[minutes tick by and he's shifted through an uneasy half circle of motion: first with his back against the wall, then his shoulder to the door, and finally leaning on the countertop with his arms crossed waiting for the knob to turn. he doesn't know why he sent the text, but can sense amy somewhere, fidgeting. maybe for a brief moment she feels watched, too. maybe she feels nothing.]
I really don't care if you're mad at me
but
[and he doesn't care, but he does stall. but what?]
I'm not a good man. So if you wanna fight better you fight better mad none of that bullshit about chilling out
you gotta be mad
[which sounds genuine, like he's curating a space just for her, like this was what it was about the entire time. not that he can't sleep, or that he's in a constant debate with himself about taking care of a stranger, or that he's lonely in this big new placeβΒ no, this is about making amy a better soldier. be mad at the guy who's not nice and everything will be smooth sailing from there.]
[ He means it, maybe, but it's a turn in the conversation nevertheless, a kind of magnanimity that doesn't really scan, not from her vantage point. A jump from Point A to Point B that covers a little too much ground, at odds partially by virtue of the prickle at the back of her neck. But still, it's something. Not a bark, not a bite, and the worst men are the ones who don't think to say things like I'm not good. ]
if i don't have to be mad at you, you don't have to go out of your way to give me reasons to be.
[ She stops short of saying I have enough to be mad about, of typing if you think I'm not mad, then you don't know anything about women at all. Somewhere in the middle (given over because it's late, because he's already seen the edge to her when she fights): ]
[that's enough. he's too tired for the volatility of his own emotions, running on a switch burnt out two hours ago. his hackles remain raised, muscles taught, teeth grinding on teeth because where else is he supposed to put his tension quietly? not in amy's direction, apparently.]
Yeah so? There's room for improvement what's with you
[for him, this is better. what's with you creates a misshapen olive branch. it's better than why the fuck are you awake and what the fuck do you want, an implication of curiosity brought on by fatigue.]
In bed, she pushes the tension out of her body, stretching her bare legs out over the sheets, letting out a steady stream of breath in tandem with the faint rustling of the duvet.
[roza saw him sweet as softened clay, a boy molded to his surroundings by everyone who stepped within ten feet of him. he had trouble with talking then, too, but for different reasons. elias didn't β couldn't βΒ speak for himself and hid behind his brother. looking someone in the eyes had also been difficult, but being around her taught him how to see.
and boy, does he see. he likes to say how much and when. he catches the girls at the studio out his peripheral and keeps them there. he clocks isolde, amy, gwen, buffy, jem. roza is a permanence while the others stick out to him only because he's spoken to them. but day in and day out amy shows and turns a switch on or off like how his switch goes on or off and maybe it's her experience, and how tired he is and the world, but he senses similarity. familiarity.
roza might say something about that, and elias might say how he should have paid more attention in school when he was there.]
you don't look at me the same
why.
[what happened to you to make you see me differently?]
Edited (a gazillion edits later and i think i'm done) 2025-12-04 06:26 (UTC)
That's the million dollar question, isn't it? Maybe there's an answer, to do with Rand and Marybeth's merciless plundering of their only child's upbringing, or maybe there isn't.
Maybe a viper is born a viper.
But Amazing Amy doesn't see herself that way. So it takes her a moment to mull over the question (to decide if he means the same as you used to or the same as other people do) before typing out an answer, one that works, one that's given because it's nearly three in the morning and he's reaching a hand out through the darkness. ]
great expectations, maybe. placed on me, i mean.
[ A stranger answer than a singular turning point. Tissue paper, in comparison with what he's been through, but a pinprick can change a story as much as a blade buried to the hilt. Then, more tellingly: ]
what about you?
[ Why don't you see what other people see, when they look at me? ]
[amy answers in a somewhat stereotypical manner. this perfect-seeming woman had too many expectations, too much attention, too much love, and that screwed her over. elias doesn't fill in the blanks very well for her or for himself.]
low expectations and really really high ones
[forced on me. he doesn't say he was killed in a hit and run as a teen and got such a bad head injury the world started to get blurry and he doesn't remember pieces, or that he was taken to a facility and experimented on by merciless hands.]
[ The thing is, better that he see her like that β even if she's spent most of her life balking at the label of spoiled rich girl β thanβ not the truth, exactly, but the parts of herself that could be called mean. And it matters less that he might think of her that way when he still answers her question, defying her expectations.
One good deed for another. ]
i'm sorry.
[ And she means it as much as she can mean it, when she doesn't yet have further context, when she's only known him for about a month. ]
at least it's not here.
[ The bullshit. The people behind it. The place. Or she'd know, she expects β he wouldn't be spending his time at the gym, at the very least. ]
[as in, he has had enough of those already. 'sorry' doesn't fix the hatred brewing, the pain layered and layered, crafting him into someone else. sorry is another word that doesn't do any good or bad and he'd rather take silence.]
if it's not one thing it'll be another, Amy. Don't get your hopes up.
[ A part of her wants to say too late, when she can't unsend the text, or even it's better than being given nothing at all, but he's practically allergic to both approaches, so she skips it entirely. Accommodation for accommodation, maybe, when he's stopped swearing at her. ]
i'll try.
[ Typed out with a dubiousness that gets lost over text, though she's never been an optimist to begin with (when don't let yours fall too far down isn't the next response she reaches for). ]
[blame filters in his direction, but it's the gentle kind that doesn't hurt. it's the kind that whispers, you mattered enough for me to stay awake. only, elias never knows whether that's a truth or a lie, so he has to ask:]
[ There are probably, she thinks, a right and wrong answer to this question. She mulls it over, less in any attempt to sidestep the truth than to figure out what won't be too open to misinterpretation over text. ]
because that's what knowing people is.
[ Not because we're friends, when they don't know each other that well, not really. Instead, you mattered, the answer he's suspected, in slightly different words. ]
going to keep answering my questions with questions?
[he stares at the screen for so long it goes dark and all that's left is the reminder of light in his skull. knowing people. elias doesn't let people know him, but he knows people.]
no subject
I really don't care if you're mad at me
but
[and he doesn't care, but he does stall. but what?]
I'm not a good man. So if you wanna fight better you fight better mad
none of that bullshit about chilling out
you gotta be mad
[which sounds genuine, like he's curating a space just for her, like this was what it was about the entire time. not that he can't sleep, or that he's in a constant debate with himself about taking care of a stranger, or that he's lonely in this big new placeβΒ no, this is about making amy a better soldier. be mad at the guy who's not nice and everything will be smooth sailing from there.]
no subject
if i don't have to be mad at you, you don't have to go out of your way to give me reasons to be.
[ She stops short of saying I have enough to be mad about, of typing if you think I'm not mad, then you don't know anything about women at all. Somewhere in the middle (given over because it's late, because he's already seen the edge to her when she fights): ]
i already know how to get angry.
no subject
[that's enough. he's too tired for the volatility of his own emotions, running on a switch burnt out two hours ago. his hackles remain raised, muscles taught, teeth grinding on teeth because where else is he supposed to put his tension quietly? not in amy's direction, apparently.]
Yeah so? There's room for improvement
what's with you
[for him, this is better. what's with you creates a misshapen olive branch. it's better than why the fuck are you awake and what the fuck do you want, an implication of curiosity brought on by fatigue.]
no subject
In bed, she pushes the tension out of her body, stretching her bare legs out over the sheets, letting out a steady stream of breath in tandem with the faint rustling of the duvet.
Okay. Good enough. ]
what do you want to know?
no subject
and boy, does he see. he likes to say how much and when. he catches the girls at the studio out his peripheral and keeps them there. he clocks isolde, amy, gwen, buffy, jem. roza is a permanence while the others stick out to him only because he's spoken to them. but day in and day out amy shows and turns a switch on or off like how his switch goes on or off and maybe it's her experience, and how tired he is and the world, but he senses similarity. familiarity.
roza might say something about that, and elias might say how he should have paid more attention in school when he was there.]
you don't look at me the same
why.
[what happened to you to make you see me differently?]
no subject
That's the million dollar question, isn't it? Maybe there's an answer, to do with Rand and Marybeth's merciless plundering of their only child's upbringing, or maybe there isn't.
Maybe a viper is born a viper.
But Amazing Amy doesn't see herself that way. So it takes her a moment to mull over the question (to decide if he means the same as you used to or the same as other people do) before typing out an answer, one that works, one that's given because it's nearly three in the morning and he's reaching a hand out through the darkness. ]
great expectations, maybe.
placed on me, i mean.
[ A stranger answer than a singular turning point. Tissue paper, in comparison with what he's been through, but a pinprick can change a story as much as a blade buried to the hilt. Then, more tellingly: ]
what about you?
[ Why don't you see what other people see, when they look at me? ]
cw allusions to abuse
low expectations and really really high ones
[forced on me. he doesn't say he was killed in a hit and run as a teen and got such a bad head injury the world started to get blurry and he doesn't remember pieces, or that he was taken to a facility and experimented on by merciless hands.]
a lot of bullshit
no subject
One good deed for another. ]
i'm sorry.
[ And she means it as much as she can mean it, when she doesn't yet have further context, when she's only known him for about a month. ]
at least it's not here.
[ The bullshit. The people behind it. The place. Or she'd know, she expects β he wouldn't be spending his time at the gym, at the very least. ]
no subject
[as in, he has had enough of those already. 'sorry' doesn't fix the hatred brewing, the pain layered and layered, crafting him into someone else. sorry is another word that doesn't do any good or bad and he'd rather take silence.]
if it's not one thing it'll be another, Amy. Don't get your hopes up.
no subject
i'll try.
[ Typed out with a dubiousness that gets lost over text, though she's never been an optimist to begin with (when don't let yours fall too far down isn't the next response she reaches for). ]
still not going to tell me why you're awake?
no subject
are you?
no subject
i'm awake because of you.
no subject
sure
why do you care that I'm awake?
no subject
because that's what knowing people is.
[ Not because we're friends, when they don't know each other that well, not really. Instead, you mattered, the answer he's suspected, in slightly different words. ]
going to keep answering my questions with questions?
no subject
going to keep trying to know me?
no subject
going to keep being annoying? π«’
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
see you around, elias.