Chapter Text
How many words are enough to completely ruin everything you built over 6 months with a person you liked so much your brains shut off just thinking about him?
Eight.
The answer is eight.
Just eight words to show how much of an idiot you are. At the right moment. With the right amount of disregard and clumsiness. The perfect way to totally fumble.
The conversation started pretty innocently. You were confessing your feelings (calling him “sexypants” is honestly now as normal as breathing even in your thoughts), as usual, maybe downplaying it a bit, making light work out of everything, not really committing via text since that would be embarrassing if he ran again and just quit the chat mid-way, haha. So you changed the topic quick to something that you were wondering for a while. “How’d you end up joining the Hex?”, you asked. Amir replied in his usual fast fashion and, as you thought, made himself feel (through a CHAT, ok? That’s the feeling that you got via chat!) like he was a kid who didn’t want to get out of the bed in the morning for boring daily lessons. So you said the terrible eight words to keep up with the mood.
The dreaded “I felt that whine in my soul lol”.
Lol indeed. Laughing on the floor right now. So hilarious, yeah?
Thought you were so clever, thought you knew where to step, what to do, how to act? Like you have all the damn experience, all the cards seen, all the pictures painted red and gold? You felt comfortable. Like you belonged. All the jokes and sly glances, you really were having fun, weren’t you? You’ve relaxed. Went soft. Decided that you no longer needed to fight to keep what you gained. This… Connection of yours. You should have known better. You should have known more, learned more. What kind of idiot goes into combat unprepared? Worse yet, who would start a battle, thinking it’s a dance? Like there was only smiles to be had, bows to be exchanged, fucking POSITIVITY brimming out of everything but assholes, and even that is up to debate.
What a fool you are, really. And it’s all your fault.
“fine then don’t worry I’ll spare you more of it”
H16h V0l7463 went offline.
That’s when it hit you. A knife between your ribs. The illusion shattered. The dance you thought you had? It was just another one of your executions. Painfully well-disguised, of course. But who could blame you? You wanted to have at least a moment of peace and happiness, so you made up this… Dream of yours. That you were knowledgeable about the matters of the soul, of the heart. You thought that, maybe, even if never ACTUALLY experiencing these things, you’d be adept at it. Being special void thing with time travelling capabilities, that is. It went to your head, instead of being humble, you bathed in it. In the feeling of… Knowing. Or your perception of it.
You don’t know shit, really. You just happen to pretend really good. So good, in fact, that you even fooled yourself.
You should get an achievement for this. “Master spy 007 – improve your deception skill to an extent where you can even delude yourself”. That’s got the right ring to it. You’re worthy of it, after all. The pretender. The fraud.
You’re just that silly little goose who thought “Hey, so now that I’ve talked with these people who have decades worth of experiences so unlike me for a few days I know them better than anyone and can do whatever the fuck I want because I’m from the future and better than all of them!”. Not that you are better than anyone just by being from the future, but how else are you going to explain how blindsided you were by the fact that someone you LIKE and actively cherish every moment with would be offended by a joke… After having a whole conversation full of jokes… And joking….
No.
No, they were not real jokes.
Don’t you dare saying that it was HIS fault for making it look like his feelings on the matter weren’t serious. YOU are to blame and don’t shrink the responsibility for it. YOU are to blame for literally making fun of him. You were supposed to be better than this. You were supposed to know not to tread this path. Do not ask hard questions. Do NOT risk it. You have it good, why do you always have to mess it up? Why, why, why did you even pick THAT topic? Why did you think it wouldn’t be traumatic? What in this timeline is NOT traumatic when it comes to the Hex? Oh, now you’re thinking, aren’t you? NOW is the perfect time, not before a conversation. Absolutely not!
YOU are a joke.
A joke that’s not funny.
A joke that shouldn’t even exist, to be honest.
THAT is the reality of it. You pretend. You are not real in any way. You just delude yourself into thinking you’re worth a damn. But in reality, you’re just a random guy who didn’t do a single thing that’s worth a kavat’s left nut for anyone but yourself. Everything else was a coincidence. What did you do, truly, that you wanted to do, to help others? You don’t help them out of the kindness of your heart, you are just a junkie who’s addicted to being told “good pet, let me pat you on the head”. You like to feel useful, to feel needed, and that’s the reason you’re getting yourself into trouble, not because it’s the right thing to do. You’re nowhere near being a good person, you lunatic. And Amir…
He’s worthy of a good person.
So, maybe you will just… Let him have that person?
It’s not you, totally. You’ve just proven it.
You hurt him. And it was too damn easy.
You will do it again. And again. And maybe you won’t even notice. And he will suffer with a smile plastered across his face because that’s just Amir does, the goofball of the team, the one to doesn’t take anything seriously!
You’re just like the rest of them.
All those who overlook him. Who think him an idiot because he’s full of energy and has a humor sense he perfects every day, like a veteran would polish their most beloved weapon for a fight to come.
You’re nothing special. Just another horrible person in the ocean of others like you.
But at least you have some sense of justice, right?
At least you know that horrible people deserve punishment for their deeds. Because they deserve it. YOU deserve it. But first….
You need to get something out of your system. Or someone.
You’re not getting anything here, with him. You’ve lost your standing. You won’t be the one he’d come to talk about anything and everything to, since he’ll think that “well that one time when I wanted to talk about my traumatic experience, I got joked at so I don’t really want a repeat of that lol”. Valid, honestly. You’d feel resentment. Void, you FEEL resentment right NOW, imagining yourself in his shoes. Nothing left to do but accept what you’ve done and move on, right? Wrong. You won’t move on. You just won’t. You’re a psycho with no ability to be a decent human being and leave from somewhere you’re not wanted. Leave someone who doesn’t want YOU.
Hold on a moment, what do you mean LEAVE someone? You were never together, you idiot. Never in a million years. He’s got better taste than that. So, you gotta just… Forget it, you know? Forget all the silly little daydreams you had because deluding yourself even further would be awkward as fuck. You have to work together after all of this, too. And it’s on YOU to make it doable. Since you made the mess and all. And in order to do that you have to cut him out of your heart by any means necessary. And you know just the man for the job.
“Sup, cuz. Whatcha been cookin’ lately?” – Quincy says as you meet him near the shooting range. His usual lounging grounds. So oblivious of the crimes you’ve committed. The pain you’ve caused. But it doesn’t matter, doesn’t it? You need to forget. There are two ways, this one is better, the other is temporary. This one will have to do. You just have to… Figure out how to do this real quick. You haven’t really planned this for too long (or at all).
“I’m a lot to take in, I know,” – he smirks now, the shit-eating grin, totally looking amused. But it works for you. He took the conversation in just the right direction, and you seize the opportunity. In battle, you use superior strategy to win against your foes. “Never stop an enemy from making a mistake”, you’ve heard once. So you make this mistake count, and go in for the kill. You have no idea what you’re doing but you hope he’ll make enough assumptions to make it easy. To make it just the right amount of painful to move on. You flirt too bold, too quick, you focus on your goal, to get him to agree and seal the deal.
You always thought of him as someone who’d accept a one-night stand with you. The casual flirting in the chats (to practice to use on Amir, but Q didn’t need to know that) indicated as such, anyway. And the reputation of his didn’t make things better. So, you were fully prepared for The Experience. Kind of… Maybe. You didn’t really think about it much. The plan (“plan”) appeared in your head too quickly to have many considerations, but you had to move NOW or lose the opportunity to fix your head and get this over with. You’d chicken out. You’d delude yourself some more. You’d be a fucking coward again and try to ley off all the responsibility on something or someone else because that’s an easy way out, a convenient way, one that you’re used to, and you have to get out of your comfort zone to grow (Eleanor said it, wasn’t it?). So, you took a painful way out, but the one that should work…
Or, at least, you really thought it would.
“Nah, fam. You can use me all you want, no trouble there. But I’m not a fan of getting mixed up in soap operas. Count me out.”
This… Kind of surprised you. Quincy? Refusing to have alone time with a pretty young thing? (You’re not young, but you LOOK young enough. At least you think so… DO you look young enough?)
“That’s… What?” – you have a myriad of thoughts and questions you want to ask, and this is how you frame it? Nice job, genius.
“I said…” – he takes a pointed pause to look you up and over. He then shrugs a little, with that swagger he always has when he’s about to make someone regret their own existence, - “…That I ain’t lettin’ you mess him up by using ME.”
Mess… What?
“Huh?!”
Wow. Eloquent.
“What, brains got laid first before the rest of you? Shit like this cost a lot. And you ain’t got enough to pay my price. Hear?” – he says, weapon handle comfortably laying in his fingers, you know he will use it to scare you off if he needs to, just to make a point. He won’t hurt you, but scare the shit out of you? Yes. And you feel like for some reason he really wants to use it now.
“Shit like what? Didn’t you put your interest on display from day one? Changed your mind?”
“Nope. Mind’s same as ever. It’s you who wants to even the score. That game I ain’t interested in, cuz.”
“I—”
That’s…
Absurd? Why would he do this NOW? What is happening?
“I don’t understand?—” – you begin, but he interrupts by casually pointing a gun at you, after which he speaks,
“Nuh-uh, not going there. Been there, done that. Messy. Don’t want the hassle.” – then he turns the barrel to one of the targets and shoots a bullseye straight through without breaking eye contact. That looks like a threat, but… Why? What is the meaning of it? What does he has to say with this statement?
“Messy… What, you don’t fuck around anymore? Funny.”
“Oh I’m all in for fuckin’ around, it’s the “find out” phase that’s a turn-off. And not the best foreplay. So my advice, - and it’s a freebie, - is to fix your shit or get lost.”
With that, Quincy turns fully back to the shooting range and lets a comfort of a gun embrace his undivided attention.
You stand there for a while, dumbfounded. Surprise. Shock. You’ve totally misjudged him, didn’t you? He sounded…. Hurt? No, not that.
Disgusted, more like.
As if he’d rather bed a ghoul.
You feel like a maggot, suddenly.
You keep doing it, don’t you? Hurting people. Amir, now Quincy. Who’s next on the agenda, then? Arthur? Aoi? You’re just gonna keep at it until there’s no one left unburdened by your failures.
Once again you bit more than you could chew. You thought again that you knew who he is, you fell for the same damn trap. Again, again. AGAIN. BEGIN. AGAIN. Why don’t you begin again, huh? It’s all you do. Just run around in circles, doing the same thing over and over andoverandoverandover—
What has changed?! You left, you left that place and it’s over but it’s not, isn’t it?! You’re still in there, just in your mind! “You can leave Duviri, but Duviri never leaves you”?! Is that how it is?!
You are chugging a drink. You haven’t drunk alcohol before. It burns. So much. It’s disgusting. You regret trying it. You drink again. And again. The world is shifting, but you’re used to it. Transference is a bitch and it hurts too. You have to hurt more to make up for it. It’s not fair that people like you get away with things. You won’t allow it. You HAVE to—
“You really gotta try somethin’ other than that machine oil, fam.”
You’re so scared out of your brains that you:
1) Jumped so high in your seat you could probably consider it a plunge attack
2) Spilled whatever drink you had and it’s now all over your dingy pants
3) Hit your knee on the coffee table
4) Squealed like a moron cuz the knEE REALLY HURT??
5) Actually thought for a second that you’re drinking machine oil and double-checked the bottle
On the last point Quincy seemingly read your and started laughing his ass off. You suppose you deserve that... Only the worst for your first-rate crimes, yeah?
“Kiddin’, cuz, ‘m kiddin’! Oh, the look on your face is worth a bunch. And paid up-front! You’re good to have a deal with!” – Quincy seated himself comfortable in the nearby seat somewhere in the dirty corner of the mall that was probably used once as a staff break room. Shame the door is broken, it seems. You eye it nervously as it sways softly off of one poor remaining hinge. Mood.
“Whaddaya want, shithead?” – you spit out. Or… It was your voice, sure, but… You didn’t really… say that, right? Well you didn’t want to say it like THAT! But. He IS a shithead. And Quincy smirks at you again like he just won a game of poker or whatever it was called. You don’t care. (You do, you’re just shit at it, and he told you as much). – “Came here to gloat?”
“Well, yeah. But not only,” – so matter-of-fact. Cutting you with so many truths you’d rather were left unsaid. And he’s right at least some times, so you can’t always just zone out while he speaks, - “I came here to be the big bro Quincy-K, cuz. Proper kind, at least,” – he looks as uncomfortable as you feel right now when he says the last words of his sentence.
“Did Aoi tell you ‘m here?” – Sol, you can’t NOT mumble, your tongue is entirely too alien. Is this how Eleanor felt back when she just got the Thing? No, you can’t compare your little inconvenience to what she had to go through… Doing so would be a disservice to her. Even thinking of it hurts your conscience. Or what’s left of it.
“Oi, I ain’t snitchin’ on you to anyone yet, hear? This shit’s between us. And one more, but he’s not here. So…” – Quincy slowly puts his hands on the table, folding them like he’s waiting for YOU to spill the deets. What is he waiting for, exactly?
“Not gonna ask you what happened. Ain’t interested. But what I gonna say is that I see some shit. And hear, too. And out of the goodness of my heart I came to be a fuckin’ savior for your stupid ass.”
“You’re annoy’d ‘t me cuz you wanna help me? With what?”
“With the fact that you’re a moron, that’s what.”
“’m aware”
“Good. And just wanna give you a perspective check. Whatever the hell happened – it was not as big as you think it is.”
….
……..
Not…. As big???
Not…
How. Dare. He—
“One fumble doesn’t change the fact he likes you, cuz”
…..?????
“What?” - The pause is so long you feel you went insane, “I. Hurt him, Q.”
“Yeah,”
“It’s my fault,” – you are not crying. You will not cry. You can tremble all you like but you outgrew crying back when you killed your own parents, be it quick or slow, it matters little. You don’t deserve this. You do not deserve to have your sins forgiven and expelled of you in liquid form. You deserve your punishment. Whatever it may be.
“Yep.” – it’s good that he’s agreeing. Makes you smile a little. Means you were right…
“…He’s not gonna talk to me ever again, won’t he?” – you are pathetic. A wet cat. In the rain. You’re drunk for the first time of your life and sniffling like an infant. Because…. What? You were an idiot? That was your fault, even Quincy agrees.
“That, fam, is where us agreeing ends.” – he says.
Wait, what?
He was JUST saying that it was his fault. Agreeing. But…
“The fu—”
“Shit happens, D. We mess up. I messed up a bunch and so what? Alive and kickin’. And as long as you do, you can turn your life around. Fuck, I sound like a pompous freak. Look at what I do for your sorry ass!” – he kicks your seat and you barely come tumbling down. The world is still spinning, but a bit less now.
“What d’you mean b’ that?”
“I mean that… Fuck, ok, rippin’ the band-aid off…” – Quincy, the man who you came to count amongst THE most unapproachable creatures in entire existence, gets more comfortable on his stool and, honest-to-sol, looks like he wants to reach out. Maybe he does, a bit. But he doesn’t touch your hand on the table. It’s closer now, though. Right next to your wrist. You can’t feel the heat, protoframe bodies seems to be pretty heat-insulated, plus he’s got a metal arm. But you could feel the warmth. If there was any in his cold, dead heart. The fact remains unchanged, however, that Quincy looks at you with a weird expression you can’t quite describe. - “You can just say sorry, yeah? Cuz you mean it. He’ll get it. I promise, k?”
He’s… Consoling you?
You. Of all people.
The perpetrator.
The guilty party.
“Hurts like a bitch, I know. Gets better. Eh, maybe not better but duller.” – he continues. It’s strange to hear him speak like that. The dissonance is uncanny. The memories and reality. You’ve judged them all wrong, your new family. You did not uncover even a fraction of reality, still floating around in dreams and your own imagination.
“Why… are you tellin’ me this?” – it took a few tries for you to force a single sound out of your throat. Suddenly losing your most basic means to operate a body is a bit frightening, but you’re too busy wondering who the fuck killed your Quincy and replaced him with an imposter. Maybe Sentients all over again? Broke time and space to stir things up a bit, just like you did?
“Cuz I wanna tell you “I told you so” when you snap outta that drama queen shit you’ve gotten yourself into. And make fun o’ you.”
NOW you believe it’s him.
“There you go! See? I’m right to charge for this!” – he points at your face and you realize that you must have smiled a bit at your own thoughts. You quickly cover your lips with a hand, but forget that you help a bottle. Spilled a little. Q laughed some more. You grumble, but you’re not really angry. Annoyed, maybe. Within reason. Within bottle-throwing reason.
“Sooo… I feel like with all the shit I just saw you do, making a fool outta y’self and all, I owe you the last one. I have a few pointers you can use…”
You spend the rest of the evening discussing flirting tactics. Some – for fun, nothing serious ever in mind. Others…
Well, you just found a few more way how to “un-fumble your babygirl”.
Whatever that means.