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[abrightboy]

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[howtheyshine]

Edwin lets his chocolate-spout drop back into his glass and blinks as the drink splashes freckles of hot beverage across his face.

"Kind of." It's that. It's also the nagging memory of John wondering if he's capable of loving without destruction, worrying that his nature runs opposite to who he really wants to be. It's wondering where the breaking point is, wondering which step will be the step too far in the eyes of someone he cares about. Not murder any more, not torture, but there are plenty of other ways to be cruel.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm nods and takes a sip of hot chocolate.

"I have that problem too," he admits. "It's not... unique to gods that got stuffed into meat suits."

He tilts his head slightly, watching Edwin for a moment.

"What are you the most afraid of?" he asks. Then clarifies: "What intrusive thoughts keep you awake at night the most?"

[howtheyshine]

He gives Malcolm a blank look.

"None. I don't sleep unless I feel like it."

[abrightboy]

"So when do you have time to worry?" Malcolm jokes. He sobers. "Just kidding. Um. Well, in general, what thoughts do you keep having that bother you the most?"

[howtheyshine]

He is staring fixedly at the drink now, because looking anywhere else feels like a bad idea.

"No one needs me."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm’s brow furrows faintly and he’s seriously watchful now, mirth banished.

“Needs you for what? Jedao went on some crazy trip to find you when you left and from just what I overheard, it sounds like it could have destroyed him, but he did it despite knowing the risk. He said he had to make sure you were okay. What is it, exactly, that indicates a person having… need of you?” His tone is genuine curiosity. He’s listening. He’s asking because he wants to hear him.

[howtheyshine]

The way he shrinks on the stool is reminiscent of nothing so much as a turtle sinking into its shell.

"No, you're right. My dad risked... everything for me. It's- stupid. That's what I mean, it's stupid, and it isn't fair."

[abrightboy]

“It’s not stupid. You feel it. But you do feel it for a reason and unless we talk about why and drill down on where it comes from, we can’t fix it. Are you up to that?” Malcolm asks. “It’s not easy work.”

[howtheyshine]

Edwin shakes his head. Not denying the difficulty or saying he isn't up for it, but- "I already know why. I'm selfish."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm blinks at that; it's clearly news to him.

"...You're selfish? Oh. Who... diagnosed that?"

[howtheyshine]

He finally peeks at Malcolm, curious and startled.

"You have to be diagnosed for that?"

[abrightboy]

"Maybe not formally, but... it's definitely someone objective should look at. What are the symptoms you're experiencing that gave you or someone else that impression?" Malcolm asks.

[howtheyshine]

"I just- I want too much, I want things from people too much, I think about myself all the time, all the time, and it drives me crazy."

He abandons his hot chocolate and starts to pace. "The only times I'm not thinking about myself are when I'm in the garden or playing music, that's the only time anything in my head feels calm."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm watches, but doesn't tell him to sit still or to drink his hot chocolate or to calm down. He hates that shit.

"I'm going to tell you a secret about people, Edwin," e says calmly. "Are you ready to hear it?"

[howtheyshine]

He stops pacing and looks at Malcolm with anticipation.

[abrightboy]

“Every single one of us sees things through the filter of our own thoughts, beliefs, emotions and needs. Our own eyes are the only lens we have to perceive the world through. That makes us all inherently selfish. We can’t control that. We can only control how we behave about it,” Malcolm explains. “Do you feel that you behave selfishly?”

[howtheyshine]

"No, I mean- yes, I do." Wait he's confusing himself. "I understand that, it's just- that's not the part I worry about, really, it's... the thinking about myself part, the always thinking about myself."

Pacing: resume.

"I- I don't know. About behaving selfishly. I mean, I feel like I do, like I have. Like there's no room in my head for anyone else."

[abrightboy]

“So… what you’re suggesting is that your thoughts linger on your own needs to the exclusion and detriment of people around you. Can you give me an example?” Malcolm asks.

[howtheyshine]

"Well-- Charlie. John loved... loves him, and I hated that." That's an easy one.

[abrightboy]

“Why did you hate that? What did you hate about it?” Malcolm asks.

[howtheyshine]

He comes back to the barstool, hunkering over the hot chocolate again.

"Charlie hated- who he thought I was. He was terrified of me. If he and John were together, I couldn't be there." Edwin studies his hands around his mug. "I... hated him for that. I hated that he could take my brother away from me, and that I would let him. I lashed out at John for- for being with someone he cared about. That he would kiss Charlie, that he would be willing to do more than that knowing Charlie couldn't stand me. It was the worst fight we ever had."

[abrightboy]

“Did you tell John why it upset you?” Malcolm asks.

[howtheyshine]

"Not until after we fought. But I thought about it so much that I felt like I told him. I didn't realize I never had until he asked me when it was."

He visibly slumps. "I- I was bad at sharing my feelings then. I'm not great at it now."

[abrightboy]

“What did he say when you told him?” Malcolm prompts gently.

[howtheyshine]

"I don't- I wonder sometimes if-" He stops. "He said I made a lot of assumptions, and a lot of them were wrong. He explained about... the shadows, that people leave on you, when they hurt you, the way the shadows the King left with him sometimes felt like me, just because that's... who I used to be. That it feeling the same didn't make him believe I was the same as the King, which- I was... I was afraid of. I was scared of that for a long time."

He isn't any more, which is a strange emptiness of its own.

He can feels his eyes burning and closes them, annoyed with himself for crying as easily as he does. "He talked about what he meant, when he said he wouldn't choose between people. That he didn't--wouldn't--treat people according to, to imaginary rankings, when one love wasn't greater or lesser than another. Just- different."

He slumps more, his breathing shaky with memory. Things that aren't air but are just as invisible fill his chest and make him feel squeezed. He closes his eyes and makes himself breathe again until the edge of panic fades some. It never really goes away, but at least he can corral it, like some monster that has to be periodically bound by ritual.

"I don't- know why I can't believe that. I don't know why I can never believe that anyone would choose me when they have another option."

Oh shit. That just. Came out. Didn't it.