[ This feels familiar... Abel offering Dokja a drink...
He takes it with a small smile, hands wrapping around the cup to soak in the warmth from its sides for a moment before he carefully takes a sip. It's nice, warms him from the inside, and sweet just how he likes it.
... It causes a lump to form in his throat. As he lowers the cup to his lap, he finds that he can't raise his head to meet Abel's gaze.
Being taken care of like this... He'll never get used to it. He doesn't even deserve it for putting his companion in a dangerous situation like that. ]
I... I'm sorry. For what I put you through. Were you hurt at all?
the pang in his chest could be seen on his face, but it isn't as though Dokja can bring himself to look at Abel, anyway. the priest watches the miserable slope of Dokja's shoulders, the heavy weight of a single mug in his lap... and his own heart aches in a very familiar sort of way.
that boy's angry, bitter words repeat in his head. the weight behind the dejection in his friend's posture... it, too, seems to validate something the priest had already suspected, feared-- even if he had been desperately hoping to find evidence to the contrary. right now, everything is screaming that what that boy said was no fabrication or provocation. ]
I wasn't hurt, [ he starts with-- because assuaging that worry comes first and foremost. he won't have Dokja concerned with something that's irrelevant; Abel hadn't been injured. ] ...and he left with Miss Ciel. He wasn't hurt any further, either. She will take care of him, Dokja.
[ his voice is gentle, soft, as if he knows he's speaking to someone who's hurt himself far more than Abel ever could - or would ever want to. ]
But you very nearly... if I hadn't happened to be there-- if I had come just a few moments later, you...
[ ...'you would have died.'
though his chest is tight with a pressure, a sense of discomfort and uneasiness-- he doesn't look away, watches his friend for any signs, any tells. the last nail in the coffin, so to speak.
[ The look of shame on his face morphs into one of surprise at the mention of Ciel. He hadn't been conscious during that, and the knowledge that she had... let them go? Is that right? His eyebrows draw together in confusion, not really sure what to think of it.
He can't wonder about it for very long. As soon as he hears the softness of Abel's voice, hears what it is he can't say, Dokja seems to draw further in on himself. He lowers his head even more, as if trying to hide his expression, but the way his grip on the cup tightens is clear to see.
This is normally the part where he'd run away, and it takes a second for him to find his voice. When he next speaks, his tone is heavy, guilt-ridden. ]
I'm okay now.
[ No, he isn't. His mind is still a mess, rattled by words and then again by a separation of what he had known to be real. He had lost it back there. He had... what? Succumbed to his insanity?
That's it, isn't it? He's... he's always going to be a half-step from the edge, if not outright plummeting over it. ]
Abel's fingers gently come to cradle the cup in his hands, a moment of brief hesitation settling over him before he inevitably decides to set it on the bedside table, keeping it safe where it rests. he's giving the man before him his full and undivided attentions. ]
You aren't.
[ 'okay.' it isn't accusatory. it's quiet, just as soft in delivery as the words that had come before it. ]
...And that's alright, Dokja. To not be alright? Admitting you aren't... it isn't a weakness nor a burden. It's human, and... even putting our circumstances here aside-- what you've told me of your world, your home... life has not been especially easy, nor kind. Has it?
[ someone who bears the weight of that guilt, the heaviness of that shame-- they may as well be crying, Abel thinks. he has his answer without Dokja saying a word. ]
...So, it's alright. It really... it really is alright. If you aren't okay-- you can be. I'll sit here with you while you're not okay for a while, and maybe... maybe we can find a way to make tomorrow a little better.
[ He can't. Listen to this. It's not alright, he wants to say. It'll never be alright. He's made sure of that. He's... he's destroyed lives. The people he loves most. The person most important to him, the one responsible for keeping Dokja alive, the one he'd spent years supporting, loving, and wishing for that same strength that kept them moving forward when the whole world was against them...
In the end, Dokja had been that world. He'd been all the worst things about it.
And he'll never be able to make amends for it.
He raises a shaking hand to his eyes, presses his fingers against them, but it's not enough to stop the flow of tears from spilling past his fingertips. Crying is familiar to him. He doesn't know how often he'd used to sob on the floor of that subway train, but he does it enough here that it's almost become a daily ritual.
But to cry in front of someone else is a different story. Dokja grits his teeth as he tries to stop them, but the tears slip down his cheeks, follow the line of his jaw, then fall to the sheets below.
Why now? Why... can't he hold it together anymore? Had he relied so heavily on the wall in his head in the past? Now that it's gone, he can't stop himself from spiraling. Can't stop the tears, the anguish, the insanity. Can't stop the guilt from breaking him down, disintegrating whole pieces of him, shattering what's barely left of him.
[ ...suppose it's a good thing. a boon, he seemed to have a sixth sense something might happen. sometimes there is this unsettled pit in his stomach - some anxious premonition, and he hates when it's right.
but some things must be broken before they can heal, right? right...?
Dokja might not hear Abel move, preoccupied as he is with an internal battle against himself and his own emotions; there's the faint rustling of clothing as he lifts from the chair, the sink of the mattress as he sits beside his friend, gently extricating the mug from his hands to displace it aside.
and then a warm pair of arms enfold Dokja and gently goad him into a hug, cautious and careful and delicate - because this man is broken. he's fragile, and raw, and vulnerable-- and he deserves to be handled with care, even if he might not believe it himself. Abel believes... no, he knows it's true. he might be broken, might even feel he's shattered into such small pieces that putting himself together again is impossible.
but he doesn't have to. being broken doesn't make something worthless. it's alright if he doesn't understand-- it's alright if he doesn't see it himself. he's not alone, so he doesn't have to. ]
[ When had he last been embraced like this? How long had it been since anyone's tried to comfort him? Dokja had suffered alone for thousands upon thousands of years with only his beloved story for company. And even that story had felt tainted, corrupted, and undone because of his part in it.
He doesn't have it in him to resist, doesn't sink into the hold, but doesn't move much besides dropping his forehead against Abel's shoulder. One hand stays where it is over his eyes, while the other clutches at the sheets. He's shaking, breaths ragged with the occasional sniffle in between.
But other than that, he's silent.
It takes a while for his crying to subside, and he's back to feeling exhausted and like a weight is pressing down on his eyelids. There's too many emotions for him to process. Grief, shame, embarrassment, self-loathing. He doesn't budge from where he's fixed himself into place, though. He's not sure he can look Abel in the eye after this.
... ]
I want to tell you something.
[ His voice is hoarse, tired, empty in a way. Like he's detached himself from this moment in an attempt to scavenge and gather what remains of him. ]
[ Abel doesn't interrupt this bleeding of something that must have been building up for quite some time, he thinks; it's long overdue. painfully little... a thin trickle of water when there's a dam's worth trying to come out -- but he understands that something is better than nothing. the longer it lingers, the longer it fester, the more it is permitted to grow and expound upon itself-- the more poisonous it becomes.
how long has it been this way? ...Abel fears the answer.
grimace at his lips, he is still save for the gentle rubbing of Dokja's back in solidarity, a reminder he's here, some futile effort to instill comfort against something Abel doesn't quite understand. the priest is in the dark; he doesn't know where this anguish comes from, even if he swears he could feel it as potent as if it were his own.
when Dokja finally manages to speak, the hoarse, exhausted sound of his voice is heartbreaking. even so-- ]
...Then I'll listen.
[ to anything, goes unsaid. perhaps Dokja does not know Abel too personally, too well, just yet - but surely he understands enough to absorb that is implicit. ]
[ There's no other way to explain this than to describe it as a momentary collapse of Dokja's mind, spirit, and soul. Just like when something delicate had snapped in the cave, when he'd lost hold of the tentative grip he had on his sanity, this travels along that same line.
He could never admit this otherwise. ]
I'm only half of the person I should be.
[ It doesn't make sense, but Dokja does not elaborate. This is already too much for him to say, but he says it anyway. Why? He's not sure. To relieve himself of just one secret perhaps, as unfair as it is to burden Abel with such a thing. Selfish as always. But he wants to pull this off of his skin, sick of the way it weighs heavily on his mind at all times.
That he's missing half of his memories.
That he'd left his other half with the people he loves most. That they live with a lie. That they think they got the happy ending they deserve.
While the other half of Kim Dokja rots away with the knowledge of what he's done. ]
[ it makes a great deal more sense than it has any right to.
maybe Abel already knew, already suspected. maybe it's intuition; maybe it's simply some sense of something he's pieced together in the past few months they've spent together. it doesn't matter what it was in the end. Dokja is saying the words out loud, and Abel is - as promised - listening.
the reply comes quietly. ]
If being half a man is all you can be, that's enough, Dokja.
[ ... ]
Even if you're only half of yourself, you're still very clearly the important parts. The parts that love, and grieve, and wish to protect those you care for. There are many people walking around whole you can't manage that much. So... it's enough, for now.
[ Enough... He wants to believe that. He wants to believe that the scraps he'd left for this version of himself aren't just the broken pieces, the parts that won't fit into place. He had been so careful with what he'd allowed the other half, painstakingly picking and choosing the happiest memories so that his companions would at least have that part of him.
It has, in turn, had devastating effects for the one left behind.
Dokja wipes at his eyes, then drops his hand from his face and turns his head, still resting on Abel's shoulder, to stare blankly at the wall. He's aching in new ways now, wanting to wrap those comforting words around himself despite feeling as though he doesn't deserve them.
Is it enough...?
His heart squeezes in his chest in a desperate longing, but in regret, too. It feels as though he's said too much, more of him growing conscious of what it is that's happening here. ]
... You didn't have to stay.
[ And wait for him to wake up. He would have... been fine eventually. ]
[ Abel confirms that; he did not have to stay, but he is here. he didn't have it in his heart to leave Dokja alone - not just because he was injured, but because of whatever he'd endured at the Lover's shrine. his exchange with that boy had been... troubling, to say the least - and not just because of physical injury.
but all that can wait. right now... there are other priorities, other things more important than the altercation. wounds that have been bleeding for far too long untended that seem raw and re-opened, now. ]
...But I'm here. This is where I want to be. And... you probably don't know why, do you?
[ Aah, his head feels stuffy and his face feels gross. Dokja's never much liked the aftermath of his crying fests, but he'd at least been alone to pull it together and not deal with the repercussions of anyone seeing him in such a vulnerable state. He finally pulls away from Abel, mostly to wipe the remnants of tears tracked down his face with the sleeve of his shirt.
He still can't meet the other man's eyes just yet.
So instead, he stares down at his lap and shakes his head at the question. No, he doesn't have a clue why Abel had decided to stick around. ]
Did you get kicked out of your room?
[ That seems like a legitimate thing that would happen to Abel. ]
[ it leaves him in a vaguely indignant huff as he loosens where his arm is slung around Dokja's shoulders; his hand ends up hovering at the middle of the other man's back, offering whatever stability and grounding he can. ]
...Maybe, but that's entirely beside the point. The reason I stayed was much simpler than that one, you know... and no, it wasn't because I felt like being serenaded by the sweet, sweet melody of your snoring either, before you ask.
[ lightly, gently-- he bumps Dokja's shoulder with his own. ]
It's because you're my friend, you fool.
[ ...there's the creep of some earnestness, something quietly hopeful in his voice. Abel means this for whatever they jest, whatever light they make of things. this-- he means every word. ]
So if... if what you said is true? [ what he said to Abel; what he said to that boy, ] If you're half a man, then... that's all the more reason for us to stick together. Even if we can't bring back pieces that got lost along the way 'til now, Dokja-- it isn't too late to pick up new ones from here and make yourself whole. It won't be today, or tomorrow, or even ten tomorrows from now. But if you want it-- if you truly want it, you absolutely can find your way-- and you won't be alone 'til you get there.
He tenses uncomfortably at hearing it, almost seems to shy away like he doesn't want it to apply to him. How can it? When all Dokja has ever done is hurt the people closest to him, when the only thing his pathetic life seems to do is prolong the suffering and agony of the companions he cherishes more than he thought himself capable of.
There's a long pause as Dokja struggles with Abel's words. They're right, he knows they're right. He has to find a reason to stay, has used the lives at stake back home to try and convince himself of that, but when another part of him wants so badly to simply disappear, to make the pain stop, it's...
It's not easy. ]
I don't know what I want.
[ He's torn in two directions. But... seeing Abel on one side, hand outstretched in this way, it's. Terrifying. Tempting. ]
[ even if Dokja won't look him in the eye, Abel is offering an encouraging smile all the same. ]
...Part of this whole 'friendship' thing is accepting the good with the bad, you know? So if you stumble, if you fall-- even if you take me with you, then... we'll be a rather messy pile of human being wherever we land, then. I guess that just means we'll simply have to find our way back up together, that's all.
[ if he hasn't come to terms with it yet, that dreaded F word - Dokja must be realizing it in short order now. it's good as set in stone, an inevitability. ]
The thing that hurts far more than anything you might do to me or anyone else, Dokja-- is knowing you're in so much pain and seeing that look in your eyes. I don't want to see you hurting yourself, seeing you looking so... lost and alone. Even if it's not me you reach for, and even if it's not for the sake of yourself-- please let us help you. You don't have to sink like that. It... it doesn't have to be like this.
[ This... is familiar. He can see it now, his companions pleading with him, begging him not to leave them. Telling him that they're strong and that he doesn't have to bear it all alone. That it's okay for him to ask for help.
Why?
For someone like me. For someone like him. I'm not... Worth it. Deserving of it. The person Abel thinks he is.
His self-loathing is so severe that he's legitimately confused. It almost feels unreal to be in the presence of someone as kind and generous as Abel, but his words weigh on Dokja's heart. Yes, he needs help. Yes, he needs a hand to grab on to. But the fact of the matter is, Kim Dokja does not know how to ask for help. ]
What... what do I have to do?
[ He finally lifts his head and there's such a nervousness to his gaze, like he might flee at any moment. He's lost, it's true, and in need of guidance, yes. And it's at a point where he'll do anything... anything not to feel as awful as he does. ]
[ there has been no shortage of lost, wounded souls among the Aion in Horos. it is something Abel has begun to see as time drones on; some made it readily and glaringly apparent, their suffering dramatic and even outright violent. some were better masked, better used to bearing that agony behind facades and (albeit unhealthy) coping mechanisms. some had been so injured they were numb to the pain they were in entirely, able to walk, to talk, to smile convincingly despite the atrophied state of their insides.
suppose Abel is learning which category Dokja is falling into among them.
Dokja looks at him like a frightened child who's desperately afraid of having done something wrong or a cornered animal that has been beaten one too many times. it breaks the priest's heart all over again, but Abel's smile is smooth, steady. that is what Dokja needs, right now-- not someone to lament his woes and cry over all the things he hasn't allowed himself to mourn. but instead... what he needs now, is... ]
You live.
[ ...what he needs now, is... ]
If thinking about what to do five minutes from now is too hard, then... let's settle for three. If three is too much, let's settle for one. If one seems overwhelming - let's just sit here 'til you decide. Eventually, you'll get hungry, or thirsty-- or maybe you'll decide you're tired, Dokja. So we'll get something delicious to eat you haven't had before... or maybe we'll share a cup of tea together before it gets cold. Or, maybe you'll sleep off the headache behind your eyes, wake up to find that the world isn't quite as painful as it was when you last closed them. We can live one moment at a time, for now. You don't need to have everything figured out; I mean it. Taking that pressure off your shoulders... maybe it will let you breathe 'til you find what you're looking for.
[ It's such an exceptionally simple answer, but it's an answer that he needs to hear. He had tried to convince himself of the very same thing, but the frequency of the way he'd balk or drop his defenses enough to let the doubt creep in had effectively broken down his reasons.
However, what comes next is something he hadn't really considered. Whenever the idea of living had come to mind, it had always been for others. The sake of others. In particular, the handful of people that Dokja has come to love. He had never once thought of living for himself, for the day to day of what might come for him. It had always been chapter updates, then the story, then the characters, then... the people.
"You don't need to have everything figured out."
Doesn't he?
Isn't that... how he'd gotten this far? Doing everything on his own, planning every step of the way forward, poring over the finest details to make sure things would go according to the blueprint? Ah, his head hurts. It hurts in a different way, makes it clear there's an emptiness present that will never go filled. Never... Never...?
Why couldn't this new memory, this one with Abel who is trying so hard for Dokja's sake, go there...? ]
What I'm looking for... [ he murmurs as he echoes the sentiment. And then there's a shift in his gaze, as if realizing what this all means. ] I can take my time finding it. Like you said.
[ Abel watches this slow revelation, this meander toward an epiphany with hope budding in his chest. he knows that this is a deceptively simple task: to live can be an arduous task for someone who's suffered, who's lost loved ones, who's lost pieces of themselves. it can even be cruel to ask someone to keep going in light of those losses, but--
this is what Abel's asking, the path he's offering. even so - it is in Dokja's hands, now. whether he takes it, whether he decides he can move on from here or remain static, trapped in an old and ugly cycle is entirely up to him. ]
...The best way to find what's worth living for is to live. So... please let yourself live, and let the rest go for a while. Maybe it will help bring back some of those things you thought were gone forever. Our hearts have a way of remembering things our minds forget, I think.
[ It's a lot to consider. A lot to think about. Dokja ducks his head once again to stare at his fingers, a habit he's picked up since arriving in Horos, and distantly thinks back on all that time spent miserably in the subway train he would know to be his home for... an eternity, it feels like.
He'd slowly unmade himself there, unraveled his existence, and would have achieved an end had it not been for his sudden arrival here.
And while he's never thought of it as a second chance, he wonders now if there's... more he can do.
Nothing comes to him immediately, but he heeds Abel's words and stores that gentle guidance in his heart. He's never had anyone talk to him like... this. Never given anyone an opportunity to, if he's being honest. But again, it's a lot to think about, and he wants to give it the careful consideration it deserves.
For now, all he can do is nod mutely. He still feels like his insides have been carved out, and the heavy presence of guilt doesn't fade, but this... It's a start. ]
[ Abel won't pretend he has all the answers; he won't pretend that any of the ones he's offered are even good ones. despite the confidence in which he's let all this leave him this morning, this subject is... delicate, fragile - and frightening, isn't it? without all the pieces of Dokja's life, without knowledge of his circumstances, there's no way to know if it's right or wrong. (would Abel even know one from the other himself? ...he has never been a good judge of these things. he doesn't possess Esther's ability to say the right thing at the right time, nor Caterina's level-headed, charismatic ability to know what one must do to carry on.)
but seeing that hollow gnaw in someone he cares for... even if it's clumsy and even if he makes a wrong step, Abel knows he has to try.
he can see this conversation has been thoroughly exhausting; he can see Dokja needs some time to absorb, to lick his wounds, to put himself back together again in whatever way he can. so... he shifts his weight gently, drawing the blankets a bit further up and trying to goad the other man to lay back down again. ]
...Maybe that nap is a good idea. Suppose I might be able to find one of those aforementioned delicious things to eat by the time you wake up, mm?
[ Dokja goes back down without a fuss, gingerly placing his still aching head against the pillow and sighing once he's lying down. Like this, he can feel his body and mind respond to the lull of sleep, eyelids growing heavy with each passing second. He's not accustomed to being able to doze off easily, his racing thoughts and the lurking nightmares chasing away any rest, but it seems as though he's long passed the point of exhaustion and his body is in desperate need of replenishing the sleep reservoir.
But before he can slip away into a much needed unconsciousness, Dokja settles a tentative hand against Abel's wrist. ]
... Thank you.
[ For this, for before. He practically has to choke out the words, voice shaking with the effort. He's never known how to respond to someone caring about him, always just filed it away as a debt to be repaid, but.
This time, it feels too impossible for Dokja to return this favor. ]
[ like tucking a sickly child into bed, Abel's drawing the blankets up around Dokja once the other man has settled comfortably among the pillows - or, as comfortably as one can get when they must feel like one walking bruise. sleep really is the best thing for him, and hopefully having some tiny comfort in the fact he isn't alone will be enough to see him off to rest a bit more peacefully.
Abel hesitates where he had been about to straighten when that hand touches his wrist-- and that soft gratitude, hoarse but so terribly earnest, has a tiny smile tugging at his lips. ]
Please rest well, Mr. Dokja.
[ there is no need for thanks, but he will accept it because... just this once, he thinks Dokja needs him to.
wouldn't be terribly surprising if his ward were asleep before Abel had time to collect two tea mugs and head to the door, hm... ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He takes it with a small smile, hands wrapping around the cup to soak in the warmth from its sides for a moment before he carefully takes a sip. It's nice, warms him from the inside, and sweet just how he likes it.
... It causes a lump to form in his throat. As he lowers the cup to his lap, he finds that he can't raise his head to meet Abel's gaze.
Being taken care of like this... He'll never get used to it. He doesn't even deserve it for putting his companion in a dangerous situation like that. ]
I... I'm sorry. For what I put you through. Were you hurt at all?
no subject
the pang in his chest could be seen on his face, but it isn't as though Dokja can bring himself to look at Abel, anyway. the priest watches the miserable slope of Dokja's shoulders, the heavy weight of a single mug in his lap... and his own heart aches in a very familiar sort of way.
that boy's angry, bitter words repeat in his head. the weight behind the dejection in his friend's posture... it, too, seems to validate something the priest had already suspected, feared-- even if he had been desperately hoping to find evidence to the contrary. right now, everything is screaming that what that boy said was no fabrication or provocation. ]
I wasn't hurt, [ he starts with-- because assuaging that worry comes first and foremost. he won't have Dokja concerned with something that's irrelevant; Abel hadn't been injured. ] ...and he left with Miss Ciel. He wasn't hurt any further, either. She will take care of him, Dokja.
[ his voice is gentle, soft, as if he knows he's speaking to someone who's hurt himself far more than Abel ever could - or would ever want to. ]
But you very nearly... if I hadn't happened to be there-- if I had come just a few moments later, you...
[ ...'you would have died.'
though his chest is tight with a pressure, a sense of discomfort and uneasiness-- he doesn't look away, watches his friend for any signs, any tells. the last nail in the coffin, so to speak.
would that truly be what you wanted, Dokja...? ]
no subject
He can't wonder about it for very long. As soon as he hears the softness of Abel's voice, hears what it is he can't say, Dokja seems to draw further in on himself. He lowers his head even more, as if trying to hide his expression, but the way his grip on the cup tightens is clear to see.
This is normally the part where he'd run away, and it takes a second for him to find his voice. When he next speaks, his tone is heavy, guilt-ridden. ]
I'm okay now.
[ No, he isn't. His mind is still a mess, rattled by words and then again by a separation of what he had known to be real. He had lost it back there. He had... what? Succumbed to his insanity?
That's it, isn't it? He's... he's always going to be a half-step from the edge, if not outright plummeting over it. ]
no subject
if it's like this, then...
...
Abel's fingers gently come to cradle the cup in his hands, a moment of brief hesitation settling over him before he inevitably decides to set it on the bedside table, keeping it safe where it rests. he's giving the man before him his full and undivided attentions. ]
You aren't.
[ 'okay.' it isn't accusatory. it's quiet, just as soft in delivery as the words that had come before it. ]
...And that's alright, Dokja. To not be alright? Admitting you aren't... it isn't a weakness nor a burden. It's human, and... even putting our circumstances here aside-- what you've told me of your world, your home... life has not been especially easy, nor kind. Has it?
[ someone who bears the weight of that guilt, the heaviness of that shame-- they may as well be crying, Abel thinks. he has his answer without Dokja saying a word. ]
...So, it's alright. It really... it really is alright. If you aren't okay-- you can be. I'll sit here with you while you're not okay for a while, and maybe... maybe we can find a way to make tomorrow a little better.
no subject
In the end, Dokja had been that world. He'd been all the worst things about it.
And he'll never be able to make amends for it.
He raises a shaking hand to his eyes, presses his fingers against them, but it's not enough to stop the flow of tears from spilling past his fingertips. Crying is familiar to him. He doesn't know how often he'd used to sob on the floor of that subway train, but he does it enough here that it's almost become a daily ritual.
But to cry in front of someone else is a different story. Dokja grits his teeth as he tries to stop them, but the tears slip down his cheeks, follow the line of his jaw, then fall to the sheets below.
Why now? Why... can't he hold it together anymore? Had he relied so heavily on the wall in his head in the past? Now that it's gone, he can't stop himself from spiraling. Can't stop the tears, the anguish, the insanity. Can't stop the guilt from breaking him down, disintegrating whole pieces of him, shattering what's barely left of him.
He's nothing but a broken man. ]
no subject
but some things must be broken before they can heal, right? right...?
Dokja might not hear Abel move, preoccupied as he is with an internal battle against himself and his own emotions; there's the faint rustling of clothing as he lifts from the chair, the sink of the mattress as he sits beside his friend, gently extricating the mug from his hands to displace it aside.
and then a warm pair of arms enfold Dokja and gently goad him into a hug, cautious and careful and delicate - because this man is broken. he's fragile, and raw, and vulnerable-- and he deserves to be handled with care, even if he might not believe it himself. Abel believes... no, he knows it's true. he might be broken, might even feel he's shattered into such small pieces that putting himself together again is impossible.
but he doesn't have to. being broken doesn't make something worthless. it's alright if he doesn't understand-- it's alright if he doesn't see it himself. he's not alone, so he doesn't have to. ]
no subject
He doesn't have it in him to resist, doesn't sink into the hold, but doesn't move much besides dropping his forehead against Abel's shoulder. One hand stays where it is over his eyes, while the other clutches at the sheets. He's shaking, breaths ragged with the occasional sniffle in between.
But other than that, he's silent.
It takes a while for his crying to subside, and he's back to feeling exhausted and like a weight is pressing down on his eyelids. There's too many emotions for him to process. Grief, shame, embarrassment, self-loathing. He doesn't budge from where he's fixed himself into place, though. He's not sure he can look Abel in the eye after this.
... ]
I want to tell you something.
[ His voice is hoarse, tired, empty in a way. Like he's detached himself from this moment in an attempt to scavenge and gather what remains of him. ]
no subject
how long has it been this way? ...Abel fears the answer.
grimace at his lips, he is still save for the gentle rubbing of Dokja's back in solidarity, a reminder he's here, some futile effort to instill comfort against something Abel doesn't quite understand. the priest is in the dark; he doesn't know where this anguish comes from, even if he swears he could feel it as potent as if it were his own.
when Dokja finally manages to speak, the hoarse, exhausted sound of his voice is heartbreaking. even so-- ]
...Then I'll listen.
[ to anything, goes unsaid. perhaps Dokja does not know Abel too personally, too well, just yet - but surely he understands enough to absorb that is implicit. ]
no subject
He could never admit this otherwise. ]
I'm only half of the person I should be.
[ It doesn't make sense, but Dokja does not elaborate. This is already too much for him to say, but he says it anyway. Why? He's not sure. To relieve himself of just one secret perhaps, as unfair as it is to burden Abel with such a thing. Selfish as always. But he wants to pull this off of his skin, sick of the way it weighs heavily on his mind at all times.
That he's missing half of his memories.
That he'd left his other half with the people he loves most. That they live with a lie. That they think they got the happy ending they deserve.
While the other half of Kim Dokja rots away with the knowledge of what he's done. ]
no subject
maybe Abel already knew, already suspected. maybe it's intuition; maybe it's simply some sense of something he's pieced together in the past few months they've spent together. it doesn't matter what it was in the end. Dokja is saying the words out loud, and Abel is - as promised - listening.
the reply comes quietly. ]
If being half a man is all you can be, that's enough, Dokja.
[ ... ]
Even if you're only half of yourself, you're still very clearly the important parts. The parts that love, and grieve, and wish to protect those you care for. There are many people walking around whole you can't manage that much. So... it's enough, for now.
no subject
It has, in turn, had devastating effects for the one left behind.
Dokja wipes at his eyes, then drops his hand from his face and turns his head, still resting on Abel's shoulder, to stare blankly at the wall. He's aching in new ways now, wanting to wrap those comforting words around himself despite feeling as though he doesn't deserve them.
Is it enough...?
His heart squeezes in his chest in a desperate longing, but in regret, too. It feels as though he's said too much, more of him growing conscious of what it is that's happening here. ]
... You didn't have to stay.
[ And wait for him to wake up. He would have... been fine eventually. ]
no subject
[ Abel confirms that; he did not have to stay, but he is here. he didn't have it in his heart to leave Dokja alone - not just because he was injured, but because of whatever he'd endured at the Lover's shrine. his exchange with that boy had been... troubling, to say the least - and not just because of physical injury.
but all that can wait. right now... there are other priorities, other things more important than the altercation. wounds that have been bleeding for far too long untended that seem raw and re-opened, now. ]
...But I'm here. This is where I want to be. And... you probably don't know why, do you?
no subject
He still can't meet the other man's eyes just yet.
So instead, he stares down at his lap and shakes his head at the question. No, he doesn't have a clue why Abel had decided to stick around. ]
Did you get kicked out of your room?
[ That seems like a legitimate thing that would happen to Abel. ]
no subject
[ it leaves him in a vaguely indignant huff as he loosens where his arm is slung around Dokja's shoulders; his hand ends up hovering at the middle of the other man's back, offering whatever stability and grounding he can. ]
...Maybe, but that's entirely beside the point. The reason I stayed was much simpler than that one, you know... and no, it wasn't because I felt like being serenaded by the sweet, sweet melody of your snoring either, before you ask.
[ lightly, gently-- he bumps Dokja's shoulder with his own. ]
It's because you're my friend, you fool.
[ ...there's the creep of some earnestness, something quietly hopeful in his voice. Abel means this for whatever they jest, whatever light they make of things. this-- he means every word. ]
So if... if what you said is true? [ what he said to Abel; what he said to that boy, ] If you're half a man, then... that's all the more reason for us to stick together. Even if we can't bring back pieces that got lost along the way 'til now, Dokja-- it isn't too late to pick up new ones from here and make yourself whole. It won't be today, or tomorrow, or even ten tomorrows from now. But if you want it-- if you truly want it, you absolutely can find your way-- and you won't be alone 'til you get there.
no subject
That word again.
The one he doesn't dare to use.
He tenses uncomfortably at hearing it, almost seems to shy away like he doesn't want it to apply to him. How can it? When all Dokja has ever done is hurt the people closest to him, when the only thing his pathetic life seems to do is prolong the suffering and agony of the companions he cherishes more than he thought himself capable of.
There's a long pause as Dokja struggles with Abel's words. They're right, he knows they're right. He has to find a reason to stay, has used the lives at stake back home to try and convince himself of that, but when another part of him wants so badly to simply disappear, to make the pain stop, it's...
It's not easy. ]
I don't know what I want.
[ He's torn in two directions. But... seeing Abel on one side, hand outstretched in this way, it's. Terrifying. Tempting. ]
I might hurt you next.
no subject
[ even if Dokja won't look him in the eye, Abel is offering an encouraging smile all the same. ]
...Part of this whole 'friendship' thing is accepting the good with the bad, you know? So if you stumble, if you fall-- even if you take me with you, then... we'll be a rather messy pile of human being wherever we land, then. I guess that just means we'll simply have to find our way back up together, that's all.
[ if he hasn't come to terms with it yet, that dreaded F word - Dokja must be realizing it in short order now. it's good as set in stone, an inevitability. ]
The thing that hurts far more than anything you might do to me or anyone else, Dokja-- is knowing you're in so much pain and seeing that look in your eyes. I don't want to see you hurting yourself, seeing you looking so... lost and alone. Even if it's not me you reach for, and even if it's not for the sake of yourself-- please let us help you. You don't have to sink like that. It... it doesn't have to be like this.
no subject
Why?
For someone like me. For someone like him. I'm not... Worth it. Deserving of it. The person Abel thinks he is.
His self-loathing is so severe that he's legitimately confused. It almost feels unreal to be in the presence of someone as kind and generous as Abel, but his words weigh on Dokja's heart. Yes, he needs help. Yes, he needs a hand to grab on to. But the fact of the matter is, Kim Dokja does not know how to ask for help. ]
What... what do I have to do?
[ He finally lifts his head and there's such a nervousness to his gaze, like he might flee at any moment. He's lost, it's true, and in need of guidance, yes. And it's at a point where he'll do anything... anything not to feel as awful as he does. ]
no subject
suppose Abel is learning which category Dokja is falling into among them.
Dokja looks at him like a frightened child who's desperately afraid of having done something wrong or a cornered animal that has been beaten one too many times. it breaks the priest's heart all over again, but Abel's smile is smooth, steady. that is what Dokja needs, right now-- not someone to lament his woes and cry over all the things he hasn't allowed himself to mourn. but instead... what he needs now, is... ]
You live.
[ ...what he needs now, is... ]
If thinking about what to do five minutes from now is too hard, then... let's settle for three. If three is too much, let's settle for one. If one seems overwhelming - let's just sit here 'til you decide. Eventually, you'll get hungry, or thirsty-- or maybe you'll decide you're tired, Dokja. So we'll get something delicious to eat you haven't had before... or maybe we'll share a cup of tea together before it gets cold. Or, maybe you'll sleep off the headache behind your eyes, wake up to find that the world isn't quite as painful as it was when you last closed them. We can live one moment at a time, for now. You don't need to have everything figured out; I mean it. Taking that pressure off your shoulders... maybe it will let you breathe 'til you find what you're looking for.
no subject
However, what comes next is something he hadn't really considered. Whenever the idea of living had come to mind, it had always been for others. The sake of others. In particular, the handful of people that Dokja has come to love. He had never once thought of living for himself, for the day to day of what might come for him. It had always been chapter updates, then the story, then the characters, then... the people.
"You don't need to have everything figured out."
Doesn't he?
Isn't that... how he'd gotten this far? Doing everything on his own, planning every step of the way forward, poring over the finest details to make sure things would go according to the blueprint? Ah, his head hurts. It hurts in a different way, makes it clear there's an emptiness present that will never go filled. Never... Never...?
Why couldn't this new memory, this one with Abel who is trying so hard for Dokja's sake, go there...? ]
What I'm looking for... [ he murmurs as he echoes the sentiment. And then there's a shift in his gaze, as if realizing what this all means. ] I can take my time finding it. Like you said.
no subject
[ Abel watches this slow revelation, this meander toward an epiphany with hope budding in his chest. he knows that this is a deceptively simple task: to live can be an arduous task for someone who's suffered, who's lost loved ones, who's lost pieces of themselves. it can even be cruel to ask someone to keep going in light of those losses, but--
this is what Abel's asking, the path he's offering. even so - it is in Dokja's hands, now. whether he takes it, whether he decides he can move on from here or remain static, trapped in an old and ugly cycle is entirely up to him. ]
...The best way to find what's worth living for is to live. So... please let yourself live, and let the rest go for a while. Maybe it will help bring back some of those things you thought were gone forever. Our hearts have a way of remembering things our minds forget, I think.
no subject
He'd slowly unmade himself there, unraveled his existence, and would have achieved an end had it not been for his sudden arrival here.
And while he's never thought of it as a second chance, he wonders now if there's... more he can do.
Nothing comes to him immediately, but he heeds Abel's words and stores that gentle guidance in his heart. He's never had anyone talk to him like... this. Never given anyone an opportunity to, if he's being honest. But again, it's a lot to think about, and he wants to give it the careful consideration it deserves.
For now, all he can do is nod mutely. He still feels like his insides have been carved out, and the heavy presence of guilt doesn't fade, but this... It's a start. ]
no subject
but seeing that hollow gnaw in someone he cares for... even if it's clumsy and even if he makes a wrong step, Abel knows he has to try.
he can see this conversation has been thoroughly exhausting; he can see Dokja needs some time to absorb, to lick his wounds, to put himself back together again in whatever way he can. so... he shifts his weight gently, drawing the blankets a bit further up and trying to goad the other man to lay back down again. ]
...Maybe that nap is a good idea. Suppose I might be able to find one of those aforementioned delicious things to eat by the time you wake up, mm?
[ 'it's going to be alright.
just keep moving forward.' ]
no subject
But before he can slip away into a much needed unconsciousness, Dokja settles a tentative hand against Abel's wrist. ]
... Thank you.
[ For this, for before. He practically has to choke out the words, voice shaking with the effort. He's never known how to respond to someone caring about him, always just filed it away as a debt to be repaid, but.
This time, it feels too impossible for Dokja to return this favor. ]
no subject
Abel hesitates where he had been about to straighten when that hand touches his wrist-- and that soft gratitude, hoarse but so terribly earnest, has a tiny smile tugging at his lips. ]
Please rest well, Mr. Dokja.
[ there is no need for thanks, but he will accept it because... just this once, he thinks Dokja needs him to.
wouldn't be terribly surprising if his ward were asleep before Abel had time to collect two tea mugs and head to the door, hm... ]