Marco's Heart

[peccatore]

You find yourself in a bright white, circular room. It's nearly empty; too bare, almost clinically so. But the bareness of it means that what is visible here stands out:

A podium in the center, where a familiar figure sits, head buried in his hands. Three paths running from the podium to three different spots near the edges of the room - not corners; circles don't have corners - where three doors leading seemingly nowhere stand with no regard for their complete lack of structural support.

It doesn't take you long to figure out where you are, does it? You only have to decide where to start.

Comments

[want_not]

. . .

That's . . . the problem, I think.

You—live your life saying that you can't be forgiven, that you don't deserve help, and things like that.

But—. . . that's not. A choice. That's just—frustrating. It's not living and it's not dying. It's just—suffering, for no reason, and imposing that suffering on other people too.

There's plenty of things someone—can do. Even after—being greatly hurt. Or doing great hurts. Restitution. Rehabilitation.

[peccatore]

"..."

A little nod. A less little nod. More nodding.

"Restitution. I like that."

[want_not]

. . .



[a little suspiciously]

I'm not sure you know what it means . . .

[peccatore]

"I-- Uh, isn't it like reparations? That... sort of thing?"

[want_not]

[why are you like this]

[peccatore]

"Wh-- What did you mean."

[want_not]

. . .

We should go look around. Together.

[peccatore]

"That's... what you mean?"

Marco seems hesitant.

"I-I don't know if I can go."

[want_not]

Try.

[peccatore]

"..."

His body is rigid.

[want_not]

. . .

[starts poking Marco rapidly in the soft parts of his back under his ribs]

[peccatore]

"Wha--" FLINCHES. FLINCHES. FLINCHES. "What are you doing?"

[want_not]

[poke poke poke tickle]

[peccatore]

"S-- Stop that!"

He swats Mithrun's hand away with... basically no force behind it at all.

[want_not]

Get up.

[peccatore]

"But-- But I just said, I can't--"

Maybe if you try harder, Mithrun...?

[want_not]

[tries to put his hands up under Marco's shirt]

[peccatore]

HE YELPS AND LEAPS OFF THE PODIUM.

[want_not]

. . .

See. No problem.

[he gets up, taking Marco by the elbow, firmly]

Let's go.

[peccatore]

"That wasn't-- No, hold on, you can't... This can't just..."

... But he lets himself be taken anyway.

[want_not]

Why not?

[peccatore]

... Marco does not seem to have an answer to this question.

[want_not]

. . .

I don't want to force you to do anything. But I also think the idea that I should just walk around looking at your past and the things you consider sinful—

I want you to face it, too. I want you to see my reactions. I want to talk to you about it. I want you to know that I'm with you.

[peccatore]

"... You know I would have been there, right? It's-- It's my head. All of it is me."

He looks away.

"But... I... appreciate the sentiment."

[want_not]

[quietly]

You don't think there's a symbolic difference in doing it this way?