[That's probably been the worst part of it, not being able to be touched. On one level he can think of nothing more comforting but then seconds after the thought occurs to him the fear starts to creep in. If he touches you you'll melt again, you'll stop being yourself again, you'll be trapped again. It's insidious and he hates it because he knows it's hard on Marco too, Marco who just wants to help him.
But he's feeling good now. He's still bright and full of laughter and maybe that will be enough. Carefully he extricates one arm from the blanket and extends his hand toward Marco.]
You can hold my hand. If you want.
[Which is a stupid thing to say, really, because he's pretty sure they're both very invested in Marco holding his hand. Just... hopefully he doesn't lose his nerve.]
You're... really sure? [Because heck, of COURSE he wants to hold his hand, but this just came out of nowhere, so what if Fiddleford isn't sure? Regardless, he slowly, hesitantly reaches out for his hand, a bit as if he were trying to make sure he'd still be able to easily back out if Fiddleford changed his mind.
Once Marco's hand closes the distance, though, he holds Fiddleford's just a bit too hard.]
[His voice is a little high, a little strained, but he doesn't pull his hand away. It's fine. It's alright. He's not melting. His skin is pressed to Marco's but they're remaining firmly separate. Slowly the tension that shot into his shoulders at the first squeeze of Marco's hand fades out again.
Marco sighs with relief. This will never undo what happened, nor could it nullify the fact that they're still in Ryslig, fighting what often feels like a losing battle, but it's something. It makes him feel like, if only for a moment, everything will be alright.]
[It's been several long seconds and he's still okay, still himself, and the only voice in his head is still his own. Maybe this trip was a good idea after all. Away from all the noise and bustle of a city it's so much easier to think. There's nothing to distract him from the warmth that settles in his chest at Marco's words.
Their relationship has been something approached with care and caution. It's grown slow because (he thinks) neither of them want to make a misstep and ruin something that has up until this point been so good for the both of them. There are steps that other people might take without thinking that Fiddleford has agonized over because they will make things that much more real.]
Love you too, Marco, so much.
[It's the first time he's said it properly. The garbled, desperate attempt while he was being held captive doesn't count -- or at least he doesn't want it to count. A first real 'I love you' shouldn't be tied to something so horrible, shouldn't have the weight of 'and this might be my only chance to say it' hanging over it. He raises his other hand and clasps Marco's between them. The blanket slips from his shoulders a little and he doesn't bother fixing it.]
Even out here, away from everything, there are times when Marco does still hear noise. It's not constant, thank goodness - the nearly 24/7 running commentary he can sometimes hear in the middle of a sleepless week is more subdued out here, more of an occasional quip or a remark or two when he's sitting alone.
When Fiddleford's hands come over his, everything falls silent. Marco sighs.
It... gives him a strange sort of hope, somehow, in a way he can't quite articulate.]
I wonder if he would like you... Oh, I'm sure he would. I'm sure he does.
[That must be who Marco means. Fiddleford has by now grown used to Luigi Evangelisti's presence even if he's not privy to it. It's something Marco lives with and he's with Marco often enough to feel it by extension.]
He doesn't. [Marco smiles, small and sheepish, in a way that makes it clear this is a subject he's embarrassed to mention, even with Fiddleford.] So... See, that's why I think he likes you. It's not a problem, I don't have to work on it.
[Maybe he's softening Luigi's words a little bit by implying that what he does is mention "problems" Marco needs to "work on". Maybe.]
[Yeah, that... that's a little worrying, reading between the lines of what Marco's saying to the implications behind them. Fiddleford doesn't comment on it. It doesn't seem necessary, or kind.]
Well that's... that's good.
Marco, y'know, whatever he says -- I think you're doin' just fine. Really.
[Marco forces a smile - it's just a bit too wide - and looks down at a spot just in front of his feet.]
He's not here anymore, you see, so he has knowledge that we can't-- we can't even imagine. He... might be a little harsh sometimes, but... he has the right to. I know he's just trying to save me.
i didn't intend the thread to go this way but you know what
[This is always a difficult topic of discussion. It all sounds so far-fetched, but Fiddleford knows spirits are real and has known since long before Ryslig. On the other hand the core concept of Marco hearing the voice of his dead father, the father he murdered with a broken table leg, is inherently disturbing. He just isn't sure if it's more disturbing as a paranoid delusion or a real otherworldly presence. His opinion on this changes daily.]
What does he say? Normally? You -- you don't have to tell me if you don't want. Just -- it might help me understand thins a little better. If I'm pryin' too much I'll let it be.
[His muscles tense, a bit as if his body wanted to withdraw into itself without actually moving. He doesn't want to tell Fiddleford, no. Not at all. But he doesn't want to hurt his feelings, either.]
He, he's just... looking out for me. Don't worry about it. He wouldn't hurt me.
[The way Marco talks about it doesn't honestly inspire much confidence, but Fiddleford doesn't want to push him. It wouldn't help. So instead of saying more he carefully, cautiously scoots himself closer to Marco. It's fine. It's safe. He leans their bodies together and it's a little awkward and a little unwieldy because he's ready to pull back at any moment but it... it's okay. It's okay.
In barely a few seconds he goes from the bare minimum of contact to practically trying to inhabit the same space as Marco. God, he needed this.]
[Flat as the response might sound, the look on Marco's face when Fiddleford scoots closer is completely genuine - a little surprise and, then, warmth. Relief.
It's very fortunate that his father hasn't said anything about Fiddleford, Marco finds himself thinking, because if he had, then he wouldn't know what to do.]
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But he's feeling good now. He's still bright and full of laughter and maybe that will be enough. Carefully he extricates one arm from the blanket and extends his hand toward Marco.]
You can hold my hand. If you want.
[Which is a stupid thing to say, really, because he's pretty sure they're both very invested in Marco holding his hand. Just... hopefully he doesn't lose his nerve.]
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Once Marco's hand closes the distance, though, he holds Fiddleford's just a bit too hard.]
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[His voice is a little high, a little strained, but he doesn't pull his hand away. It's fine. It's alright. He's not melting. His skin is pressed to Marco's but they're remaining firmly separate. Slowly the tension that shot into his shoulders at the first squeeze of Marco's hand fades out again.
He's okay.]
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Marco sighs with relief. This will never undo what happened, nor could it nullify the fact that they're still in Ryslig, fighting what often feels like a losing battle, but it's something. It makes him feel like, if only for a moment, everything will be alright.]
I love you, Fiddleford.
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Their relationship has been something approached with care and caution. It's grown slow because (he thinks) neither of them want to make a misstep and ruin something that has up until this point been so good for the both of them. There are steps that other people might take without thinking that Fiddleford has agonized over because they will make things that much more real.]
Love you too, Marco, so much.
[It's the first time he's said it properly. The garbled, desperate attempt while he was being held captive doesn't count -- or at least he doesn't want it to count. A first real 'I love you' shouldn't be tied to something so horrible, shouldn't have the weight of 'and this might be my only chance to say it' hanging over it. He raises his other hand and clasps Marco's between them. The blanket slips from his shoulders a little and he doesn't bother fixing it.]
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Even out here, away from everything, there are times when Marco does still hear noise. It's not constant, thank goodness - the nearly 24/7 running commentary he can sometimes hear in the middle of a sleepless week is more subdued out here, more of an occasional quip or a remark or two when he's sitting alone.
When Fiddleford's hands come over his, everything falls silent. Marco sighs.
It... gives him a strange sort of hope, somehow, in a way he can't quite articulate.]
I wonder if he would like you... Oh, I'm sure he would. I'm sure he does.
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[That must be who Marco means. Fiddleford has by now grown used to Luigi Evangelisti's presence even if he's not privy to it. It's something Marco lives with and he's with Marco often enough to feel it by extension.]
Is he -- does he say things? About me?
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[Maybe he's softening Luigi's words a little bit by implying that what he does is mention "problems" Marco needs to "work on". Maybe.]
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Well that's... that's good.
Marco, y'know, whatever he says -- I think you're doin' just fine. Really.
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[Marco forces a smile - it's just a bit too wide - and looks down at a spot just in front of his feet.]
He's not here anymore, you see, so he has knowledge that we can't-- we can't even imagine. He... might be a little harsh sometimes, but... he has the right to. I know he's just trying to save me.
i didn't intend the thread to go this way but you know what
What does he say? Normally? You -- you don't have to tell me if you don't want. Just -- it might help me understand thins a little better. If I'm pryin' too much I'll let it be.
hoo BOY
He, he's just... looking out for me. Don't worry about it. He wouldn't hurt me.
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[The way Marco talks about it doesn't honestly inspire much confidence, but Fiddleford doesn't want to push him. It wouldn't help. So instead of saying more he carefully, cautiously scoots himself closer to Marco. It's fine. It's safe. He leans their bodies together and it's a little awkward and a little unwieldy because he's ready to pull back at any moment but it... it's okay. It's okay.
In barely a few seconds he goes from the bare minimum of contact to practically trying to inhabit the same space as Marco. God, he needed this.]
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[Flat as the response might sound, the look on Marco's face when Fiddleford scoots closer is completely genuine - a little surprise and, then, warmth. Relief.
It's very fortunate that his father hasn't said anything about Fiddleford, Marco finds himself thinking, because if he had, then he wouldn't know what to do.]
Thank you.
[That, too, is genuine.]