Mateo
champagne, cocaine, gasoline
and most things in between
and most things in between
The worst part is that this isn't even the first time that Mateo has heard this. The you're right that heralds the sort of accountability that should lead to real change, to never having to hear it again, and the botanist swallows thickly, having to school himself not to just immediately tell Remi that it's okay. Because it isn't, and he's old enough now to shoulder the pain of drawing and maintaining a boundary for himself.
What Remi has to say about the festival isn't surprising, not when it comes to how he'd behaved around what had happened to Flora. That much Mateo has already been able to talk out with the Doubletake, to drink and commiserate and to prop each other up between death and resurrection and parental lectures. No, it's the second part that hits him, the boy's gaze dropping away towards the bottom of the doorframe so he doesn't have to watch properly as Remi sets the gift between them.
"I think perhaps that was true once, when I was very small. Like Aoife," he mutters. "Not now that I am a man who can be blamed or argued with or forgotten about."
Huffing out a shuddering breath and rubbing at eyes suddenly lined with silver, smudging the kohl he'd so carefully applied hours ago, Mateo shakes his head weakly. "I am too drunk for this," he says roughly. "Thank you for... for this." He gestures at the box, whatever is inside it. "I will reach out when I am ready." If and when that ever may be.
What Remi has to say about the festival isn't surprising, not when it comes to how he'd behaved around what had happened to Flora. That much Mateo has already been able to talk out with the Doubletake, to drink and commiserate and to prop each other up between death and resurrection and parental lectures. No, it's the second part that hits him, the boy's gaze dropping away towards the bottom of the doorframe so he doesn't have to watch properly as Remi sets the gift between them.
"I think perhaps that was true once, when I was very small. Like Aoife," he mutters. "Not now that I am a man who can be blamed or argued with or forgotten about."
Huffing out a shuddering breath and rubbing at eyes suddenly lined with silver, smudging the kohl he'd so carefully applied hours ago, Mateo shakes his head weakly. "I am too drunk for this," he says roughly. "Thank you for... for this." He gestures at the box, whatever is inside it. "I will reach out when I am ready." If and when that ever may be.
I roam the city in a shopping cart
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm
