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"Yeah, maybe you gotta try to force it - like cauterizing a wound." He thought of hot metal pressing into skin and scars that faded. It seemed useful enough. But cauterizing implied something was cut off. Was he really cutting off the right things if he'd slept with Lawrence again?

"I guess that's hard to do on the island. See him everywhere." Horace rubbed his face. "What're you gonna do if he still flirts or whatever?"

"One trauma to override the other.." he trailed off thoughtfully. In all honesty, it didn't sound like a bad idea, though he wasn't sure what could gloss over his own personal ghosts. "Might be worth it, if it worked." He shrugged more deeply in to the blanket around his shoulders.

Horace opened his mouth and closed it, debating his next questions. Well, if he didn't ask, he wouldn't know. "Was he... was it genuine, you think?"

It was kind of disheartening to think that all of his trauma had been linked to the same person. He couldn't forget Lawrence with some bigger trauma if the man was still there. And Horace had been thinking, really thinking as of late that he wanted to end this. Somehow. He rubbed his face wearily. It was hard when even his own body reminded him of everything. But he pushed these thoughts aside to listen to Jordan, to watch the way he spoke about the other man.

"That's... not bad, I guess. Probably makes it harder for you." Sympathy strained through Horace's tone. He found one on one relationships complicated enough; he couldn't imagine more. It all seemed some delicate, impossible juggle. Still, he had hoped that Jordan could have it, could be happy. Horace didn't like Rep, only liked Harrison half the time, and couldn't understand the things Jordan saw in them. None of that mattered. Love never made sense to an outsider, anyway. All he could do was commiserate and hope that one day Jordan could still find it.

He froze when Jordan turned his question back around on him, feeling the words brush against a wound that remained ragged. There was the crux of things, he thought, taking a deep breath. For all he ******** wanted, all he hoped and dreamed and scraped out the bottom barrel of their time together, Horace knew. The knowing made it worse, so he tried to avoid it, chase the edges of something that never existed instead. He knew that his own emotions were genuine, the way he felt had been real enough. Horace also knew that no one would ever believe him on that. He dug his fingers into his thigh, looking down at the folds of the blanket wrapped around him.

Horace expelled out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding, the sound harsh. "No. It... it never was. Never could be." He shoved a hand through his hair. "You probably think I'm stupid, but I... I had thought... I had wanted-" He trailed off.

"I'm glad it was real," he said, mouth turning down. Real meant it hurt more... It seemed really messy. Three people happy just seemed... impossible. Objectively, he knew it was possible, but objectivity had a lot less weight that subjective observations he guessed. Horace didn't really know anything.

At Jordan's sorry, he curled tighter into himself. "No, it's... okay." Horace wriggled his toes, hoping the movement would shake off the mood he felt descending. "I... it's stupider to still pretend. But it's also nice, you know? To pretend that it's love, to hook-up, to feel not alone..." He didn't look at Jordan. "You... didn't pretend, though."

He took the flask and tipped it up, feeling a gulp burn down his throat. It settled somewhere in his belly, joining the beer - it felt like both together radiated warmth he desperately needed. Horace coughed, once, before handing it back with a 'thanks'.

It was certainly a nosy question, Horace thought, but he wasn't bothered by it. Some combination of who was asking and how he needed to talk about it loosened his tongue. Jordan knew, even more than he did. "I.. don't know. It does if I can forget enough, pretend hard enough. Just that the.. others involved don't care who hooks up with who and maybe I was crazy after all that I cared." He sighed heavily.

"I think I need to stop, but I don't know if I'm strong enough. How will you?"

Out of balance. It felt like his life had been out of balance for a very long time, and maybe that was simply how it was Supposed to Be. Even before the island - and now, here, it just tilted more crazily. It was not comfortable. He had even more sympathy for Jordan, though. This wasn't some kind of pity olympics, but the sheer amount of time Jordan had been stuck in this limbo seemed unbearable. Horace thought that, if it was him, he'd have given up. Entirely. He rubbed a head across his undercut, the pricks of short hair into his palm strangely comforting.

"Sometimes I still think forgetting would be nice. Or cutting it out, cauterizing it." He'd had this conversation before and in it lie the biggest difference, he thought. Horace knew Jordan didn't want to forget. Most days Horace didn't think forgetting would do him any good, anyway. But sometimes, some nights, some moments when he looked down at himself and couldn't help but remember, he wanted not to, desperately.

He took another drink and buried the empty bottle in the snow. "So how do you do it? How're you supposed to kill hope when it's bad for you?"

"Maybe you can get Ferros to give you a little mental shock when you need it. Unless he gets all muddled up too." He huffed out something that could've been a laugh. "Kinda like a shock collar." Dr. Jannisari wouldn't do that sort of thing for him - he knew. She was a silent, judging presence in his mind, trying her best to divorce herself of his messy existence. He wondered if sometimes she might wish him dead, just to be free. Probably not; she'd be just a tablet then. He resolved to let her out in a golem sometime.

He jiggled the beer bottle. "I think, if I can divorce hope, accept things as they are - what's the point in stopping? Gotta learn how not to hurt because there's really no alternative, you know?"