[He’s never been good with hugs, it’s always been an awkward affair, never knowing exactly how he should hug back. For all his skill in reading other people and making friends, he’s actually really bad at things like this, at real feelings, at letting people in.
He was not expecting this.
He blinks, against feathers and talons, surprised but much more than that…it reaches him. It strikes him more than words ever could. Even now, even after he found a family on Atlantis, even after he’s had people outright tell him, a part of him still stubbornly clings to the fear of rejection, abandonment, of failing the people he cares about. A certainty he would disappoint them and they would leave.
Rue did not run away or leave. Instead, they do this. Making sure he knew how they felt.
It strikes deeper than the fear, the self-hatred. That Rue insists, that they say that he’s still himself—
He closes his eyes a moment against the feathers, a little overwhelmed, unable to form the words—even if he could, he wouldn’t know what to say.
How much this means to him.]
He’d be pretty mad, actually. You wouldn’t believe the complaints he’d have. He’d never shut up.
[A deflection, a joke, because this is the only way he knows how to deal. He finally manages to return the hug, movements awkward, a gentle pat to contrast with the crush.
It’s helped. So much.]
Thanks, Rue.
[He wishes he was eloquent, that he could explain what he feels. But it’s all there on his face, the words he can’t say, the gratitude in his eyes that might look just this side of watery.]
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He was not expecting this.
He blinks, against feathers and talons, surprised but much more than that…it reaches him. It strikes him more than words ever could. Even now, even after he found a family on Atlantis, even after he’s had people outright tell him, a part of him still stubbornly clings to the fear of rejection, abandonment, of failing the people he cares about. A certainty he would disappoint them and they would leave.
Rue did not run away or leave. Instead, they do this. Making sure he knew how they felt.
It strikes deeper than the fear, the self-hatred. That Rue insists, that they say that he’s still himself—
He closes his eyes a moment against the feathers, a little overwhelmed, unable to form the words—even if he could, he wouldn’t know what to say.
How much this means to him.]
He’d be pretty mad, actually. You wouldn’t believe the complaints he’d have. He’d never shut up.
[A deflection, a joke, because this is the only way he knows how to deal. He finally manages to return the hug, movements awkward, a gentle pat to contrast with the crush.
It’s helped. So much.]
Thanks, Rue.
[He wishes he was eloquent, that he could explain what he feels. But it’s all there on his face, the words he can’t say, the gratitude in his eyes that might look just this side of watery.]