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You thought this would be different. Did you? You’re not even sure you were thinking at all. You don’t remember what even drove you to do that. You don’t remember most of it, actually. Just like old times.
But even through the combined headaches of alcohol and whatever fucked up candy-colored crack binge you were just on, you do remember one thing. It’s an ache now, but it felt like he stuck his damn sword through your heart when he said it. Even while you were double inebriated, it hurt. It hurt a lot.
And now he’s sitting to your right, on a stone slab like your own, talking to someone. Your hazy gaze can make out some blue text on his phone. Jane. Oh god, what happened with her? You feel the need to go console her, like you always do. Hell, you do that for everyone. Though not many people returned the favor. Not like they needed to, that’s not how friendship works. But Dirk did.
He looks like hell. His hair is greasy and looks like it was molested with by a bottlebrush. There is an actual scowl on his face. As many times as you’ve seen his face, you’ve only seen hints of emotion. Except when you kissed him. You saw fear.
And suddenly you feel even more shitty. You roll onto your back, your body expressing its anger at you with a throbbing head and heavy fatigue. Sitting up barely makes any noise at all. Your aspect is void, after all. Dirk looks like he’s nursing the same headache as you. Knowing him, he’d probably like a little peace and quiet. You can do that.
Dangling your legs off the edge, you look around yourself. It’s dark, and there are heavy chains…floating? You must be on Derse again, judging by the colors. Or, more likely, inside of Derse. The stone slab you’re sitting on has the void aspect symbol on it, outlined by a dark blue. If you had to make a wild guess, you’d say these is your quest bed, like what Calliope was telling you about. You don’t remember getting here. One of the reasons not to mix booze and sugar-meth, you muse to yourself. It’s almost funny.
The sigh you release under your breath is from years of fatigue. You’re tired. Tired of being a support pillar. Tired of being a rudder that steers the rest of your dysfunctional entourage away from veering off a cliff. Tired of keening for someone who, as it turns out, doesn’t feel the same way about you.
And suddenly your face is moist. Fuck. You could use a damn drink. But not only are you supposed to be sober, there’s nothing to drink anyway. Double fuck.
You steal a glance back to Dirk’s quest bed, making sure you don’t turn your head too much, in case he’s watching you. You don’t want him to see you cry.
You watch as her shoulders quiver a little. Of course it hurts you to see it. Even behind her you know she’s crying. You want to run over to her, hold her and tell her its alright, its okay.
You’re understanding her for once, even though she’s not saying anything. You wonder if it’s the ring you eventually allowed her to put on your finger. At the time it was just to get her to stop nattering. Now you’re glad she did. It’s increasing your heart aspect’s power, you suppose.
She peeks over to where you were sitting on your quest bed a moment ago, and you can see her eyes are red, outlined by her now shining cheeks. Fuck. You are such a damn asshole. Of course you are. It doesn’t take years of self-administered psycho-analysis to remind yourself you are. It just takes a look in the mirror.
She realized you’re not on your bed anymore, and you can see it in her eyes as she looks behind herself, and finds you standing there awkwardly. And then her eyes scrunch up, and the dribble of tears turns into a sob. She whips her face away from you, hugging her knees to her chest, trying to make herself invisible.
You just stand there awkwardly, wanting to do something. Anything. Stop standing there, you fuckwit, you tell yourself. Look what you did, you tell yourself. Fix this, you stupid asshole.
And suddenly you’re sitting next to her, hands in your lap as she crys. You gulp, taking off your glasses and putting them next to you. No cool guy bullshit now.
You reach an arm around her, and pull her close, letting her sob into your shoulder. You feel you should say something, but you know it wouldn’t help at this point. A pat on the back is all you can offer.
You sit there for a while, allowing her to let it out on your shoulder. You don’t know how much time passes before her sobs quiet, and she’s just sitting against you with her head on your shoulder.
“Roxy?” you ask. She mumbles something to the effect of “yeah?” into your side, sniffing.
“I’m sorry.” Is all you can say. God you are such a toad. But Roxy suddenly pulls you tight against her, wrapping her arms around you.
“It’s okay,” she says, voice wavering. “I am, too.”