APOCALYPSE HOW: IC INBOX

[cacophonish]

"...is this thing on?" un: freakscene voice | video | text | action | everything

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[ployboy]

Tim thinks, he deserves a goddamn medal. There's no one else he knows that would restrain themselves from throttling this guy if they could see him the way he does.

It's so... sad, Tim thinks. It's so incredibly fucked up.

Ever since the-- their first time, he thought to himself this isn't how it's supposed to go. Yeah, sure, candlelight and rose petals might've been too much, but there's no big... there's no... like at the wedding, where the love was a palpable, living entity weaving between and through the couple.

Him and Jeff just kinda screw around.

Make each other laugh sometimes. Tim aches. He needs-- wants it more than just 'sometimes'. But they're not built like that. Case in point:

"I don't want to share you," he hisses. Tim brings a hand up, long fingers tracing a scar that's familiar to see in the mirror but that's still unwelcome on Jeff's skin. A cut throat. "Who the hell were you messing with? What were you doing to get popular enough for groupies?"

[cacophonish]

Jeff's face is a picture of innocence. Innocence, paired with pretty, delicate features, like he's something sweet and angelic. Does he even know how deceiving his looks are, how much leeway that's given him, his entire life? It can be hard to look at that face and realize there's something broken inside.

"What I've always done."

He never was a good person, was he. Sweet, sure, but also careless, selfish, vacuous, and doesn't that just leave so much hurt in his wake? Can't even blame that on his, ah, condition.

What he's always done, even when he hadn't meant to. Toyed with feelings, messed with heads, used people, broke hearts, all while singing, singing, singing.

Even before he was an avatar, he was always a monster.

"I guess people are just drawn to me." He can practically feel the frustration threatening to boil over beneath Tim's fingertips. Jeff smiles in the face of all that tension, nothing smug or taunting about it. It... seems genuine. Looks about as genuine as Jeff's capable of being these days. An attempt to reassure, and there's even something of a wince in it. "You're not sharing me. Nobody's--"

He stops himself.

How to put it?

"There's a piece of me... that I... I don't give to anyone else."

His humanity-- or whatever's left of it. No pressure, right?

[ployboy]

"Is it even a part of yourself that you like?"

Or is he getting fed scraps from the dinner table.

[cacophonish]

Now there's a question.

"It's--"

He furrows his brows and thinks, and god, it's probably pathetically obvious that he's thrown, if only because he doesn't know the answer to that question. Can't even lie, because he doesn't know the truth.

Jeff laughs, and it's a totally miserable sound. "I dunno. There's not a lot that I like about me."

Besides his magic, and his music, two things so dearly intertwined with his very being. Two things he'll do anything to safeguard, even sell his soul. He hurt Meredith for this. He caused a citywide blackout for this. He killed for this. He died for this. And always, always, there's that drive to share his magic, and his music, however terrible it's become, with as wide an audience as possible.

"Does it matter? It's important, that's..." He hums thoughtfully. "I... think it's important."

Brace yourself, this is the most vulnerability he's shared with anyone since his grand return. Jeff reaches to stroke his fingers in Tim's hair.

"I like you more than anyone else. Doesn't that count?"