[ Each word is like a blow, and he welcomes every one. He's always been selfish; isn't that what ultimately killed his clan? That he was a selfish coward who ran instead of becoming what they needed him to be.
He says nothing to defend himself. In a way, it feels strangely good to be recognized for what he has always known himself to be, for once seen in a way that does not feel threatening because it does not challenge him in the slightest, does not see anything redeeming within him that would lead her to expect better.
So he bows his head and takes it as what he deserves. ]
I told you I'd disappoint you. I disappoint everyone.
[ But there is something in that flow of emotion that almost washes him away, which he also recognizes with a sweet pain: her desire to be seen and cared about for herself, not out of obligation or convenience, but because she is Summer and that alone makes her worthy of love.
And that is something she deserves, something he heard in echo during their first meeting, when he responded to her fear with his own clumsy attempt at reassurance. The reason that he held her the way he did when she started to fall, that he made his sad attempt at teasing her like he might have teased one of his sisters if they'd lived, and it's not enough because nothing he ever does can be enough, but it's all he has to offer.
In disjointed contrast to that bitter and well-earned torrent of words, he reaches with his other hand, fingers sliding into her hair, and draws her closer so he can rest his forehead against hers. ]
I still see you, Summer.
[ As raw as he is, drowning, it isn't a conscious offering that he makes; he's not trying to disagree with her, or prove her wrong, but merely give the pittance he has left. But beneath all of the self-loathing and grief and pain remains the part of himself that he hasn't managed to kill, even after a decade of trying. He cares, with a fire and fury like a newborn star, and he believes, and that is the engine that drives him, that he's defensively tried to armor with guilt and gruffness. He wouldn't be so destroyed by his perceived failures to others if he didn't care.
He cares about Summer, because she wouldn't let him brush her off, and she's stubborn and funny, and she gave him a dumb name, and she was strong enough to show a complete stranger that she was scared, and stupid enough to trust him when he said he'd help her. Because for just one moment, he almost felt like he could, and even now he wishes he was good enough to be someone she didn't despise, and he resents her for that as well, that she's made him want to try again when it's turned out so miserably. ]
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[ Each word is like a blow, and he welcomes every one. He's always been selfish; isn't that what ultimately killed his clan? That he was a selfish coward who ran instead of becoming what they needed him to be.
He says nothing to defend himself. In a way, it feels strangely good to be recognized for what he has always known himself to be, for once seen in a way that does not feel threatening because it does not challenge him in the slightest, does not see anything redeeming within him that would lead her to expect better.
So he bows his head and takes it as what he deserves. ]
I told you I'd disappoint you. I disappoint everyone.
[ But there is something in that flow of emotion that almost washes him away, which he also recognizes with a sweet pain: her desire to be seen and cared about for herself, not out of obligation or convenience, but because she is Summer and that alone makes her worthy of love.
And that is something she deserves, something he heard in echo during their first meeting, when he responded to her fear with his own clumsy attempt at reassurance. The reason that he held her the way he did when she started to fall, that he made his sad attempt at teasing her like he might have teased one of his sisters if they'd lived, and it's not enough because nothing he ever does can be enough, but it's all he has to offer.
In disjointed contrast to that bitter and well-earned torrent of words, he reaches with his other hand, fingers sliding into her hair, and draws her closer so he can rest his forehead against hers. ]
I still see you, Summer.
[ As raw as he is, drowning, it isn't a conscious offering that he makes; he's not trying to disagree with her, or prove her wrong, but merely give the pittance he has left. But beneath all of the self-loathing and grief and pain remains the part of himself that he hasn't managed to kill, even after a decade of trying. He cares, with a fire and fury like a newborn star, and he believes, and that is the engine that drives him, that he's defensively tried to armor with guilt and gruffness. He wouldn't be so destroyed by his perceived failures to others if he didn't care.
He cares about Summer, because she wouldn't let him brush her off, and she's stubborn and funny, and she gave him a dumb name, and she was strong enough to show a complete stranger that she was scared, and stupid enough to trust him when he said he'd help her. Because for just one moment, he almost felt like he could, and even now he wishes he was good enough to be someone she didn't despise, and he resents her for that as well, that she's made him want to try again when it's turned out so miserably. ]