( closed )

[imaginate]

Characters: Kyle & various.
Date: Catch-all log for July.
Location: All around.
Situation: Various.
Warnings/Rating: War horrors, child abuse, mention of torture, physical and psychological.
Notes: [Action] or prose are all good. Ping me if you'd like a specific setup/threadstarter.

Comments

[imaginate]

He doesn't ask why Jim won't sit down. Pride, Kyle supposes. The same fool pride he himself had, and he's about to just talk about the paint when he decides, fuck it and jumps without looking.

'You've seen the sketch of the worldships, what was left of them,' he says, quietly, not tense, but almost shaking. 'I have sketchbooks full of that stuff. Why shouldn't I burn it?'

[jirk]

"I'm not saying you shouldn't," Jim says carefully, reaching up to rub at the side of his neck. There's a scar there, very faint, where someone had broken a bottle in a bar fight and winged him. It'd almost cut his jugular. Funny how at seventeen that was less of a wake-up call than it should have been. He hadn't even got it fixed professionally, he just stumbled home with a wad of napkins pressed against it and spent a few weeks wearing high collared shirts. That old instinct to hide, go to ground, make sure no one else saw the marks and bruises had still been prominent then.

"But everything you've drawn is just one more thing you've survived. They're like... scars, in your--" he waves a little, in the vague direction of his skull, "mind, I guess. If that's even how art works?" He falls silent, and he drops his hand down to his shoulder, and then down his bicep. He's not really thinking about it, but it's a defensive posture, one that makes him look younger than he is. "Hell, I'd burn mine, too."

[imaginate]

The moment it's out he knows he's admitted weakness, and almost instinctively his body tenses for a fight. Nothing happens, and he slides into confusion, before remembering who's standing in front of him.

Do you even know what friendship means?

It would take time to sink in. Nobody gave back. There was an ice sculpture of him standing over a planet, and Damian hugged him but nobody gave back, not in the way Kyle needed - a crutch to lean on as the entire universe threw everything it had at him. One that never wavered or broke or left. He'd been alone out there for so long. Even Jenny hadn't been able to deal with it.

(She's leaving, too, she's turning to dust and blowing away in front of him--)

'There's one,' he says, barely audible, rubbing an equally old, faint scar on his wrist. 'It's them - everyone I've ever,' watched die. He stops, takes in a breath and grips the table so hard his knuckles turn white. 'I can't burn that one but I can't keep it either.'

Pull me back.

[jirk]

"Hey." His tone's gentle. It's the one he uses when he's talking to crew members fresh out of surgery, that tone of you're tough, we both know you'll make it, but is there anything I can do for you now? But equally as much, it's stay with me.

"Give it to me. I'll keep it for you." It's an offer and a compromise all in one. He doesn't know what needs to be done, he only knows what he can do, and it's the only thing he can think to offer. They're equals, or something like it. Might as well act like it.

[imaginate]

He responds to it (Jim's language. Meeting him halfway), finally feeling like they've reached some sort of compromise, that they're finally in sync.

'You won't look inside, yeah?' It's not a plea, or an order, it's just a simple extension of his trust, and he smiles, all worn at the edges. 'People think I'm a dumb kid. I'd rather they keep thinking that.'

They don't deserve the truth.

[jirk]

Jim gives him a Look. "I already know you aren't. I don't need proof." I won't look.

[imaginate]

He picks up the red, studies it meticulously, like it's the answer to life, the universe, and everything.

'Thanks,' he says. 'That's the last time I'm going to say that word out loud.'

[jirk]

Jim's expression turns cautious, but it's accepting, too. He nods once. "Okay. Sure."

[imaginate]

He tosses a can up in the air and catches it. 'C'mon. I'll show you to how to mix these to get most of the colours you need.'

[jirk]

And Jim just laughs, shaking his head. "Whatever you say, Angel."