Archive of Our Own

“Larry, I’m the most problematic person you know, right?”

Larry eyes you warily as you give him time to chew on the macaron you insisted he eat.

“…I’m refusing to answer that question,” Larry drawls after finishing his first bite, eyeing the remaining bit in his hands. “Per usual.”

He then closes his eyes to thoughtfully chew on the bitter orange blossom flavor. The remaining eleven macarons he refused to take any more of, since he had bought all of them for you, but you know how he loves delicacies as much as you do. You yourself had devoured three of them immediately, almost tearing up with happiness of memories of a time when your grandparents and parents were still alive. Of when your body wasn’t burdened with as many issues, when you looked forward to life more than what cool food would be your planned splurge for next week.

It was rather sweet of him to remember that it was a flavor you haven’t had since you left your homeland to move to Paldea, though.

You roll your eyes and shift on the couch, crossing your legs. You grimace, thinking of the accusation that you’re going to have to throw at him soon.

“But like,” you protest, “I think everyone should try to seriously kill themselves at least once. Isn’t that problematic? I doubt most people are more problematic than that.”

Larry closes his eyes in lieu of an answer, although you know the sigh he lets out is a sign that you’re trying his patience.

Good.

“That isn’t something that a decent person would wish on everyone, no.”

You nod affirmatively, as if this helps your argument somehow. The argument you haven’t even started making yet.

“And I’m sexist and think all men suck.”

Larry rolls his eyes.

“Decent men will agree that a large amount do,” he snorts. ”I don’t know how Rika deals with them all day as the representative of La Primera. She tells me some horror stories, sometimes.”

You hum in acknowledgement, although you’ve never met the woman. In fact, you’ve never met anyone from Larry’s different work-universes, except for the time he collaborated with your boss on behalf of the League, the time you had met each other. The way you had longingly eyed his Alolan Malasadas had Larry glaring at you, clearly protective of his food, causing him to outwardly state that it’s weird for a grown adult to covet someone else’s food so blatantly.

Somehow the two of you had managed to bond after that as two non-pretentious foodies, enough so that even after his collaboration with your boss ended, you hang out. Now you try small food places together.

No one else was as willing to try suspicious food as you were, and no one else was willing to go out of their way to explore new food like he was, so in a way, the two of you bonded over that.

Tangent aside, what really matters is that Larry keeps his social spheres very separate and distinct, which is why you were surprised when two children approached you yesterday specifically asking about him.

“Okay, so when I say something is problematic, I probably know what I’m talking about, right?”

Larry furrows his eyebrows.

“What?”

You nod your head, somehow feeling as if you’re starting to make your point, despite the man’s clear confusion.

“If even I think it’s problematic, then something definitely is. Real knows real, after all. Red flags fly together, or some shit like that.”

You see Larry’s brow furrow even more as he slowly tries to process it.

"I think you just made that up—“

You nod somewhat sagely.

“That’s right. And I have something I need to talk to you about.”

You watch the man’s face take on a confusion that seems rather lively for the rather exhausted look he usually has to him. You’re already starting to confuse and baffle him, which means you’re starting out with a strategic advantage in this upcoming awkward confrontation.

“Okay…?”

You cough, clearing your throat. You sternly fix him a look before you deflate a little.

“Two kids walked up to me yesterday.”

Larry nods to show he’s listening.

“And….”

You pause for a moment. You had never met Florian and Juliana before, but when the two Academy students showed up at your workplace excitedly walking around and staring at every person as if it were a museum, you had found it mildly amusing.

That is, until they focused on you for longer than the others before approaching you.

“Do you know Florian and Juliana?”

Larry blinks. Then he lightly scratches the back of his ear, a habit that you know well by now.

“….Yes. They’re Champions of the League. How do you know them?”

You frown a little. You thought you’d be able to be more obnoxious during this questioning, but it’s kind of hard to hide the disappointment inside of yourself at knowing the children really were talking about him.

“…They asked me if I was the person you were dating,” you awkwardly say. So much for nuance. You have no idea how you thought you were going to be anything other than blunt and direct with this.

Larry’s poker face really is something else, you think – he looks exactly the same, except it’s been a couple of seconds since he’s blinked.

“…I see. Well, what did you tell them?” He drawls, sighing as he shakes his head. “The truth, I presume.”

You nod.

“Yeah. But I was a little worried.”

You see Larry’s eyes flit to you, locked on your face.

“…Worried? About the children?”

No, not about the children, necessarily. And to tell the truth, what you are is a little bit different than worried.

Look. It’s…overdramatic and to most people, an over-reaction, but…it’s how you feel. It’s a disgusting feeling churning in your stomach, one of panic and hysteria.

You thought Larry was better than that.

“Of course I told them the truth,” you try not to bite out, trying to still hear Larry out. Because the children may be wrong, after all. “And I told them that they should be looking for someone older, since I’m way younger than what you’d date. But….”

Larry’s gaze doesn’t leave your face as you unsuccessfully fail to conceal a grimace of disgust.

“They said that they were looking for someone under thirty,” you hiss out accusingly. “You wouldn’t date someone as young as me.”

You carefully watch Larry’s face, dismayed when it’s as stoic as usual. He should be denying it, or at the very least look less guilty as charged.

“…No one in any context would consider anyone above twenty a child. At your age, no one would even consider you a young adult.”

You cringe at that, contorting your face into an ugly look directed at Larry.

“Well yeah, but a decent older man would inherently recognize the power inbalance of that large of an age-gap. They’re at the most twenty-nine, Larry. What the hell do you have in common with a twenty-nine year old? What kind of twenty-nine year old isn’t insanely self-obsessed and self-important?”

Finally, you see the tiniest bit of a crack in his façade. There’s a downturn to his mouth, a defensiveness in the way his shoulders try to keep their detached slouch.

“You’re under thirty,” Larry groans, “And I’d say that we have a fair bit in common.”

You frown, shifting yourself on the couch so you’re staring him right in the eyes.

“Larry, I’m also incredibly self-centered and self-righteous! I’m bitter and jaded but in the edgy youth way, not in the way that has any experience to it.”

Larry snorts.

“Again, you are not what anyone would call a child.”

You frown, gritting your teeth. You feel your eyebrow slant heavily in a disapproving fashion.

“I’m not a child, but I sure as hell am not getting along with any fifty year-olds.”

Larry rolls his eyes.

“Again, you get along fine with me.”

You splutter.

“But that’s an exception,” you hiss. “Because newsflash, I think you’re one of the few decent older men. Or at least I did, until I learned this. Do you make a habit out of trying to court young people? Because older men looking for a younger partner usually want something out of it, and younger people are just too stupid and naïve to realize that it’s unfair.”

Larry rolls his eyes again, this time blatantly. He fixes you with a glare of his own.

“What are you implying?”

You shift so your feet thud on the floor. Menacingly and disapprovingly, you stare back.

“Look. Older men look for younger partners because they don’t know what they can expect out of a relationship. They’re more content with less, because they deal with immature adults their own age, and when an older man who can wipe his own ass and fold his own laundry comes along, they swoon over it.”

Larry rolls his eyes.

“And you know so much about that.”

You frown heavily. You feel the urge to yank his arm, but you get the feeling he might slap you if you do. Not that he’s ever done so, but you also never thought he’d be the kind of creep to take advantage of a younger person either.

“Or,” you retort pointedly, “they squeeze the youth and life out of a younger person, making them into a live in cleaner or homemaker. They don’t actually look for love, they look for someone they can use, and the reason why they’re not dating someone their age is because by their age, potential partners realize they could do so much better.”

Larry’s jaw is clenched. He seems to switch between a withering deadpan dirercted at you and glaring at the box of macarons in front of him, as if he’s mad that you’re attacking him. But he deserves it, if he’s trapping a younger person into a relationship like that.

“Where did this even come from? Do I look like the kind of person who’d do that to someone?”

You shake your head angrily, although your glare just worsens.

“Of course not! I’m sexist and hardly get close to men, let alone someone older, so the fact that I even consider you one of the people I’m closest to means I’ve always thought highly of you! That’s why I’m disappointed in you!”

Larry’s balled up hands push into the couch, showing an irritancy and frustration. You are attacking him brutally, but you didn’t expect him to actually deserve it.

“For what?”

You glare at him.

“For using a younger person! For either trying to have an easy relationship where you get off scotch-free for being a bad partner, or for using them for a live-in cleaner.”

Larry groans out loud, his hand reaching up to pound against his forehead once.

“You’re pissing me off with your accusations,” he grinds out. “Incredibly so.”

You cross your arms, your eyes widening in defiant anger as you stare at him.

“Oh really? Good.”

The look Larry sends you could wither anyone with less self-righteousness than you.

“I. Don’t. Want them to be a live-in cleaner.”

You snort, shaking your head.

“That’s what everyone says. ‘They’re so mature for their age’, and ‘I love and respect them equally’.”

Larry’s eye twitches.

“The person I’m interested in is barely competent in any household work, that’s not what I’m pursuing them for.”

You roll your eyes.

“Right, but you’d make them and teach them, right?”

“They’re chronically disabled, so I highly fucking doubt I’m chasing after them for their ability to provide for me,” he gripes.

Okay, well that puts a little hamper in your argument, but you are way too fucking self-righteous to concede that.

On one hand, you can’t help but begrudgingly add his acceptance of disability to the long list of details that would ordinarily have you swooning over him. He is your friend, so you know he’s cool with disability and doesn’t treat you weird, but it’s another thing entirely to fall in love with someone already knowing their disadvantages. On the other hand, you did have a crush on him…right up to until you got the ick from hearing how he’s one of those creeps who dig having a younger partner.

“Well then, you probably want their body then for sex. Still using them, if not for domicile chores. Do you even think of them as a person and not a body?”

Larry’s furious look on his face really could still the heart of a lesser person, but you’ve got the audacity of a motherfucker. For better or for worse.

…Mostly for worse.

“Newsflash,” Larry snaps, leaving your eye twitching from anger. “They’re sex-repulsed, in their own words, so I wouldn’t even be having that with them. Also, most people don't consider sex as "using" people, if they're in love. You're twisting healthy sexual desire into something it's not.”

This person sounds more and more like you the more he speaks, which only proves your point even more. It just pisses you off more because what, he’s perfectly fine with using someone like you then? Even though he's friends with you?

“Well then what the hell do you see in them?” You snip, although it’s with a baffled outright. “They’re my age, for fuck’s sake? Could you even imagine dating me?”

Somehow, he looks even more pissed off. He wrassles with the pinch of his lips, as if he’s fighting back the urge to say something that’ll be exactly what you don’t want to hear.

And that pisses you off. Never let it be said that you back down.

“I can. Believe it. Or. Not.”

He snaps with vitriol, which causes you to flinch a little. You’ve never seen him with his patience this tested, and you know you’re pushing his buttons. You’re the aggressor here, he’s done nothing to you – but for the sanctity of this poor person he’s trying to pursue, you have to push on.

You have to make him realize that he’s better than this. He’s better than being another creep who dates younger people.

“How!?” You splutter.

 You hate that he can imagine himself dating you, because he shouldn’t. You’re a hypocrite, sure, and you’ve imagined yourself dating him – but no older man who’s worth anything should ever feel anything but disgust at the thought of dating someone that much younger than them.

“I. Don’t. Know,” Larry grits out, fully plunging his head into his hands to the point where his face is now obscured. “You’re pissing me the fuck off.”

“Good!” You cry out. “See? That’s what dating someone younger than thirty would look like. I’m annoying, obnoxious, and unreasonable! But unfortunately, I’m extraordinarily self-aware for someone my age! How many younger folks are as self-aware as I am? You’d have an even harder time!”

Larry’s continued groan is muffled as he refuses to answer you.

The next remaining moments are silent as you awkwardly watch him with his head plunged in his hands. There’s a strange dichotomy of both stiffness and trembling to him, as if he’s infuriated with your audacity and questioning of his moral standing and just trying to hold that back.

You almost feel a little bit bad, except you know he’s better than this. He’s one of the few people that you think could genuinely benefit from being accosted like this, one of the few people who actually contemplate and self-reflect constantly. You know he’s a sweet guy, you know by the way he’s been patient with you this whole time. He’s just fucked up this once, that’s all.

Awkwardly, you raise your hand to hover over his shoulder.

“Larry,” you awkwardly start, although you gently place your hand on his shoulder. You give it an affirming grip. “I know you’re better than this.”

Larry only momentarily lifts his head out of his hands to glower at you, his eyes tinged red in frustration or anger. He soon plunges his head into his hands again, lightly yanking his shoulder away from your touch.

You frown.

“Larry,” you say a little more softly. Because you do think very highly of him, you do think he’s a genuinely wonderful person.

So it just…devastated you, when you learned that he’s trying to get into a relationship with that large of an age difference. Because you had this image of a Larry that was so patient and sweet and gentle on the inside, who understands the limitations of people and knows what it’s like to be taken advantage of, whether in the workplace or elsewhere, and….

To have that image of him kind of shattered, really kind of hurt.

Larry doesn’t deign to give you an answer.

You decide not to place your hand on his shoulder anymore, but you do lean in slightly, so he can hear your words.

“Larry,” you say, trying to put a little sweetness in your voice so at least he can listen to you. You’re unsure if it’s more like honey or molasses but it’s smooth, silky, and you see him shudder a little bit. Sue you if you’ve been practicing a voice that can de-escalate and win over people more easily. “I…really like hanging out with you.”

The man stays quiet.

You decide to continue.

“You’re…so sweet, even if you act like a dickhead at first. And don’t get me wrong, I’m the biggest of dicks. And not even in a good way, where it’s like. I dunno, a good girthiness or some shit. I’m like an artificially extended penis with a circumference of only a centimeter that just exists to be grotesque, malformed and infertile.”

Larry makes a pained dying noise behind his hands, a wet and sickly sounding noise like an old ram with pneumonia.

“…I’m losing my mind.”

You nod sagely, somehow. It has to be the case, otherwise he wouldn’t be into someone your age.

“You are.”

There’s a muffled groan that reaches your ears, so you decide to continue.

“Because you’re quite possibly the loveliest man I’ve ever met in my life,” you say truthfully, although it’s awkward. You feel like it’s hard to express what’s good about him without sounding like you’re in love with him. “Somehow, you’re patient with me. Even when I say shit like I think everyone should kill themselves a little, as a treat. Or when I ask two drunk guys hate-crime-ing each other and beating the shit out of each other, if they’ve seen my driver’s license.”

Even with you right now, he’s being way more patient than anyone could reasonably be expected to. What the fuck are you talking about?

“And like, I know I’m being self-centered right now because somehow I made it about me,” you say, in your stream-of-conscience babble, “But. I can’t imagine anyone close to you not thinking you’re a wonderful person who cares, even if you complain about being a cog in the wheel. You’re a very good cog in the wheel, and you have a dogged dedication to things you’re actually assigned to.”

Even though you know there’s a lot of other things he’s good at, you’re struggling to try and name them right now.

Ah, right! The kids.

“And those kids seemed to really like you,” you haphazardly wager, “Because I think you treat them with a proper amount of respect, but also understand their limits.”

You pause after that, not really sure how to continue.

You hear a sigh, before Larry tiredly lifts his head from his hands to spare a glance at you.

“…The others in the League forget that they’re only children, sometimes. Child prodigies, sure, and probably the strongest we’ve ever had in the region. But I swear, sometimes it feels as if everyone treats them as if they’re infallible.”

Ah, right. They’re child champions. They had to challenge his gym.

Larry’s never told you his third job, and technically he didn’t tell you he was the leader of Medali’s gym either, but he wasn’t exactly hiding the latter. You ordered the meal he told you about on your own free time, and somehow didn’t scream when the chef hollered for him and pointed to you.

You’re losing the thread of conversation. Get it together.

“Right,” you end up saying, shaking your head and trying to piece this all back together. “You’re incredibly considerate. And although you’re not the most chiseled, masculine guy ever—“

Larry gives you a withering glare, and you hold your hands up.

“H-hey, I don’t mean that in a bad way at all! I hate men who stupidly chase after standards of masculinity, anyway. In my homeland, we have a…different definition of masculinity, quite honestly. And by those standards, you’re actually a pretty good fit – you’re collected, capable, and although you appear disagreeable, you try to cooperate with the group to the best of your ability. You don’t actually reject a request unless it’s actually unreasonable for you, but some people mistake inability as unwillingness to. ”

Somehow, you hear a mumble that sounds suspiciously like ‘if only Hassel would realize that’, although you have no idea who Hassel is, aside from that musician that was popular in Paldea a couple decades back that’s now a teacher and an Elite Four. Maybe Larry’s third job involves doing the Elite Four’s finances or something; it’d certainly fit, if he knows Rika.

At this point, though, you kind of…run out of things to say. And it’s not that Larry has no other redeemable qualities – it’s just that you’ve kind of said so much and Larry doesn’t seem so on edge anymore, that it sort of…feels embarrassing to say any more.

“So!” You say, Larry blinking as his attention is redirected towards you, “I think I’ve…tried to make my point.”

Larry blinks once more and sighs, meeting you dead in the eyes. He looks incredibly tired.

“Which is….”

Now you’re kind of pissed off. If he was zoning out while you were speaking, you’ll take back all the good you’ve said about him.

“That you deserve someone that’s your equal,” you say slowly, “And not some twenty-something that could be your child.”

Larry closes his eyes. He sighs and lets his head hit the back of the couch, a weariness suddenly present throughout his entire body.

“…You’re a twenty-something,” he drawls, slowly opening his eyes to drag them over the length of your face. It feels more assessing than warranted, which isn’t really expected unless you’re the person he’s talking about. And yeah, context clues would kind of push you in that direction as well, but. You’d rather not think about the implications of that. “Do you consider me more…like your father?”

You gag dramatically as a response – although it backfires and soon you’re actually coughing and gagging, placing your hands over your mouth in the hopes that you don’t puke up bile and sugary orange flavor back up.

Larry’s face shifts from alarm to disgust, before settling on “concern but also grossed out”.

“I’m fine,” you end up wheezing out, hating your body. You banish all thoughts of Larry liking you to the Distortion World, because no way in hell anyone would find you attractive after that. “And like, no, ew. I don’t interact with you like I did with my parents back when they were still here, and thank goodness for that. You actually respect me and think of me as a person outside of who I am to you—ah, although I know they loved me as much as they could. They were good parents, despite my criticism.”

Hm. You feel a little hypocritical there, saying your parents only considered you in the context of their child and not another human, considering you spent half the time meant to be extolling Larry’s virtues only talking about yourself. Thinking about how Larry was kind to you, and not that Larry was kind in general.

“Which…admittedly I have difficulty doing at times too,” you admit, shifting your legs a little bit. “But you’re…not someone I’m obligated to be a role to, if that makes sense. I’m not a good child, or a bad child, or even a child. I’m just another human being. Sometimes I don’t even feel like you see me as a ‘sick’ person, which is nice. So no, I don’t think I think of you as anything close to a parental figure. Just another person. Which is nice, after being someone who’s ‘not enough’ or ‘different’.”

You’re pretty sure Larry only blinked like twice during that entire spiel, which means he was listening pretty intently to you.

“…You’re another person to me too,” he ends up saying, his face softening a little bit. His gaze never leaves your face, although his eyelids fall a little, surely due to weariness. You try not to read too much into it. “And I…definitely don’t think of you as a child.”

You snort.

“Childish at times, maybe,” you shake your head, “But no, I agree. I’m not a child, so I don’t have the same excuse as a child would at why I’m so bad at everything.”

Larry quietly stares at you. With the way he’s situated and the low lids of his eyes, you wonder if his eyelashes frame his vision of you in a strange way.

You frown a little, shaking your head.

“Either way, the important thing is….”

You stare Larry directly in the eyes. Since he doesn’t lift his head from the back of the couch, you’re actually peering down at him – but that doesn’t faze him at all for some reason, and he just continues staring at you. Like you’re the heavens and he’s just gazing up at you.

You feel queasy. Why would your brain think of something like that?

“Don’t date that young person,” you say, shaking your head and trying to chase away the nausea. “Even if you say your intentions are true, there’s no way you’d be compatible. Twenty somethings don’t have anything in common with someone your age.”

Larry’s tired face turns a little miffed again as he rolls his eyes and sighs.

“Again,” he sighs, “we get along perfectly fine. You and I get along, too. The two of us are proof that your argument is a failure.”

You roll your own eyes and shake your head, giving him a look of general ‘doneness’.

“But you’re not interested in me,” you say, although you immediately regret it. Top ten worst counterarguments, considering basing your argument on that is not only easily taken apart if he says the thing that you’re trying not to think about, but also that you really don’t want him to take the conversation there. “So that’s a moot point. You’re not interested in me because I have all of those qualities of a twenty-something year old that I brought up.”

You’re saying it with a decisiveness that you definitely don’t feel. As if you’re commanding it to be the truth, and somehow trying to delude yourself into making it the truth.

You hate the quiet silence that follows, especially since it highlights the way Larry’s gaze doesn’t leave your face even more.

“…For such an astute person,” he says, “you’re oblivious.”

You try your best not to panic. That…kind of sounds like something someone would say if they’re confessing.

“I. I promise I’m not. Oblivious,” you emphasize, in a mildly reluctant tone. “Trust me on this one. Please.”

You realize that a truly oblivious person would also claim that they’re not oblivious, but you don’t think you’re not seeing all the signs Larry’s giving off. Rather, you think you’re turning your head and pretending not to see it, so you don’t have to deal with it.

Larry, in fact, does not look like he trusts you on this one. Which is a fucking shame.

"I don't know if you and I are on the same page here."

Oh, you know you're fucking not.

Because -- okay, maybe Larry isn't looking for just a house servant. Maybe Larry isn't going to sexualize the young person he's chasing, if it's you (because who could find you sexy if all you do is be baseline nauseous and incapacitated?) But on the off chance that he really is telling the truth and he really isn't looking for sex or a body to do chores for him, you still have no clue why he would even be interested in a relationship with someone younger in the first place.

You sigh and plunge your face into the couch, burrowing your face into the fabric.

"...Larry," you plead, although it's muffled. "Please, just what do you even see in this person? Why do you want to use them so much? What are you going to use them for?"

A long suffering sigh reaches your ear.

"...Nothing, they're not an object. I just...appreciate them. I like seeing them happy. Seeing them makes me happy."

You sit up and sigh, raising your head to cross your arms over the top of the couch before resting your chin on them. You stare at the wall, not wanting to look at him.

"Real funny," you say, rolling your eyes. "You see them as a child then? Or a pet?"

It's silent. You don't know what Larry's going to say next that hasn't been said yet.

"You're...."

Larry starts but then stops. After a couple of seconds pass by without him continuing, you turn to look at him -- only to startle a bit when there's a tired yet accusing look on his face.

"You could...just be direct, if you want me to stop pursuing you. But accusing me of terrible things is not the right move."

You flinch. You're sure there's a miserable expression on your face right now, one that's both caught in the act and weirdly disgusted. You're not sure who you're disgusted with.

"I...wasn't aware you were? Courting me?"

And it's true, to an extent. You didn't realize until maybe twenty minutes ago, although the ease with which you accepted your inner conclusion probably means that you were picking up on signs this whole time. Was it willful ignorance or obliviousness?

Larry looks away once you meet his gaze.

"I'm not entirely sure if I believe that."

Now you're not sure, either. Even if just a week ago, you would have been.

"Look, I...."

You hate colloquialisms, because Larry does look. He looks at you with rapt attention, as if you've caught his eye and now you swirl as the center of his universe. He looks and you wish he'd stop looking, because that's not what you meant when you said look.

At least, you think. You're not too sure of anything anymore.

You shake your head.

"I really didn't before today," you gripe, although you wonder if that was the reason why the conversation with Juliana and Florian put you on edge. "I genuinely thought...and think that there's no good to an older man who chases after younger people."

Larry closes his eyes. Takes in a deep sniff through his nose as if settling something. And then opens them.

"Right. I think we're done then."

And awkwardly, you're at his place -- and everything's just so awkward and you're panicking because at the end of the day, you do care about Larry and fuck, you have had a crush on him for the past year and you have no idea what to do?

"W-wait!" You blurt out, although the look he sends you is incredibly done with everything.

And yeah, you can understand how this must look from his end -- you're playing with his heart, dangling sweet compliments in front of him, calling him close to your ideal of a man while calling him a creep. But you don't know what you want, because why would this even turn out like this? Why would it even come to this point where you were the person he was talking about, because that's just not right?

"I-I-I."

Larry's glare deepens and you really do wonder if you've fucked up everything. Except you don't even know what you even want after this! You don't know if you want to continue being friends with him, or what to do even do about this stupid crush that you literally had until yesterday, until you got the ick.

"I had a crush on you?" You blurt out confusedly, although a part of you wonders if it's too immature to use the word crush. "I have? I guess? You're...I think you're....I. I think you're. Really good?"

Larry's glare doesn't turn any less frustrated, but his lips do press together in more confusion, which...you guess is at least something.

"I just! I just couldn't reconcile the idea of you being a good man with the idea of you liking me! Or...anyone younger, I guess," you blather, trying to figure out the swirling inside of your mind. It's confusing, you're panicking, you don't want him to kick you out because you do actually think of him as a good friend, and you do actually like him quite a bit, even if you don't, now that you know he's not as good as you think he is. "Most age-gaps are predatory! And I know you're not a predator, and I know I'm too old to be taken advantage of, but I...I...."

You hold your head in your hands, staring down at the ground to avoid his eyes. You feel the panic coming on, you feel some tears pushing through -- you don't want to be kicked out, you don't want to lose Larry, but you have no idea what to do even do and you feel so frozen and stuck.

"But I can't reconcile the idea of you being into me with you not having any weird intentions!" You blurt out. "Even if I like seeing you happy too, even if you've only been nothing but patient with me, and I've been so happy hanging out with you, and I look forward to the next time we meet every time we leave, and I want to know more about you in a creepy way. But no one who likes me is a good person!"

You yank your gaze back onto Larry's face, which unfortunately, sports the same expression as it did just moments ago when you last saw it. It gives you no condolence, so you freak out, feeling your face crumple into panic as you finally process what's going on and feel the urge to run out. You never want to see Larry ever again, you want him to console you in his arms, you don't know what you want and so you think you're going to bail immediately.

"Oh my god I'm going to go panic and freak out," you say, slightly hysterically. "Oh my god, I."

It kind of freaks you out, but Larry's hand reaches out to grab your wrists -- and you panic and wrestle your hand out. Larry lets go but then you yelp and grab his hand in return, although you let it go once you realize you have no idea what you're doing and in fact, everything is not going right.

This time, when you look at Larry's face, there's pure concern on his face.

"Hey, calm down. It's alright. Just...just calm down."

You don't want him to leave but you also don't want to stay and you don't want him to make you leave, and so you awkwardly grab at your face as you continue purging your mind of word vomit.

"And you being into me is terrible because I think so highly of you, and I like you so much, but there's no reason why you'd like me unless it's to take advantage of me, but it's not even something normal like sex or household work and I, I."

Wide-eyed, you stare into Larry's concerned gaze.

"If I can't offer you my body for sex or work, then it has to be my mind. But my mind is vulnerable and sick and no one would ever actually love that, so it has to be someone who wants to take advantage of one of my illnesses. But you're too kind for that so I was hoping you wouldn't be interested in me, because then you'd be proven as a terrible person because only terrible people are into me, because you're the most wonderful man I've ever met in my life so of course I'd like you that way, but you can't like me that way because I'm younger than you and incredibly sick in every single way and I offer nothing except someone who's easily manipulated!"

It makes perfect sense in your mind but on paper, you're sure it'd look insane. And you're sure you sound mentally ill, because you are, and the way Larry's staring at you doesn't make you feel any better but it also does because he doesn't look like he's angry at you anymore but instead he--

"I'm not trying to manipulate you. Not all relationships you get into are going to be manipulative. And no one's ever too old to be manipulated, but. Jeez, I have no idea what to fucking say," Larry ends up cutting you off, his hand running through his hair in probably distress. He doesn't take his gaze off of you and you reach out for his hand and he lets you grab onto it, although he makes no move to hold your hand back. "I. Fuck."

He takes in a deep breath, tilting his head back and frowning as he struggles to word a response to the most incoherently worded package of mental illness he's probably ever heard.

"You're incredibly ill," he states, "and that's a large part of you. That has no bearing on how I feel for you."

You could scream.

"How could it not?" You hysterically point out. "I offer nothing. Look at you. You're successful, you're a wonderful man, don't be a creep by liking someone like me--"

"--Why would I be a creep?" He forcefully points out, now holding your hand. Despite the tone of his voice, the way he holds your hand isn't painful at all -- instead it's firm, but not tight. "Why would it be horrible of me to feel something for you?"

You shake your head.

"Because it doesn't make sense! I have nothing to offer," you hiss, "Except vulnerability. Only people who take advantage of vulnerability could see something valuable in me. People who take advantage of others are terrible people, ergo, you have to be terrible if you like me."

Larry shakes his head no resolutely only once.

"That's wrong and you know it. You're more than what you think you are."

"But I'm less than a normal human!"

Larry frowns.

"That's...really not the right way to think of it, nor is it how I think of you."

Larry continues staring at you as you try to take in those words, as you feel the next protests start to bubble up-- but Larry is removing the lid from the pot, stirring it a little bit, watching the bubbles pop.

"I...the only men who've been into me are terrible people."

Larry contemplates this.

"You've had bad luck."

You snort.

"I am bad luck. You don't get this many red flags in a life unless you are the problem."

Larry contemplates now this statement.

"Or you could just be considerate. More willing to forgive than a lot of people. Give people a lot of lenience -- for better, or for worse."

You shake your head.

"That's stupidity. And still my fault."

"Maybe."

You feel yourself loosen a little bit.

Larry is still looking at you, his usual tired face plastered on.

"But do you think you could spare a little of that for someone like me? If you really do think that highly of me."

You swallow.

It...would be so unfair, for you to compare Larry to...all of those terrible people you're thinking of. After all, none of them had ever treated you with the respect Larry has. None of them have ever made you feel seen like him, nor have they ever made you feel as safe. And yeah, some of them may have had feelings for you comparable to what Larry feels...but you share them with Larry, only.

It's...incredibly unfair for Larry to suffer through what people have done to you in the past.

"It's...unfair of me to even put you on anywhere near the same level as those people," you quietly say out loud. "You've been...nothing but...wonderful. And a dream."

"I'm just a normal person," Larry points out, although you know he gets your point. "And so are you. A normal person with limitations that are unavoidable that are part of you, but not all of you."

You look away, down at the ground. And swallow.

"I...really like you," you admit, hating how childish you feel. How it makes you feel as if the age gap is even larger, how you feel as if you're not good enough. "I feel happy around you. Please don't hurt me. I know that's selfish of me to ask because I should be worried about hurting you, but please. I know I'm not a complete person, I know I--"

Larry cuts you off by lightly pressing his hands to your shoulders.

"Stop. You're a complete you."

He looks you in the eyes.

"It gives me happiness when I try food I don't like at a restaurant, because I think of how our tastes are different and you'd probably enjoy it. I never used to like sharing my meal, but now if I'm somewhere new and you're not there, I'd wish I could take part of the meal back as fresh as it came out so you could try it."

You feel your eyes start to water up.

"You look so happy when you eat," you blurt out, "I wish I could make you happy like that because I think you deserve it after working so hard, I wish you could have everything you ever asked for, I wish you got more time off from work and I wish I could make you as happy as you make me."

You feel so vulnerable, so soft and able to be poked and burst, and you're just standing there in front of Larry as you look at him and beg for him to not be mean--

Instead, he wraps his arms tightly around you, pulling you to him. He holds you slightly too tight, which is just the way you wanted him to. You hug him back even more tightly, something you're sure his lungs are probably not thrilled with.

Yet he doesn't let go.

"I think," he mumbles, "You may need to change your mind on age gap relationships."

You refuse to let go of him.

"It's still creepy," you mumble into his chest, "But we're the only exception that's not problematic. You're not a creepy old man and I'm not that terrible of a twenty-something."

Larry huffs.

"I can accept that."