[Not as often as Dave, he can already tell that much. There are grooves worn in Dave's habits, in his being, that mean living with something as raw and strange as time moving wrong for weeks, months, years — he doesn't know. It doesn't matter. A long time.]
[Mista can be quiet when he wants to be. Quiet spaces in life are to be treasured: last little vestiges of lazy Saturdays bleeding into early Sundays with the sun fading in through stained glass windows and fresh bread in a paper bag under his arm on the way home. As much as he knows this moment is Dave deciding whether or not to say something that matters, he takes it for what it is. A little quiet. A little time with someone important to him.]
[And when Dave speaks, he turns just a little to look at him, takes his hat off and holds it in his hands to keep it from blowing off into the sea, and to give him something to hold onto. This, he thinks, is why he didn't punch Dave harder. Of course he's already beating himself up.]
I hear you.
[Quiet, low; it's important to say, first thing. That does fucking suck the worst, as it happens. That sucks the most of anything. That's his greatest fear: making some dumb fuckoff mistake and turning around and someone's dead, because of him. Just because Ryuji came back—]
[It's still awful.]
. . . Sometimes it seems like, once you've seen enough shit, your brain just keeps giving you the same advice anytime anything bad happens. Even if you know it's crap advice, it's just gonna scream at you until you do it.
Not saying it doesn't still suck the absolute fucking worst. I'm just saying. You know. [You know. Dave's not the only one who sucks.]
no subject
[Not as often as Dave, he can already tell that much. There are grooves worn in Dave's habits, in his being, that mean living with something as raw and strange as time moving wrong for weeks, months, years — he doesn't know. It doesn't matter. A long time.]
[Mista can be quiet when he wants to be. Quiet spaces in life are to be treasured: last little vestiges of lazy Saturdays bleeding into early Sundays with the sun fading in through stained glass windows and fresh bread in a paper bag under his arm on the way home. As much as he knows this moment is Dave deciding whether or not to say something that matters, he takes it for what it is. A little quiet. A little time with someone important to him.]
[And when Dave speaks, he turns just a little to look at him, takes his hat off and holds it in his hands to keep it from blowing off into the sea, and to give him something to hold onto. This, he thinks, is why he didn't punch Dave harder. Of course he's already beating himself up.]
I hear you.
[Quiet, low; it's important to say, first thing. That does fucking suck the worst, as it happens. That sucks the most of anything. That's his greatest fear: making some dumb fuckoff mistake and turning around and someone's dead, because of him. Just because Ryuji came back—]
[It's still awful.]
. . . Sometimes it seems like, once you've seen enough shit, your brain just keeps giving you the same advice anytime anything bad happens. Even if you know it's crap advice, it's just gonna scream at you until you do it.
Not saying it doesn't still suck the absolute fucking worst. I'm just saying. You know. [You know. Dave's not the only one who sucks.]