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DOPPIO IM SORRY
There is room here for doubt. The answer clarifies nothing. Doppio might not remember, or he might not understand the question.]
I must be sure. It was not long after I arrived. After the vortex took me, after I was devoured and pieced back together... I was still careless then. I did not yet believe you to be real. Perhaps if I put my faith in you from the start, this would not have happened. Perhaps if I had been more resolute, you would not need to... stray. In all of our encounters, she has been decisive and willful — traits that I have lacked. You do best with a purpose.
[It hurts to admit such weakness, but his faults pour out relentlessly.]
The audacity with which she speaks to you — the way I've seen you respond — I'm certain she's given you a purpose. But when? Was that the beginning of it? That day we spent together, wandering the city streets, children ripped from space and time? She stayed with us, she spoke to us, fed us and ensured our safety.
[A beat.]
I trusted her then. I... did not have the context to doubt her, or I would have taken you by the hand and taken you away. As soon as I regained my senses, I could only wonder what her intentions are. Was she targeting you from the beginning? To build trust when you needed it most, to sway you to her side? Tell me, Doppio. Tell me you can't remember, now when I can feel it.
sickos dot jpeg
You've got it all wrong--
[But it still won't stop. The Boss thinks Trish is his purpose? Again, he tries to interrupt - to be more precise, the sentence forming on his lips is "That's stupid" - but there's MORE, and-- children?? Doppio's brow furrows.]
Wha...
[Targeting him from the beginning? That's--
Silence. Can he finally say something?
He can?
Okay.]
I don't know what the fuck you're going on about! Look-- [The laptop threatens to slip again. He huffs.] I don't know how Trish does it either, but I didn't... pledge my loyalty to her or whatever you think I did! You're my purpose, idiot!
[wait. wait he didn't mean to say that last part. at least not like that. uhhhhhhhh]
W... Wh-when were we kids, anyway?
[FLAWLESS CHANGE OF SUBJECT, MASTERFULLY DONE, ACING THIS CONVERSATION]
no subject
The same pattern, easing her way close with promises of safety and care. He wants to protest and point out his suspicions, he wants to say so many things about Doppio's heated confession, but the words die in his throat.
Doppio has asked a question, and so he must answer it.]
A few months after I arrived. The passing of time was hazy for me then, so I can't be more specific. I couldn't sleep. I could hardly think. When it happened, I felt... almost serene.
[The past is such a dreadful thing. Longing for the past is far, far worse.]
As though I was in a dream... and fear and pain could not touch me there. We were inseparable. You held me close. You—
[Stop. This, of all things, should not be dredged up. But it must be.]
You told me my eyes were pretty. I... could not fully believe you.
no subject
Your eyes are pretty, [he mutters, words unwittingly escaping him again, now that he isn't putting all of his effort into keeping his traitorous mouth closed.
A few months after the Boss arrived... That still isn't enough for Doppio to place it. It could have been any of the weeks he has forgotten; they come regularly.]
I forgot. ... Sorry.
[It isn't that strange, when he thinks of it that way. Though -]
... Good thing I stuck close by, right? Instead of wandering off like I usually do?
[That IS what happens most times - it must be, even though for the past while, he has snapped out of it relatively close to home.
His condition... Its return had been a relief at first, despite the pattern seeming somewhat different from what he was used to back home: several days missing - usually nearly a week - separated by what had to be at least a month, instead of intermittent, unpredictable gaps. It was familiar, almost strangely comforting, after several weeks of remembering just about every hour of every day. And of course it was comforting, knowing what he knows today; though he never realised it, each absence was an act of sharing. Now--]
Let's talk about something other than my lousy memory!
[...
He's not sure he meant to blurt that out, but at least it doesn't seem incriminating.]
no subject
[The memory spills out of him, unstoppable. And, though his heart beats fast, his expression is softer than before. That week, despite everything, is not wholly a bad memory. He leans back, then, releasing his grip entirely to fold his hands on his lap. He carries a tension with him still, fingers twitching and staring off into the distance. But he continues with the reminiscence that cannot — must not — be stopped.
Stopping now would end this brief moment of peace. For as long as he speaks, everything between the two of them can be fine, tranquil, nearly normal. There is no need to think about the surely-buried truth that agonizes him. As long as his attention is on this and not Trish, there is no conspiracy to worry about and no betrayal to fear.
The brief thought of her name sends a jolt of anxiety through him. Moving on:]
I'd started to piece together everything I'd forgotten by then. I vividly remembered fear, and death, and they were... too terrifying to cope with alone. I'd thought I'd lost you for good. [Here his posture stiffens, regret spiking up within him as soon as he confesses his weakness and doubt. So he switches his course here to spill a less mortifying truth.] That was when I met Beatrice. I suppose I've never mentioned that — I wouldn't have. I didn't want to remember that week; I could not bear to explain it to you even in vague terms. But I met her then, and she was patient and gentle with me, and I believed her to be someone reasonable and predictable. And a few months later, she tracked down our address and deposited Struffoli on our doorstep.
[Blink.]
I still don't know what to make of that. I was certain it was her idea of a sick joke. This miserable little thing, drifting in solitude... it felt like open mockery. And yet... as I've been exploring this island, I haven't been able to put him out of my mind. I've been sincerely considering where the best place for him to live would be.
[He's changed. Something changed him, and there is nothing in the world more disconcerting than that knowledge.]
Is this what I've become? Reduced to... this? Doing menial work, mingling with the masses, entranced by the mundane? Was I not meant to strive for greater heights?
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because) the general matter of Doppio's tendency to wander wasn't really the point.Not that kind of wandering, where he is distracted but still alert; rather, it's wherever he goes when the hours disappear - like this week apparently did.Though it sounds like despite any of that, in the end, he did fall victim to his usual failing: he left the Boss alone and terrified. It has him stepping forward to chase the Boss's withdrawing hand, even though its grip had been almost painful moments ago; ultimately, however, he doesn't let go of the laptop.
All he does is listen
- and not only because the change of subject is welcome -until it's more than evident that he needs to say something.]It's because you're kind. The... Struffoli thing, I mean. You want to find a good place for him because that's just the kind of guy you are.
Besides - [He hesitates, clenches his jaw, relents -] Okay, it's weird that you're working at a convenience store, but I'm pretty much a janitor! It doesn't mean... Yeah, Passione's gone, and that stings. I bet it stings even more for you, on top of... of everything else that happened. But... you're doing your best, right?
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[Diavolo huffs at the idea that it is kindness that drives him; the very thought makes him feel... shameful, if he must assign a word to it. Dedicating time and energy to the care and companionship of lesser creatures is Doppio's expertise. But as he protests the intention behind his actions, an unease settles deep within him. He was doomed from the moment he gave the thing a name. Perhaps that was the beginning of the end. He'd allowed himself to slip headfirst into mediocrity, and what does he have to show for it? Soiled clothes from surveying the stormy gardens and an ache in his body that only grows with each passing moment?
A king does not toil away in the fields like a peasant. The Diavolo of the past would not have fallen so far. He spent a lifetime spent outrunning every past weak iteration of himself, but now the ghost that haunts him relentlessly is the one who lived and thrived at home, worlds apart from him in capability and accomplishment. The Diavolo of the past would have delegated these tasks to someone more suited to the mundane by now — he would have any human working for him in an instant with only a twitch of his fingers and a shower of sparks. One with power such as his was born to command.
But here, his mind protests, he is nothing special. Chosen to change and grow, yes, but so were dozens more. So was the very person who brought him to ruin, and he was chosen first. It's an unhappy thought — one best driven out of his mind as quickly as possible. Pressing on, there is something in Doppio's soft reassurance that lingers in his mind and brings him turmoil.
He can't allow this to go on.]
And this is not my best. It can't be. Nothing about what I am doing here is acceptable. This sort of existence was... never meant to happen. Not to me.
[A wince as a surge of pain ripples through his body — and he carries on.]
I am... so much more. I could reach out and take what should rightfully be mine — I could forge myself again into the Boss you once knew. The only reason I haven't yet is— is...
[There's a piercing pain in his head, a growing pressure that he can't help but rub his fingers against. With eyes pressed tightly shut, he exhales slow and ragged. This blight, this disease wants him to speak. Like the flowers that ripped his secrets from him, now this has come to tear free what he kept inside then — the truths that he died for. He won't let it win.]
I could. I could. I'd make everything right once more, rid myself at last of the hesitance that grips at me and move us both forward towards a greater future. It should be so easy. I... can't be so lost. You can't look at me and truthfully claim that this could ever my best. You—
[You can't lie. Not without a struggle, and Doppio's words come out so easily. He opens his eyes, then, and reaches out, pulling one of Doppio's hands into both of his own. He can feel the chill of the hand, so small beneath his, but the cold won't last long beneath the pulse of heat and light. He needs to feel Doppio's answer — whether it be the harshness of a lie swelling beneath his skin, or the comfort of truth.]
Please tell me you don't truly think so little of me.
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The Boss demands an answer. It starts to spill from Doppio's mouth before he can think of what it ought to be.]
No! Boss, that's not it! I-- I thought... [He fumbles; he still doesn't have the words, and that's...] That's the problem! I-I'm just... I'm not good at this like you are! If it was the other way around, you'd be making me feel so much better, I just know it, but I don't know what to tell you!
[Those can't possibly have been the right words either, but there was no stopping them.]
Boss...
[His mouth hangs open. This time, he realises the words lingering on his tongue are those same three he tried to hide earlier. God fucking dammit, what good is a selfish declaration when all he wants to do is help the Boss feel better?]
I didn't mean you can't do better than that, [he tries again, his voice strained.] It's just... What you're doing now...
[Why is this so fucking hard? How does the Boss do it?]
Y... You've been through hell, Boss. You've seen and felt stuff that'd make anyone want to curl up and die. But... But you're here, and... you're trying. You're trying not to curl up and die.
[Not like this. He'd say it better. He'd make Doppio feel like he's earned his position in the world somehow. And that, he thinks, is what the Boss needs right now, but he doesn't know how to get there.]
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Trying — and failing.
[It would be so wonderful to shut himself away from the world, close his eyes and sink in to Doppio's every lingering word and believe him with his whole heart. The magic that grips him on him won't allow him this one small comfort. He's driven to refute every last point — he needs to, just as he needs to breathe.]
The end of Requiem was not the end of my dying. [Slowly, he recites:] Trish, beneath the waves. I struggled, but in the end, I knew there was no use in fighting. Cervo, when I was lost and alone. I begged. I knew struggling was pointless, and so I let him devour me. The parasitic flowers choked the life from me because I allowed them to — because I would rather embrace death than reveal that which I kept hidden. I curled up beside you and died in your arms when I could have confessed to you everything we were. It was... the safer option to keep you in the dark rather than risk losing everything. If I'd dared to tell you the truth and for my efforts woken up all alone...
[It doesn't matter. It didn't happen. Even worse than the malingering past are all the "what-ifs" that plague him. What if there was a world where everything went wrong, one where he fell so much further, loneliness and suffering stretching on into eternity? What if some chain of events led to a life of joy and triumph, if only he'd made the right decisions, if only he hadn't faltered when it mattered most? It's a cruel thought that digs at him, that somehow, some way, things could have been different.]
Mana's twisting of my words led to my transformation into a waldgeist — and when I woke up, stiff and sore and dead, I knew it was because of the way I had phrased my request. And though I cannot count all times I was forced to relive my past in that nightmare... I allowed that shade to put a stop to it, even if only briefly. A mercy killing, and I welcomed it openly. Knowing all of this, can you still say that I'm trying, Doppio? Five deaths that I can count as real — each of them my own fault. It could have been six, had I not escaped from that gargoyle with my life.
[And, with a slow breath, he's no longer driven by desperation. The headache subsides, the compulsion ebbs away, and he is left feeling empty in its absence. Exhausted to the core, he wants nothing more than to drop the topic for good and rest. But when he thinks of leaving it at this, another urge spikes within him — one last thought that he cannot let go of.
He leans himself forward, cautious in every movement, so keenly aware of the bulk of his horns, and he comes to rest his head against Doppio's shoulder. He doesn't have to speak loud to carry his voice, now; so close to Doppio's soft ears, there's no need for much more than a whisper. There's no risk of being overheard even as he confesses the most shameful of his weaknesses.]
But... you aren't entirely wrong. I have tried. Just once, I escaped. I fought with everything I had, and...
[Even now, his chest sometimes aches where those claws ripped through his flesh. For reasons of pride, he almost let himself bleed out then and there rather than allow that lich to come to his aid. But if he died that night, Doppio would be left alone without him, and...]
I want to fight. I want— to live. I know it's absurd for me to set my sights on something so low after everything I had once achieved. Truthfully, more than anything, I wish we could return to the past we shared. With greater foresight, we could set those miserable weeks right, and we would live the rest of our lives the way we were always meant to. But... I know that to be an impossibility.
[There are too many variables. Doppio is dead at home, and Diavolo is something far worse. Even with the powers of gods, there is no guarantee that anything could ever be right again.]
And so I've found myself hoping that — even if I can't always be with you — I might one day be able to carve out a place in this world that is mine. Somewhere with safety, comfort, happiness, warmth... all the things I need but cannot seem to find. That is what I try to achieve.
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It probably wouldn't do much good, anyway.
He does wonder what to tell him this time, how he can possibly make his words just work, because he can't let the Boss keep putting himself down - but then he realises he's not done.
Not only is he not done, he's on his shoulder now. And this time - though it isn't a compulsion in the same sense as that force demanding that they spill their truths - Doppio slips his hand free, so that he can reach up and place it on the back of the Boss's head.
When he finally says something, Doppio's voice is just as quiet as the Boss's.]
I've kinda... wanted that, too. I-I mean, I've thought about it, and... and I think it'd be nice. It's not like we have a place to go back to, so... so shouldn't we just make the most out of what we've got here?
[It doesn't really matter what that place is. It doesn't need to be Passione again, as long as it's theirs.]
And... I think this island's a nice start.
[... Wait. He slips his hand back into the Boss's - so he can tell it's true.]
I-I think it's a nice start. It's not like it was ours back home, but... it is now, right?
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Mm. It is ours to do with as we want. We... could not settle anywhere before we came here, so this is an opportunity to forge something new. You could decorate as you please — and change anything you like. I thought a garden might appeal to you... somewhere you can watch your creatures in comfort and privacy, without risk of being run over.
[He laughs softly into Doppio's shoulder. It kept him on his toes.]
All the things we never could have had in a life spent drifting across Italy. You don't remember having a home, do you? It was many years ago, and...
[And those days are perhaps best left in ashes.]
Is that... something you've ever longed for? Some stability, some place in the world that is yours?
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Mmhmm. You know I don't remember. [Sardinia, he assumes the Boss means. Something occurs to him -] It's weird--
[And he knows he didn't mean to say it out loud, but after some hesitation, Doppio decides to just go for it. It... shouldn't be that bad, he hopes - but more importantly, he'd rather not scare the Boss again.]
It's weird... knowing, but not remembering. I don't mind! [That's true, he thinks. If it weren't, he wouldn't have been able to say it, or his stomach would be trying to compress itself again, or whatever.] It's just kind of... wild.
[... Apparently, that's all there is to that thought. Part of him was afraid there would be more; he's not sure what, exactly, that could have been.]
But... Maybe that's why I never really cared about that kind of thing? Staying in one place, I mean. It's not like it was something I was used to. So... I was happy just going wherever you needed me to go.
[His voice grows quieter as his hand apparently tries to burrow further into the Boss's hold.]
I'd still do it, if you asked me to.
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Or if you do, at least allow me to come with you. The thought of you going somewhere on your own is... unnatural. [Alarming. He's sent Doppio out alone before, and, only weeks ago, Diavolo dashed off himself to prove some worthless point. It's an exercise in futility. Once separated, something always goes wrong.] Yes. If the need to travel arises, we will go together — as we should.
[If only saying that could make it true. He could promise a thousand times not to repeat the mistakes of the past and never to leave again, but how can he stay true to his word when the very world fights against him? It isn't always overconfidence that tears them apart. When things turn perilous, so often the first thing to go is Diavolo's mind, and fighting against instinct in that state is nigh impossible. The past has wormed himself into him, vicious and unrelenting, poisoning him and pushing him to the brink of madness.
(He's alone, he thinks, when he slips into the past. Doppio is not— cannot be real, with his gentle eyes and his caring words, so far removed from where he ought to be. He could only ever be an illusion, like everything else, meant to break him down, and he can't allow it to taint his memory. No wonder his first impulse is always to run.)
If he could cling any tighter, he would — carve himself close and stay there until all is right again, but he can't. So he leans in as close as he can — eternally too far apart — and sighs against Doppio's neck, and another terrible little thought slips free.]
I fear I may never get used to this. I don't understand how others live. Their entire lives spent alone... how did you ever manage without me?
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[A quiet interjection in the middle of the Boss's silence. Doppio hopes it's comforting. "If he asked him to": that right there is what his statement hinged on. He does understand, at this point, why the Boss would fear otherwise so intensely - so many reasons for it, so many things he's been through, and Doppio may never know what some of them felt like but he doesn't need to. All he wants is for the Boss to never feel alone again.
That thought draws another confession out of him. He freezes with apprehension as his lips move -]
... I'm glad we want the same thing. It makes me feel less selfish.
[- but relaxes, if only slightly, because he could have said so much worse.
The Boss brings himself even closer somehow. It seems impossible, and all at once he remembers he knows they used to be so much closer and he wishes, somehow, that he could give himself over to the Boss's lips and he fears that he can't stop himself from saying it - but the Boss's words redirect that train of thought. There is something else that he must voice now.]
I didn't.
[It doesn't feel great to remember. It doesn't feel great to admit it - that he wanted to just give up - even though--]
I-I thought I already told you. [Didn't he? Maybe he dreamed it; maybe he only imagined it, and stored it somewhere far away.] I... didn't wanna be here. I didn't think there was any point.
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I know how it feels. Truly, I do. [The part of him slowly dragged to the surface wants to lash out and carve every agonizing memory into Doppio until the pain is shared between them both, and it's only with a deep breath and a moment's pause that he stifles the urge.]
I didn't mean to imply that it was ever easy for you. I know it couldn't have been. You lived, but you were desperately... lonely. [That was what Doppio had said, wasn't it? Diavolo was falling to pieces long before Doppio came home; everything about that day is shrouded and hazy. He can only reach out and catch bits and pieces of it, and perhaps it's better that way.]
Do others feel the same excruciating loneliness we do as they go about their lives? Or is this a unique torment, reserved only for us? I wonder.
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So, if he's completely honest - and whatever's in the air today isn't giving him much of a choice, apparently -]
I dunno, Boss. I don't really know anymore.
[Complete honesty.]
... But... I'd still rather be with you like this than not at all. I know it's not like before, [theoretically, conceptually, abstractly; anything more concrete still feels wrong to even think about,] but I'll take it. No doubt about it.
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[He can wallow in misery all he likes. He can think of the future and envision a thousand different disasters, but that doesn't mean a single one of them will come to pass. He struggles to find words that don't ache to say, that aren't lies and desperation. Eventually he finds some.]
...but we can do our best to forge what we have left into something comparable. I was not meant to live my life without you, and so I won't. This world has done its best to pry us apart, but I will not allow it to sever us completely. We can take it one step at a time, and we can start here — this place that is ours alone.
[Theirs and the strays', at least. The cat is unbothered — until Diavolo shifts again to gesture at the building beside them.]
Would you like to go inside? It's... chilly out here.
[Sort of embarrassing to say aloud — a blow to the pride — but he has little choice in the matter.]
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[It sounds stupid when he blurts it out. It might sound stupid no matter what. He can't help it sounds even worse said to someone who--]
I-It's weird, if I think about it too much, [he mumbles.] Weirder, knowing... about us. Or maybe it isn't? I, I don't know if you could feel it when I got hurt - shit, I hope not - but-- And I don't have to think about it! It's just... I'm thinking about it now, I-- I guess.
[... He's going to chalk that particular pile of incoherent nonsense up to The Compulsion (tm) and do his goddamn best to move on.]
Um, I really need to put down your laptop anyway.
[INSIDE HE GOES.]
im going to assume this is early enough that doppio hasnt yet taken a Full Tour
[A hand nudges Doppio's back, directing him the right way where the path splits. The soft patter of feet follows behind them. Up stairs and down corridors, around corners and through doors, and eventually they arrive somewhere modestly liveable. A little on the plain side for his liking, and with far too many crucifixes for comfort, but these things can be altered.]
Set it down anywhere you like. Somewhere secret, perhaps. I don't want to be tempted while I'm so loose-tongued. [And then, with undue determination, he ducks his way through a door. Clanking and shuffling ensue, and soon he emerges with hopefully-clean towels that once belonged to some nameless human a world away and now belong to him. There's little time to react before one is pressed firm against Doppio's hair to catch the rain that clings to it still. Meticulous and gentle so as not to snag against the small antlers, but still there's a clumsiness to the motion. He isn't used to this sort of contact with another person, wholly external — and neither is Doppio, judging by the way he shies away from it. So Diavolo allows him to part, under one condition: as soon as Doppio's hands are reasonably free, the towel is chucked at him so he can finish drying himself off. Catch!]
o7
Regardless, his back is tense as the Boss places his hand on it, relaxing only slightly as he guides him.]
I never got this good of a look at this place before... Guess I have plenty of time now, [Doppio mumbles. He's still wondering where exactly to put the laptop that the Boss won't immediately find and he won't immediately forget when he feels a towel soaking up all the rain that had slowly but surely seeped into his hair.]
U-Uh, you don't have to! I mean, it's kind of... [Embarrassing, weirdly embarrassing for the Boss to be drying his hair - no, maybe that's not the word -]
... Intimate, [is what he ends up saying, quietly and not entirely of his own volition, and then he decides he needs to put the laptop in a drawer right away.
When he comes back, he catches the towel with his face first and his hands second.]
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Intimate? This hardly scratches the surface. I have been far more intimate than this with our body... my Doppio.
[Is he going to elaborate? No, he's going to let that hang in the air, for now; whatever dark magic is at play here has seen fit to drag that out, but nothing more. More pressingly: Diavolo is soaked to the bone, and not even the largest towel in all the monastery is enough to make a dent in the dampness, but he can at least try to tackle hair and feathers and fur before he drips everywhere. If the barriers he conjures were not so limited (and not so taxing) he would have deeply considered using one to protect him from the rain as he worked outside. As for the mud dirtying his clothes... there's nothing to be done there until he can get back to the apartment and change.]
cw: description of injuries
Somehow, when the Boss's words set in, most of the blood currently in Doppio's body must rush to his face, because he goes very red.]
Right, [Doppio says, or he thinks he says, because it comes out awfully quiet but he swears he moved his lips. He scrubs his hair with absolutely none of the grace the Boss attempted moments ago.]
oozes forth from the sludge. a crusty underbaked tag is better than none tag
[The disjointed thought tumbles free, and with it comes more. He only takes the briefest glance at Doppio before looking away.]
I preferred to leave these sorts of menial tasks in your hands alone. There is so much to— to tend to. How are you not exhausted by it all? It never ceases. Eat. Clean. Sleep. At least I am no longer forcibly burdened by the latter—
[But there are times he wishes he at least had the option.]
—though I dearly miss the peace that a decent rest could give me... Ah.
[A small longing he did not want to confess to, and so he shies away, turning as he towels his wings. Were he plagued by animal instinct, he would shake them out; as it is, he has the common decency to not splatter rain all over the building.]
i echo your words and make them mine
At any rate, the Boss's next admission shakes Doppio out of his stunned reverie. A confession of his own stumbles free just as easily:]
I'd help you sleep if I could, Boss.
[It's silly, but sincere. If he'd known it sooner, he might have... Okay, he doesn't know WHAT he can do to make a monster sleep when they expressly don't. But he could have started thinking about it, at least.
Now that he's thinking of what he CAN do, though... He's dry enough already. The Boss has a lot more surface area to cover.
He puts his own towel down and grabs the end of the Boss's towel instead.]
Actually, can I help right now?
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[And then Doppio's small hands are tugging at his towel, and it gives Diavolo pause. Blink and parse the intention behind the action — and as soon as he does, he glances aside.
There are so many things he wants to say. Deflect, deny. "Do you think me helpless, Doppio? I can handle this myself." It's one thing to be cared for when they are together, but, apart like this, it's just... strange. Unnatural. Wrong. Accepting this help would mean accepting what they have become. It would only prove how far he has fallen. He can't.
He could act as though the very thought doesn't make his heart race in his chest. Play it off as some gracious indulgence, some tender closeness not for his benefit. Never his; it is nothing he needs. "I'd allow it, my Doppio, if it would make you happy," and leave it at that.
It would be so easy.]
Please.
[He can lie to himself as much as he wants. His voice still betrays his true feelings.
There is no way to recover from such a small, desperate admission with his dignity intact. All he can do is loosen his grip and let the towel in his hands drop, and he lowers himself along with it, down to the floor in a slow kneel. His eyes close, his heart pounds louder, and he turns quiet and still.]
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hey so. i'm sorry for this
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"yeah just uhhh kill me" "no NOT LIKE THAT"
today in tags that went in a specific direction on a whim
im also taking this on a whim
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made u wait. is this too intense a convo to be backdating? waves hands. its fine
it's fine!!!!!!! also suicidal ideation cw
is it normal to still have brainbees about stuff that happened years ago.like for me ya but DIAVOLO?
heeheehoohoohee
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