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[abrightboy]

This is Bright. Leave a message.

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[howtheyshine]

It's so close. It's so close, what Malcolm says, it's scratching at the door of the things Edwin feels. It's like a pimple just a fraction too deep to be properly squeezed.

But anxiety seizes on other things. Anxiety makes it is hard being a person who's closest people won't believe them loom in his chest. Anxiety makes the question, the logical question, with its logical answer, its true answer, anxiety turns that question into a test he fails no matter how he answers. If he tells the truth, that it isn't 'more' for any of them, he slams right into the shame of knowing the right answer and not being able to feel it. If he tries to refine his own feelings enough to explain, to make clear that he doesn't need single-mindedness, that he just wants to be the most important to someone--

Except he knows, too, that his dad manifested a new piece of soul made from love for his son. Edwin doesn't even want his dad to put him first-first, not if it means saving other people. More lives, more minds. He's so proud that his father would be willing to break his own heart to protect others. So as much as he wants it, Edwin has someone who feels that way, and it hasn't fixed anything, so what the fucking fuck is even wrong with him?

"I- yeah. I mean, uh. I get what you mean, what you're saying."

[abrightboy]

“Of course you do. You’re very smart. But that’s not the answer to the question I asked. It’s not a pub quiz, with right and wrong answers. This is where we start to pick open the issue so we can see how deep it is and what’s inside. Not answering is refusing to look. Is there a reason you’re afraid to look?” Malcolm asks curiously.

[howtheyshine]

He doesn't know. But he also does. But he doesn't want to.

"Because..." He flounders for an answer long enough to get irritated with himself and burst out, "Because what if it is just me? What if I'm just fucking- wrong. Made wrong?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm watches him for a long moment.

"...If it's possible to just... be made wrong, then there wouldn't be much hope for a lot of us, would there? If that's a thing, then I'm made wrong for sure. There isn't honestly a lot that's made right about me. But... if we're just beholden to the inherent rightness or wrongness of how we're made, then... well then, the choices we make don't matter that much. It takes some of the pressure off, but it sucks out our agency like a high powered vacuum."

Malcolm shrugs. He sips his drink.

"I prefer to think that when I don't like how I'm reacting to something or feeling about something... I can put some work in and have some power over it. And you can have some power over it. But not without doing the work."

He keeps his eyes on Edwin.

"We don't have to start today, but I would be here to help you with it at any point when you want to."

[howtheyshine]

He sinks in his seat and curls over his hot chocolate like he's about to melt face-first onto the counter.

"I don't know why this is so hard."

[abrightboy]

"It's hard for everybody," Malcolm tells him matter of factly. "...There's no easy way to reprogram your limbic system. Or even to know which bit needs reprogrammed in the first place."

[howtheyshine]

"But I don't even have a limbic system!" This seems unfair!!!!

[abrightboy]

"If you have emotions, then you have something that does its job," Malcolm points out, undeterred.