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 Posted: Sun Jan 31, 2016 6:50 am
Lorne listened. He did not comment. He did not interrupt. His expression, here and there, changed - from thoughtful to sad to - mostly a lot of the two of those, actually. Not exactly pity, but sympathy, that was a given in his too-expressive eyes.
He waited, and he listened, and the most he did allow was for his hand to come and settle on Isaiah's shoulder, squeezing gently whenever the time felt right. It was only at the end, when he knew his friend was wholly and completely finished, that he finally opened his mouth.
"Well. I love you."
His cheeks burned, and he realized instantly he could have said it about twenty better ways. "W-what I mean to say is... I mean, the sober you, I - we all do." It felt less heavy to say it like that, although part of Lorne wondered if he shouldn't have kept that heaviness, even if it did make him flustered and fidgety. "Just so you know. I don't think you're boring at all. I think you're interesting, and - and I laugh quite a lot when you're around and - also think, and - when I think of the word 'boring', my friend, you are the last person that comes to mind."
He looked down at his lap for a moment, but willed himself to try and keep looking at his friend. "It's not the same as a - a lover or anything, I know, but - I do care about you immensely, and I can't even begin to imagine the kinds of demons you've faced. But it gives me such - " He bit his lip, struggling for the right word. " - such respect for you. And we don't have to talk about it anymore, I'm sorry, but - I just needed you to know that. And that I really appreciate you telling me."
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Posted: Fri Feb 05, 2016 1:16 am
Isaiah stifled a laugh. "It's easy enough to tell the difference between a platonic love and romantic love once you've had a taste of both. You don't have to launch into hysterics over it, I promise." Weakly he waved the notion away.
"It is, however, important to know that maybe Sidney's perceptions, and our shared friends' perceptions, might not be as infallible as I made them out to be. It's two very different worlds," he paused as he held up both hands. "Night and day. With one, it's like everything is beautiful and dire and meaningful and decomposing so quickly that you have to catch it with both hands and breathe in what you can to let it become you. And in the other, everything is brighter and plain and less turbulent and more mediated. Nothing ever really goes away for long. Everything's dulled down. I've joined the latter now, where I fell in love with the former.
And some of those perceptions, the ones I myself shared when I was younger, have stuck around a little too long." He hoped that, despite the exhaustion and pain medication and agony, Lorne gleaned something of his explanation. The boy seemed to understand well without it, however. He wondered if speaking of it proved extraneous.
"Heh. Sorry. I ramble when tired." The same bony hands that cupped two worlds now pressed against the bleak landscape of his face. He groaned, then, beneath the heels of both hands.
"You're a good friend, Lorne. Better than you'd give yourself credit for. I guess the moral of the story is, don't do drugs." The hands slipped down his face, pooling in a heap of fingers over his chest, and he flashed the other man a tired smile.
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