[He lets Rhy lead him, curling their fingers together as if any loosening of their contact could spell his own unraveling. Hidden by the ivy, they spend a moment suspended in silence as Wilhelm constructs the story in his head. It's not a complicated story. The whole thing slides on a linear line, if P then Q, and yet — he doesn't know how to begin. With his heart thudding in his throat, he almost doesn't tell it at all.
But if he doesn't, then Kell might. Somehow, that would be worse.
And Rhy is kindness given form, eyes sympathetic and words patient. That makes it easier to uncurl his fist from around this secret he's keeping. When he finally opens up, though, what trips out is not the beginning of the story, but the conclusion.]
I fucked up. [So quiet that he's not entirely sure he said it at all. Gulping down his nerves, he starts over.] That night at the party. I wanted to help. I was trying to help, and I thought, you know, with my fire I could actually do something for once. So...
[Finding his hand at his mouth, teeth scraping at his thumbnail — with no memory of starting it — he grips the seat of the bench instead. Somewhere in this pause, he hopes Rhy fills in the blanks on his own.]
no subject
But if he doesn't, then Kell might. Somehow, that would be worse.
And Rhy is kindness given form, eyes sympathetic and words patient. That makes it easier to uncurl his fist from around this secret he's keeping. When he finally opens up, though, what trips out is not the beginning of the story, but the conclusion.]
I fucked up. [So quiet that he's not entirely sure he said it at all. Gulping down his nerves, he starts over.] That night at the party. I wanted to help. I was trying to help, and I thought, you know, with my fire I could actually do something for once. So...
[Finding his hand at his mouth, teeth scraping at his thumbnail — with no memory of starting it — he grips the seat of the bench instead. Somewhere in this pause, he hopes Rhy fills in the blanks on his own.]