["More than you know" is what he really wants to say. What he would say, if he could be just a little more honest. But he can't, because even admitting something like that is saying too much. So instead he goes quiet for a bit.]
...I can imagine.
[Way to describe his entire freaking life, bro.]
Bro, you know that if I could tell you, I would. But I can't.
[It would inevitably ruin things. He's not sure in which way, exactly, but it would somehow and he can't take that risk.]
...Well, you know that if I could help you, I would. But... if you keep this up, I can't.
[That's really the only thing he can say. He has been trying so hard, and now he's starting to realize that maybe Serif was right. Maybe even the Witch couldn't fix all of this.
He gets back up to his feet, looks at the door.]
If you want to sit here and wallow in your own misery instead of letting me help you, I suppose there's nothing I can do tonight.
...I'd like you to at least try to sleep. Take care of yourself. But if you won't even listen to me when I say I want to help, I can't expect you to listen to that advice.
So tell me. Would you like to let someone who loves you more than anything take care of you and try to make you happy... or would you rather be alone?
[It hurts, Tempus being mad at him. And it's worse because Serif understands it. So it's not like he can argue. He'd be mad at himself too...
...No, he doesn't even need to imagine that. He is mad at himself. A wave of self loathing goes through him as his brother stands up and it honestly makes him feel physically ill.
He looks up at his brother while he talks. And he knows what kind of answer he wants to give. He wants to tell Tempus what's bothering him. He wants to tell him about the nightmare he had, about how real it felt, like he was really back in that golden hallway, facing a kid so unlike the one they'd gotten to know. He wants to tell him all about his 'pen-pal' and the promise he made and about everything...
Serif actually opens his mouth to speak, the words he wants to say the most already ready to go.
[That... wasn't the answer he wanted. He can tell from looking at his brother's body language it isn't the answer Serif wants to give. Neither of them is happy with this, so why can't they just... do something that would finally allow them to be happy?
He wants to cry. He wants to scream. He wants to grab Serif's hoodie and shake him around. He wants to hug him and never let go.
...But instead, he just walks out of the room, down the hallway, up to his bedroom, and collapses onto his futon.
[Serif shuts his eyesockets tightly and doesn't open them again until he hears his brother leave the room. He releases a shaky breath. When... was the last time talking to his brother had ended badly? He doesn't remember.
He's not sure if it's the sleep deprivation, all the ketchup he drank, or all the emotions he's feeling right now - or, more likely, all of the above - but he feels really sick. He honestly thought he couldn't possibly feel worse tonight, but his head is spinning and even though skeletons don't exactly have stomachs, he's still really nauseous. He figures at least half of that is pure guilt.
He's still so tired, but he doesn't want to know what will appear in his dreams if he tries to sleep now. As much as he just wants to lie down and never move again, that's just not going to keep him awake. Staying up here won't help. Going back to the lounge... that means there's a big risk of running into other people. Which was fine earlier, when the conversation helped keep him distracted.
Now he just feels empty and he's not sure if it's a good idea for other people to see him like that.
...
Serif just sits there, not moving, for at least twenty more minutes, before he finally forces himself to get up and use a shortcut to get to the roof. Maybe looking at the sky for a while will help.
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no subject
...I can imagine.
[Way to describe his entire freaking life, bro.]
Bro, you know that if I could tell you, I would. But I can't.
[It would inevitably ruin things. He's not sure in which way, exactly, but it would somehow and he can't take that risk.]
no subject
[That's really the only thing he can say. He has been trying so hard, and now he's starting to realize that maybe Serif was right. Maybe even the Witch couldn't fix all of this.
He gets back up to his feet, looks at the door.]
If you want to sit here and wallow in your own misery instead of letting me help you, I suppose there's nothing I can do tonight.
...I'd like you to at least try to sleep. Take care of yourself. But if you won't even listen to me when I say I want to help, I can't expect you to listen to that advice.
So tell me. Would you like to let someone who loves you more than anything take care of you and try to make you happy... or would you rather be alone?
1/2
...No, he doesn't even need to imagine that. He is mad at himself. A wave of self loathing goes through him as his brother stands up and it honestly makes him feel physically ill.
He looks up at his brother while he talks. And he knows what kind of answer he wants to give. He wants to tell Tempus what's bothering him. He wants to tell him about the nightmare he had, about how real it felt, like he was really back in that golden hallway, facing a kid so unlike the one they'd gotten to know. He wants to tell him all about his 'pen-pal' and the promise he made and about everything...
Serif actually opens his mouth to speak, the words he wants to say the most already ready to go.
"I don't want to be alone."]
2/2
As much as he wishes he could start being honest now, it's a little late to turn back.
He doesn't think he could force the words out even if he tried, anyway.]
...
Night, bro.
no subject
He wants to cry. He wants to scream. He wants to grab Serif's hoodie and shake him around. He wants to hug him and never let go.
...But instead, he just walks out of the room, down the hallway, up to his bedroom, and collapses onto his futon.
For once in his life, Tempus feels exhausted.]
no subject
He's not sure if it's the sleep deprivation, all the ketchup he drank, or all the emotions he's feeling right now - or, more likely, all of the above - but he feels really sick. He honestly thought he couldn't possibly feel worse tonight, but his head is spinning and even though skeletons don't exactly have stomachs, he's still really nauseous. He figures at least half of that is pure guilt.
He's still so tired, but he doesn't want to know what will appear in his dreams if he tries to sleep now. As much as he just wants to lie down and never move again, that's just not going to keep him awake. Staying up here won't help. Going back to the lounge... that means there's a big risk of running into other people. Which was fine earlier, when the conversation helped keep him distracted.
Now he just feels empty and he's not sure if it's a good idea for other people to see him like that.
...
Serif just sits there, not moving, for at least twenty more minutes, before he finally forces himself to get up and use a shortcut to get to the roof. Maybe looking at the sky for a while will help.
(...It doesn't.) ]