the door, falters, and then locks it. There's no point, nobody else is going to be here, the front door is locked, but... he just feels a little better about it.

He's silent as he sheds his jeans and his overshirt; he's hung around her wearing boxers and tank tops since he was a fucking kid, he doesn't even think about it now. He just slips beneath the sheets mechanically. ]

[evocation]

[It's just going to be like this, she thinks. The weird little quirks he didn't have before, stretches of time—maybe long, long stretches—where he just seems off. She tries not to look worried as she watches him, because that will just make it worse, won't it? She doesn't want him to start faking that he's fine for her sake.

Maybe she can just think of this as an extension of every other time they've needed each other. All those stupid breakups, all the normal heartbreaks of growing up. The awful things, like her dad leaving or his mom dying, that had seemed utterly insurmountable.

So Kyna just kicks her shoes off, ditches her jeans and steals a pair of his shorts to drown in like she always does. Climbs into bed after him and snuggles close, like she always does. They've been staying up all night together when they couldn't sleep and filling the time with stupid stories since they were kids, whether they were in the same room or just texting over Warbler. Kyna's not sure silly conversation will cut it this time, but maybe the familiarity will. She brushes his hair back from his face, keeps her voice soft and fond.]

I jacked up the thermostat for you, you know.

[wittingly]

[ He winds his arms around her, and it's better than any actual security blanket. Being surrounded by his own room, the smell of his own laundry detergent, his best friend, it does wonders to soothe the building anxiety attack that had been threatening to take root. It isn't a fix, the hollow feeling still lingers. That strange sense of disassociation still lingers. It's dull instead of sharp.

He can't muster up any version of a laugh, but he puts a modicum of energy into sounding wry. ]

That bad, huh?

[ His state, he means. How crappy he seems. Pathetic enough that she'd jack up the temp despite being a damn snowman. ]

[evocation]

[She hesitates, visibly torn as she keeps combing her fingers through his hair. You look like shit would be totally true, but she doesn't want to say it. They don't make a habit of lying to each other, though, so brushing it off feels... wrong. Unfair. God.

Kyna shrugs a shoulder, swallowing.]

I was trying to think of ways to—

[She cuts herself off awkwardly, frowns as she struggles to figure out a way to explain that doesn't feel stupid. But everything is going to feel stupid, so fuck it.]

Make you feel... better. Safer, maybe. You know?

[wittingly]

( A lot of his emotions feel... distant. Muted. It's like being underwater, trying to listen to music playing above the surface. He's grateful, appreciative. Fond. All of those things, of course he is, but they're like shadows. )

Thank you.

( He'd have made a joke, before. Something about the worst threat of all being hypothermia. Now, there's mostly just quiet for long stretches. )

I don't think it's set in yet.

( He admits, voice small and tentative. )

That I'm here. Home. I keep... realizing it, but it doesn't... stick.

[evocation]

You've been in front of fucking cameras for like three weeks.

[She doesn't mean to sound heated, but it sneaks in anyway. Kyna has never put a huge amount of thought into the Quarry—it's just there, a force of nature like the tides. Watching him go through it has been entirely different.

He probably doesn't need more anger, though, so she lets out a breath, focusing on her fingers through his hair. When she continues, it's quieter.]

It'll stick. Things will feel normal again. I'll just annoy you until they do.

[wittingly]

( If it makes her feel any better, the heat in her tone doesn't evoke much of a response from him. It doesn't really penetrate the fog any more than calmness does.

What does help is the feeling of her fingers running through his hair. It makes a few tense muscles relax, makes his eyes slit to something more half-lidded. Still unfocused, still settled on nothing in particular on the ceiling. )

Yeah.

( A quiet murmur, an easy relent. )

I hope so.

( But somehow he gets the feeling normal's going to have a new definition from now on. )