[Oh boy. That sounds . . . uncomfortably familiar. The noise he huffs out is nebulous, not quite one thing or another. Whatever its nuances, it's directed entirely at himself.]
I'm going to tell you something. I'd appreciate it if you kept it between us.
[He doesn't ask her to promise, because it's not something he'd even think of worrying about. Not from Riley. Not about this. Still, he can't help but hesitate before he speaks. It's such a strangely personal and, to him, just strange thing to even think about, let alone say out loud.]
. . . I decided several years ago that I wasn't interested in "this stuff". Not because it wasn't working, but because I didn't want to try. For a lot of reasons — I didn't want people near me. I didn't like or trust anyone. I found the idea of pretending to be someone I wasn't repulsive, and I didn't see any way to engage with other people genuinely without risk. And I was busy. I was working towards something. I didn't have time for distractions.
[Not exactly the same, then, but not all that different, either. This time, when he squeezes her hand, it's for his own comfort.]
It worked for a long time, and I thought I was being very successful, but I wasn't. I didn't have nearly as much control over it as I thought I did. Which isn't . . . I didn't like that. I still don't. But I can't stop myself from . . .
[Hm, no. Now it's his turn to trail off. Staring down at his hand resting over hers, he sighs, feeling prickly and uncomfortable, but not as bad as he could be, considering he's never put any of this into words before.]
I don't think anyone can, [is where he ends up. No one can shut love off entirely. There's no perfect self-isolation. There's always a way for someone to break in.]
no subject
I'm going to tell you something. I'd appreciate it if you kept it between us.
[He doesn't ask her to promise, because it's not something he'd even think of worrying about. Not from Riley. Not about this. Still, he can't help but hesitate before he speaks. It's such a strangely personal and, to him, just strange thing to even think about, let alone say out loud.]
. . . I decided several years ago that I wasn't interested in "this stuff". Not because it wasn't working, but because I didn't want to try. For a lot of reasons — I didn't want people near me. I didn't like or trust anyone. I found the idea of pretending to be someone I wasn't repulsive, and I didn't see any way to engage with other people genuinely without risk. And I was busy. I was working towards something. I didn't have time for distractions.
[Not exactly the same, then, but not all that different, either. This time, when he squeezes her hand, it's for his own comfort.]
It worked for a long time, and I thought I was being very successful, but I wasn't. I didn't have nearly as much control over it as I thought I did. Which isn't . . . I didn't like that. I still don't. But I can't stop myself from . . .
[Hm, no. Now it's his turn to trail off. Staring down at his hand resting over hers, he sighs, feeling prickly and uncomfortable, but not as bad as he could be, considering he's never put any of this into words before.]
I don't think anyone can, [is where he ends up. No one can shut love off entirely. There's no perfect self-isolation. There's always a way for someone to break in.]