JUDE
the light of dawn is coming
It’s really not fair, but Jude’s only experience with using someone as a punching bag was his dad, and it had felt awful but cathartic then, so why stop now? Why does Koa get to be self-assured and unflinching even in the face of Jude's vitriol when Jude can't even stop crying? It's an agonizing reminder of all the ways Jude can't measure up to this man he can't seem to figure out how he feels about.
"No you fucking don't," Jude hiccup-laughs, wanting to shove dirt in Koa's face like a schoolyard bully to wipe that collected look off his face. "You don't even know me. You just wanna feel good. Seems to be a real theme for you." If Koa's care is as shallow as that, it's no surprise he cares about Jude, and Sohalia, and Flora, and whoever else he's come across who didn't know better than to fall for puppy eyes and sunlit smiles.
Jude's knees come up to his ribs like they'll protect him somehow from the hurt. He isn't sure which pain is strongest right now - all he knows is it hurts so bad he reaches for the bottle without further complaint, praying to more gods than live in Caido's skies that it will ease this pain as it has so many wounds of the flesh. He drinks from it in a few graceless gulps, then lets his mouth go lax so the water can pour over his lips and face, trickling off his chin and down his temples into his hair.
The water is warm from sitting in Koa's backpack, and for a moment Jude's not crying - it's just summer, and they didn't bring enough ice to keep their drinks cold. Didn't think to pack it at all. They're just ill-prepared adventurers, maybe even friends, the kind of friend he'd had in Sohalia once. And Koa is visiting because someone actually remembers Jude, and they brought extra water with him in mind and -
Jude straightens the bottle back out and buries his head in his knees, finally sobbing. How pathetic is he that he has to pretend like this just to find comfort? How can he reconcile his hatred for his dad with the fact he'd been the last person to visit Jude's sad little apartment the way he was just longing for someone to do? "M-My dad's de-e-ad," he sobs, forehead rolling against a new split in his jeans from falling down the cliff. The bottle in his hand crinkles, white knuckles soon coated in waters that heal the abrasions there and leave only streaks of mud. Like the hurt had never existed.
"No you fucking don't," Jude hiccup-laughs, wanting to shove dirt in Koa's face like a schoolyard bully to wipe that collected look off his face. "You don't even know me. You just wanna feel good. Seems to be a real theme for you." If Koa's care is as shallow as that, it's no surprise he cares about Jude, and Sohalia, and Flora, and whoever else he's come across who didn't know better than to fall for puppy eyes and sunlit smiles.
Jude's knees come up to his ribs like they'll protect him somehow from the hurt. He isn't sure which pain is strongest right now - all he knows is it hurts so bad he reaches for the bottle without further complaint, praying to more gods than live in Caido's skies that it will ease this pain as it has so many wounds of the flesh. He drinks from it in a few graceless gulps, then lets his mouth go lax so the water can pour over his lips and face, trickling off his chin and down his temples into his hair.
The water is warm from sitting in Koa's backpack, and for a moment Jude's not crying - it's just summer, and they didn't bring enough ice to keep their drinks cold. Didn't think to pack it at all. They're just ill-prepared adventurers, maybe even friends, the kind of friend he'd had in Sohalia once. And Koa is visiting because someone actually remembers Jude, and they brought extra water with him in mind and -
Jude straightens the bottle back out and buries his head in his knees, finally sobbing. How pathetic is he that he has to pretend like this just to find comfort? How can he reconcile his hatred for his dad with the fact he'd been the last person to visit Jude's sad little apartment the way he was just longing for someone to do? "M-My dad's de-e-ad," he sobs, forehead rolling against a new split in his jeans from falling down the cliff. The bottle in his hand crinkles, white knuckles soon coated in waters that heal the abrasions there and leave only streaks of mud. Like the hurt had never existed.
ready to return everything the darkness stole
