Work Text:
Are you fucking somebody else, Hollander? It doesn't really matter to me but, I fear, it matters to you. I can't ask because if I do, it would mean I have something to offer. I don't think I do.
Hollander, I know I don't make you curious anymore. You know already what to expect from me. I make you angry and confused. I am doing it on purpose. I don't like it when you're angry but there is no other way I can tell that you care. You don't tell me, Hollander, and I don't ask. You can't love me, so I will make you angry. I will be the itch that you want to scratch. Till we both bleed.
I can't tell you things about me because it will make you sad. You will feel sorry for me, Hollander, and I don't know how I could handle both of us being sad. I cannot handle myself. If I tell you about my fucked-up life, if I answer your stupid questions, you will take your freckles away from me. You will give them to somebody else, somebody easier to love. Somebody less pathetic and less desperate for your love. They will be able to carry the way you look at them and the fucking weight of their existence at the same time without cracking in all the wrong places.
They won't be scared to go blind when you come in their hands, Hollander, but it will probably be okay.
They will not be terrified to tell you that you are the reason they are still able to get up in the morning, that they like the way you are, no matter how you are. They will tell you that they love you, Shane.
Hollander? Please, don't go. I promise I won't do it again. Hollander.