Work Text:
In a dimly lit park, under a pavilion In the pouring rain, You ingest the lovely night. This moment could have been so special to you if he would Just Stop Talking.
You crave it so badly, but Romance is lost on you, and it's His fault. You sit and listen to his ramblings and stew in your indignation, and the nooses begin to appear. You picture blood. You're getting real tired of this. Real fucking tired.
You don't doubt that he loves you; that's not the crux. But whether or not he is consciously aware of it, he never takes you seriously. Never. You're pissed off at yourself, too. You have no balls. You let him talk down. You give up so fast.
How do you fix this?
There are so many mean things you could say right now, but you choose pointed silence because it's the least escalatory reaction you can think of.
It makes him uncomfortable. Soon enough, his every sentence is punctuated by nervous laughter. Somehow, though, he keeps going, not taking the hint, consoled by the sound of his own voice in the absence of yours. He's talking in circles like a politician, almost. He thinks he's so fucking smart. He thinks you're so fucking helpless.
You stare at him impassively instead of laughing with him, refusing to humour him in any way. You realize that his unease is faintly amusing to you. It's a small victory, holding this power over him. For once, you have some sort of agency in the face of his condescension. So you continue this tense cycle for as long as you can, letting him run his mouth and pause occasionally to wonder why you're looking at him like that.
Finally, he seems to run out of steam. You gaze off into the distance, trying to enjoy Nature in your long-awaited moment of quiet. Trying to banish the last noose from your thoughts. You feel him watching you; you feel his utter disconcertment. He's acutely aware that he's angered you, but he's unable to fathom why. He bites the bullet and asks you what you're thinking.
Stop speaking to me like you're my fucking dad. I didn't ask to hear your Life Advice Spiel again; I just wanted to admire the view with you at this park. You're being judgy and hypocritical, and you contradict yourself left right and centre. Your convictions mean absolutely nothing to me at the end of the day. I hate the way you word things sometimes, the way you think it's your place at all to tell me how to live, what to do. Every single thought I've ever shared with you, you've challenged. Dismissed. You think I'm stupid, don't you? You want to fix me, don't you? Well, fuck off.
That is what you are thinking. But the only thing you can bring yourself to say out loud is,
"I don't know."
He knows it's a lie, but he doesn't press further. He likely senses that you are sparing him some cruel words.
You lean into him in spite of your bruised ego. He keeps you warm, makes you feel untouchable when you would otherwise be terrified to sit out here at night. You still love him, of course. Even when he's being a prick, it beats the perdition you'd been living in previously. At least you're not physically alone anymore.
He kisses your cheek and your temple, and you allow yourself to smile a little. It's nice, but it's far from undoing the damage. If only he'd kept his mouth shut and started with this.
Your umbrage morphs into deep dejection. He thinks he understands you, but he never will, and you will never have the courage to tell him that.
You want to cry, but you can't. You already know that whatever he'd have to say to you would make it worse. You're ready to move on and pretend this didn't happen. To let him believe that all his bullshit somehow helped you. He wins again.