"...and I don't know... how to navigate that?" Benedict repeats, realizing in the moment that he may have to go back a little farther, depending on how long Colin hasn't been paying attention.
Taking a deep breath and sighing it out through his nose, Bene looks a little frustrated, but not angry. "What's the matter?" He was speaking.
"Sorry," Colin says again with a deeper wince. "Really, I'm so sorry. I am. What did you need to navigate?"
He says this as if Bene's problems are, by default, more serious than his own. And that's usually what dictates their conversations, whether it's Colin persistently focusing on Bene, or Bene persistently focusing on Bene.
"No." Another wince. "Sorry. Really. I'm so sorry. Um. I just, Lexie, Lexie's going to Antiva and it's the right thing but I sort of wish she wouldn't anyway?"
"I won't. I agree. They make each other miserable. I've never seen them come away from each other happy. It's...hard to see it. How he'd rather be miserable his whole life than be with her for a single second. She deserves better than that."
"She's doing pretty well with Loki these days." Colin shrugs. "I never saw the appeal, but she's happy. Still. You're right. Byerly loves misery more than he'll ever love anyone."
"And he wants to be sure everyone else is miserable with him," Bene mutters, but rolls his eyes and lets that be the end of it.
"It's just, I don't know. He's the worst kind of person in Minrathous, which..." He laughs weakly, "...which I know because I wanted to be just like him. But maybe he's changed."
"He's a martyr. In a pretty terrible way. I can't...I can't do that kind of friendship. I can't go to someone begging for them to keep being my friend because they've decided they are too hurt by my problems. I don't make friends easily, but I can't...I can't do that."
This is a bit surprising to hear, and Bene looks askance at Colin, pausing with a fork half lifted to his mouth (because they're eating and we just didn't mention it before now, GO TEAM).
"I talked about that. Um. Though we were..." He makes a motion of smoking a joint. "Anyway. When I told him I tried to kill myself, he got really angry and said he'd never forgive anyone who tried to hurt me, not even me. That's why we're not friends anymore."
Furrowing his brow, Benedict thinks on the information, at least glad he's sober for it this time. He opens his mouth and closes it several times, then shakes his head.
"I guess I've got no room to talk," he mutters, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear and looking down at his bowl. "I don't know how I'd have reacted. But." He glances up furtively. "I'm glad you're still here."
Colin never likes seeing that stare. His brow furrows a little.
"You're more thoughtful," he says. "I mean, you're still you, but a better version. Before, you wouldn't have stopped talking about yourself to ask me what's wrong." He hesitates. "I mean, sometimes...but you're more aware. And you seem to find it important to keep getting better. That's what makes someone a good person, is wanting to keep getting better. It can...feel? Sometimes? Like our friendship is a bit one-sided, but I think that's my fault. I don't really talk about things. I just make people make me talk about things, and that's...not good."
Even as Colin talks, Bene slowly lowers his face into his hands. It's not a despairing gesture like it can be; between the comparisons of now and then, and the fact that Colin is still reassuring him, he's suddenly overwhelmed by shame.
"Maker," he groans, "the way I've treated people."
It's very, very hard to argue with that. Benedict has sometimes been terrible. There's a reason they weren't friends until recently. But seeing the struggle, seeing the slow trudge toward change, has been heartbreakingly beautiful, even healing. Colin reaches out for Bene's hand, only to halt and change his mind, afraid it is too much affection.
"Most people like you don't get to this point," he says quietly. "I mean, rich people, nobles, all get taught somehow that the world owes them everything, and because they benefit from that way of thinking and acting, they don't change. You're changing. Not because you benefit from it, but because you care about how you affect other people. That's something."
"It's something," Bene mutters, lowering his hands to look down at his bowl with a grimace instead.
"How does someone even begin to make that right?" He picks up his fork again and stirs the remnants around, his appetite gone. "Even if I had a sending crystal, or wrote notes, or... no one would want to hear it. And I think they'd be right."
"The only way you're going to make anything up to anyone is actions, not words. Anyone can say words. But being genuinely thoughtful? Making a real effort not because you're expecting absolution, but because that's the right thing to do. 'Cause trying to get peoples' forgiveness is still self-serving. That's why people wouldn't want to hear it."
Taking in Colin's words, Benedict nods silently, his head making a slow descent towards the table until his forehead is resting on it. His shiny black hair curtains his face perfectly.
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Taking a deep breath and sighing it out through his nose, Bene looks a little frustrated, but not angry. "What's the matter?" He was speaking.
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He says this as if Bene's problems are, by default, more serious than his own. And that's usually what dictates their conversations, whether it's Colin persistently focusing on Bene, or Bene persistently focusing on Bene.
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"You went off somewhere. Am I that boring?"
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This changes Bene's demeanor somewhat, and he tilts his head to look more closely at Colin. "...she is?"
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He pauses.
"Well. Not that Loki's..." He trails off, and glances furtively at Colin.
"Don't tell her I said that."
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"I won't. I agree. They make each other miserable. I've never seen them come away from each other happy. It's...hard to see it. How he'd rather be miserable his whole life than be with her for a single second. She deserves better than that."
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"...she does deserve better, doesn't she. Better than either, but what can you do."
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There's a little bitterness in his voice.
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"It's just, I don't know. He's the worst kind of person in Minrathous, which..." He laughs weakly, "...which I know because I wanted to be just like him. But maybe he's changed."
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"When did that happen?"
tw: mention of suicide attempt
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Furrowing his brow, Benedict thinks on the information, at least glad he's sober for it this time. He opens his mouth and closes it several times, then shakes his head.
"I guess I've got no room to talk," he mutters, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear and looking down at his bowl.
"I don't know how I'd have reacted. But." He glances up furtively. "I'm glad you're still here."
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"Am I?" he asks faintly, worried.
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"You're more thoughtful," he says. "I mean, you're still you, but a better version. Before, you wouldn't have stopped talking about yourself to ask me what's wrong." He hesitates. "I mean, sometimes...but you're more aware. And you seem to find it important to keep getting better. That's what makes someone a good person, is wanting to keep getting better. It can...feel? Sometimes? Like our friendship is a bit one-sided, but I think that's my fault. I don't really talk about things. I just make people make me talk about things, and that's...not good."
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"Maker," he groans, "the way I've treated people."
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"Most people like you don't get to this point," he says quietly. "I mean, rich people, nobles, all get taught somehow that the world owes them everything, and because they benefit from that way of thinking and acting, they don't change. You're changing. Not because you benefit from it, but because you care about how you affect other people. That's something."
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"How does someone even begin to make that right?" He picks up his fork again and stirs the remnants around, his appetite gone.
"Even if I had a sending crystal, or wrote notes, or... no one would want to hear it. And I think they'd be right."
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"It could be worse. You were really unhappy before, weren't you?"
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