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Varian stared down at his boots. He could barely make out the outline of them, the dim moon being the only source of light in the cramped jail cell.
Well, it wasn't actually cramped, but it really felt like it was more often than not. Even while sharing with Andrew they had their own spaces, albeit somewhat small. That space was occasionally not enough for Varian, and then occasionally it was too much in his longing for human interaction.
Now was one of those times where he didn't have enough space. It felt like the very walls were crumbling, closing-in on him at an unceasing pace. He gripped at his sleeves, pushing himself further into the wall he sat by than he thought was possible. Varian huddled himself in the corner, sitting awake on the jail cot in silence.
Stop thinking, Varian. Stop. Thinking.
His mind wandered, bouncing from memory to memory. Memories which once seemed pleasant and now seemed to be dripping with poison, waiting to choke him and steal the life from his body.
Memories of his friends–No, his former friends.
The time when Cassandra gave him the first place ribbon at the science expo, the time when Rapunzel got to formally meet Ruddiger after Varian informally adopted him, the time when Eugene and Lance took him clothes shopping after insistent suggestions from the two. And so, so many more.
He hated all of them. In that moment, his flaring hatred wasn't due to the "betrayal" or anything of that sort. In that moment, he hated them because of how much he suddenly missed him.
Varian thought Andrew was a nice, good person. Andrew cared for him, allowed him to hang on a little longer. Andrew was the first person to actually listen to him in months and hear his side of the story. But Andrew wasn't any Rapunzel, or Eugene, or Lance, or Cassandra. He hated to admit that fact almost as much as he hated the sting from the losing them.
He could still vividly remember when he had first met them, all except Lance, back in Old Corona. He could vividly remember the desperation as his machines went wrong, begging Cassandra to let him go. That feeling of everything closing in when he re-examined the unstable machine; That feeling was unfortunately similar to now, sitting suffocated by the bars and the darkness, and that idea alone could be enough to make him spiral.
Varian could also remember the happier memories better while sitting here. He cursed whatever being thought that was a good idea. He'd rather have the hurtful ones be more apparent in his mind, the vengeful ones that fueled his anger instead of his tears.
He hadn't noticed it before, too wrapped up in the muddled heap of sappy thoughts, but tears were beginning to gather in his narrowed eyes, daring to overflow.
He cautiously glanced over to Andrew, noticing how shaky his breathing had become, and he thanked the stars that the man still appeared to be asleep. Why couldn't he be sleeping right now? Instead, here he was, nearly crying while curling in on himself.
Varian was practically writing his own sobstory, each thought that grazed his mind furthering his despair. He put a hand up to his head, scrunching up his messy hair between his fingers and tugging hard. He wished for anything, anything to make his brain shut up, whether that be sleep or someone banging his head into the wall so that he could focus on the ringing in his ears instead.
He was crying now. He tried so hard to hold back his tears but he failed again.
He didn't just hate the memories, their cheerful auras and nostalgic undertones nearly insufferable. No, he hated himself for how guilty they made him feel. He could barely deal with that feeling, all of it crashing down at once like a wave.
He hadn't felt guilty before. The closest thing he felt to guilt was when he stole the sundrop flower and Rapunzel pleaded with him, telling him to stop, but that guilt was quickly replaced by fury. Everything else he didn't feel guilt for because he convinced himself that it wasn't his fault. None of it was his fault, right? It was Rapunzel's, and the King's, and Corona's fault the entire time.
So then why did he feel so guilty now? Why were tears streaming down his face, his hand tight over his mouth so that Andrew wouldn't hear his stifled, choked sobs? Why did he even miss them? After everything, why?
Varian racked his brain for answers, but nothing. He pulled up his knees to his chest, gaze now burning into the wall next to him. Silent, annoying, hot tears burned his eyes and cheeks. He was already sick of having to wipe them away since the removal of them only came with the quick arrival of fresh tears, pooling at his chin and staining his clothes when stray drops fell.
He couldn't explain it, but it was like something had broke or changed in him. Like somebody had flicked a switch in his brain and left him in the dark, confused by his own mind.
He had lost any intent of violence. He didn't want to hurt them anymore, he just wanted them to forget. He wanted everyone in Corona to forget, everyone to just act like they never knew him so that he could have a second chance in society.
Sometimes he even wished his own father would forget nearly everything about him because then there could be a chance that he'd actually, finally be proud of him. Varian was sure his dad would never be proud of him if–he couldn't confidently say 'when' anymore–he got out.
It was like he had fully opened his eyes for the first time in months, perceiving the reality of everything that happened, where he was, his guilt and anger. He had to swallow another sob, his quivered breaths broken up by poorly stifled cries. He kept his hand over his mouth, free hand still on his head.
Be quiet, Varian. You can't get in trouble again. You can't let him hear. You can't let anyone here. Stop crying, just get over it.
"You done yet, kid?" Arose a different voice from the one in his head. Only slightly different.
Varian jumped, the sudden noise and thought of being caught scaring him. He cautiously cast a tear-stained gaze over to the other man who still had his back to Varian. Though he knew too well that the voice belonged to him, nonetheless.
"I-I'm sorry, Andrew, I didn't mean to wake you up," Varian quickly apologized, quavering voice barely a whisper. He hated how his voice shook. He hated his tears. He hated how the only person he could muster up anger towards now was himself.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Varian forcing himself to shut up even further. He was afraid to even breath the wrong way and annoy his cellmate more.
"What's going on with you?" Andrew was the one to finally break the silence, the gloomy, cold air around them nearly palpable with awkwardness.
"I don't wanna talk about it."
He couldn't be weak in front of Andrew. Plus, he feared how his voice would tremble if he attempted to speak that much.
Then silence, again. Varian couldn't tell if he appreciated it or hated it. He sat in high alert, now unable to calm himself even moreso than before. Drumming his fingers on his knee, his stare alligned to fixate on his hands and unspoken words laid themselves at the tip of his tongue.
Eventually, it was Varian's turn to break the silence. He didn't dare look over this time.
"Andrew?" His voice was slightly muffled by his sleeve, head moving to rest on his arm and knees.
"Yeah? What is it, buddy?"
"About the plan..." Varian's voice quieted again, finger drawing circles on his boots, "Can we–..." He sighed, trying to find a way to word what he longed to say, "We're not going to hurt anyone, right?"
This time, he was certain that the silence that momentarily followed worried him immensely. But the overthinking voice in his head was cut-off again;
"I promise we won't have to hurt anyone, Varian," Andrew assured him, his voice in a strange tone that Varian couldn't describe.
Varian cracked a small, pitiful smile. A desperate smile that barely reached above his sleeves from where his mouth was. Another tear finally broke free, dancing down his face and yet he still smiled, strained, weakly.
"Thanks, Andrew."
"Of course. Can you go to sleep, now?"
"Um, y-yeah, sorry."
Varian wiped his eyes again, acutely aware of the painful sensitivity that was now around them. It wasn't like he hadn't experienced worse, but the mild soreness was irritating. He forced himself to lay down in the prison bed, turning over to his side and curling into a ball.
He promised. He promised we don't have to hurt anyone.
This scenario was eerily familiar.