thephix | (exsilium) ic contact

( Sometimes, he feels so tired of being isolated. Maybe that was why he was so hopeless when it came to Max, because she was like a life raft. There more others, now, the ones that knew Atlas, but Max would always come first. Not simply because she was the first, but because she was Max and thought sometimes that he helped her, too. If he tried to pin down and pick apart the reasons he adores her so much, they'd probably sound ridiculous, selfish, bad things to list. Max is simply inexplicable and wonderful and terrible in so many combinations and variations.

He's tired of knowing that he's stupid enough to be in love with her when she knows she doesn't feel the same way, and knowing it makes it harder for them to be friends or colleagues or whatever it is they actually are, especially when they need each other so much more, here. )

Using Atlas f-for stuff like, um. Stuff that isn't helping p-people, it seems--

( Wrong? Selfish? It reminds him of the things that Break and Phasar might do. ) Like home. I d-don't want t-to, uh, to g-get on the wrong track.

( Said more carefully, less fire turned inward on himself. )

Stop.

[It's said gently, softly, rather than a harsh reprimand like it could be. He needs to stop overthinking all this, stop twisting himself up with guilt and self-doubt.

She doesn't say anything else for a moment, because she's crossing over to him, sitting on the edge of the couch and very, very carefully resting her fingers against his jaw. She doesn't want to jostle him, just wants to make sure that he's paying attention, actually listening instead of getting too tangled up in his own thoughts.]

You're not on the wrong track. [Just saying that first, since it's important.] Friendships can be an advantage, not a disadvantage. You don't have to feel guilty for it.

[She wonders if he'll call her a hypocrite, when she's so determined about not making connections like that, but what's true for one person isn't true for another.

And it seems clear to her that he's doing a little better, with the friendships he's made here.]

( Donny shifts so there's a little more room on the sofa for her. His gaze drops lower, evasive for a few moments before he looks up at her. Friendship can be an advantage, she says as if she didn't try to avoid friendships and attachments at all costs. They're different people, the two of them. They've lived such different lives, and he wonders if the only thing they have in common sometimes is the desire to help people and their magic; if it's his sister trying to tear them apart through their dreams. )

Are w-we friends?

( It's almost easier than trying to wrap his head around all the positive things she says, to absorb them, because they go so far against the grain that it feels uncomfortable to listen to, sometimes. )

[It's not a fair question, and he's just changing the topic, but she feels like she owes him an answer to this, if she wants him to believe anything else she says.

The problem is whether to be honest or to tell him what he wants to hear. Things are getting too complicated between them, too tangled up, and she knows that she should be trying to fix that. They rely on each other too much, they're too close, but it's hard to pull back when he's all she has, here, when she's got his memories in her head and he knows more about her than anyone else does.

Her hand drops to his chest, resting lightly against his collarbone.]

I don't know.

[Honesty then, but she meets his gaze at least, letting him see the confusion in the furrow of her brow, her mouth twisting a little ruefully.

She doesn't know what's involved in friendships. It's never bothered her, but it means she doesn't know how to answer that question.]

( They're both so ridiculous, aren't they? Lost and unknowing. )

B-but um, I'm n-not your employee.

( not just that. This is so complex and confusing, when things have gotten all torn up. She doesn't love him, they aren't friends, not really, he doesn't work for her in the same way he used to. )

We m-make everything c-confusing.

( a fraction of a smile at her confusion, though he's not sure what to do with the contact.)

No.

[To the first comment, that he's not her employee, because sometimes it feels like he never really was. Atlas would do what she asked him to, but he was never with her the way others were, he was tangled up with her in different ways.

She returns his smile, putting some amusement into it, for his sake.]

We do, I'm sure Marissa would have something to say to us.

[Not that Marissa ever really addressed the topic of Donny, but sometimes she'd fix Max with a look that made it clear she knew how fucked up things were.]

( A little snort, and then a wince before his nose is not the happiest thing in the worlds. )

I m-miss her.

( Marissa. She was never exactly super close to him, she was Max's and Max was first priority, the way she should be. More people needed to care about her in the way that Marissa does; it might even be more helpful and important to her than the way he cares about her, because that is so skewed and so complicated. His smile becomes a little more like an actual smile, even if it's a little obscured by the way he's holding ice to his nose. )

Are you-- d-doing okay?

( Just quietly, without it being a demand or pushy in the way his questions sometimes are. After the other day, after everything that unfolds here. He knows it's a complicated question for her, anything that demands her thinking about how she is and what she's feeling and then talking about it is always so difficult, but he can't not ask, can't leave it. The offer needs to be extended. )

[She wants to say so do I, but doesn't trust her voice to remain steady through it, not when it's such a fraught admission, so she simply nods. Marissa has been the one constant since Max left her family behind, since she gave up on Artemis and trying to do good the way that heroes were expected to. She never pushed, didn't ever expect anything more of Max than what she could give.

Until Adonis, she was the only person who knew about the shapeshifting, and she's the only person Max has ever given that secret too, instead of it being taken from her.

So is she doing okay?]

I'm surviving.

[Which is what she does best, even if that isn't really an answer to his question.

But it's all that matters. She's surviving, she's doing what needs to be done; how she's coping with that has never been a concern.]

It should b-be-- be b-better than surviving.

( That carried so little hope for herself, for everyone. If the best they can hope for is surviving, if that is what counts as okay.

Sometimes he wonders if Max hates him for all the things he knows. For both of them, it should be better than surviving, but he hardly has faith in his ability to survive. )

That's all there's ever been.

[Even when she was young, before she made a life of crime and destruction for herself. It was surviving her father, surviving his associates, surviving the things they expected of her. She'd just turned that into surviving the things she did to herself.]

I know.

( He feels the same. He never had to endure what she did, but he feels like all he'd ever done was survive and hide, before Atlas - before Max. )

M-maybe-- maybe it c-can b-be um, better here. Like a b-break? From home.

[It has been, in a way, at least a break from Asteria, and from her caution. She doesn't need to guard her secrets quite so closely, here, she'd let Jules see her shifting, had shared all those poems over the network even if she didn't put a name to them.]

It's hardly something I can switch off.

[Those survival instincts, the need to constantly be working because there's nothing else left for her. She can be a little more relaxed, can deal with people a little more honestly, instead of wrapping herself up in roles and lies, but the thought of not being the Sphinx or some form of her is terrifying.]

( Of course not. The way he can't just fix himself, and he nods because he understands, but even so. )

No. B-but--

( But what? )

We c-can do things d-different. See what w-works for us? Like-- I dunno, just t-try?

( Hypocrite )

Will you?

[Try, do things differently instead of getting too wrapped up in guilt to let himself make friends and keep them. Because that's what started his, and he's a hypocrite if he's trying to tell her to change when he's hating himself for the same thing.

Maybe they can make a deal of this, if they both try. It won't be too hard fo rher to convince him that she is genuinely trying to do things differently, even if she actually isn't.]

I d-dunno.

( It seems so impossible, pointless. )

W-would you? Really? Or j-just-- lie?

( She's so good at it. )

Would you believe me even if I really did?

[It's too harsh, especially when she was planning to lie, but for all that he has too much faith in her about some things, he never seems to believe her when it comes to others.

When it comes to herself, really. He won't believe the lies she tells him about herself.]

I b-believe in you. N-not what you say, all the t-time.

( It's too complicated. After a moment, he starts to sit up, pulling the ice away from his face. )

W-would you b-believe me?

[Her expression doesn't change, but something painful twists in her chest. That wasn't what she asked, and she hates hearing it, that he believes in her, as if she's something worth believing in.]

I would.

[He's a terrible liar, especially to her.]

( Maybe she forgets the way they've seen inside one another's heads lived memories and horrors and stripped each other bare. )

W-what should I do?

( Rhetorically. ) T-talk to um, p-people?

Do what makes you happy.

[Which should be obvious, for anyone but him, because she's not even sure he knows what happy is. But maybe having friends as Atlas is a start to that.]

( And he cracks a smile at that, just because it seems so ridiculous. Being Atlas just got his nose broken, for example. Atlas being the only thing in his life that makes him happy doesn't seem like enough, and he shouldn't kiss Max anymore, either. Not after all this. )

I d-don't, um.

( Know what that would be, if it's possible. He's a pathetic, miserable shit isn't he? )

I know.

[She tries to make things easier for him, when she's not tearing him apart even worse, as if it's some penance for all the other awful things she's done, but she's not so naive as to think she makes him happy.]

Maybe this can be a chance to figure it out.

[This city, even with all the terrible things in it.]

( You make me happy. Relieved and happy and verging on delight and bliss, and she can take him to the other extremes. They tear each other to shreds. )

I f-feel-- I feel b-better around you.

( But he knows it isn't mutual, and it's not her job or responsibility to make him feel better. )

I'll w-work it out. It's o-okay.

[She knows that, too. Not happy, but better, and maybe that's all she can hope for. It's not as though she can give him anything that would actally make him happy.]

I-- [She feels better around him, too, when they aren't fighting and making things worse, but she doesn't know how to put that into words. It feels like admitting too much, like she'd just be giving him hope that there could be more to them than this.

Instead, she just nods, offers him a smile and very lightly presses a kiss to his cheek, careful not to hurt him.]

Just try not to worry too much.

[It's a joke, just a little, because of course he's going to worry, that's just how he is, but maybe he can relax just a bit, enough to stop pushing friends away.]

( Careful, slowly, he pulls away. He's a sorry sight, all bruising and swelling, purple and black blossoming behind his eyes. )

M-maybe we shouldn't d-do uh, do that.

( So much for not worrying. That suggestion is being skipped and abandoned right away. )

You d-don't have t-to do stuff like that here, n-not with me. Here or at home. I w-won't let you down.

( She'll be happier, that way. He'll miss the kisses, but it might be better for both of them. )The other day--

( Things are already so confusing, complicated. )

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