[The touch is familiar, and for a moment Fitz's fingers ghost against the skin of Klaus' forearm. But then there's something that's snapped back in place, a part of him he hadn't realized was even stretched. And then he pulls his arm away and out of reach, hand balling into a trembling fist.
There's a sensation that he's come to associate with waking up the day after an event. After a life is overwritten, there's a moment of disorientation. Memories conflict and compete, until the false impulses recede and leave naked understanding in their wake.
He maintains eye contact, though. He stares at Klaus, as he remembers the first time. He'd been so relieved that he finally had a friend who saw him as something more than mere utility, only for Klaus to reveal himself to be just as selfish as the others. Klaus hadn't wanted a friend. He wanted a happy worker. And then again, when Fitz was struggling to understand the violence inherent in Klaus' nature, again the decision was made for him.
He maintains the eye contact that had been so warm and inviting before, staring deeply into pupils that no longer welcome him. Sorrow speaks plainly in his expression. His mouth trembles, eyes welling enough to whine wetly without spilling over.
But there's no anger, even though there ought to be. There isn't any shouting or accusations strewn about. He doesn't vow vengeance or try to fight. Perhaps worst of all, he wonders if perhaps he shouldn't have prepared for this. This is what friends do. It's certainly what Daisy's done, just a few days ago.
But still he stares, mute. What is there to say? There aren't any words left.
Confessions are for friends. There are no safe spaces here.]
no subject
There's a sensation that he's come to associate with waking up the day after an event. After a life is overwritten, there's a moment of disorientation. Memories conflict and compete, until the false impulses recede and leave naked understanding in their wake.
He maintains eye contact, though. He stares at Klaus, as he remembers the first time. He'd been so relieved that he finally had a friend who saw him as something more than mere utility, only for Klaus to reveal himself to be just as selfish as the others. Klaus hadn't wanted a friend. He wanted a happy worker. And then again, when Fitz was struggling to understand the violence inherent in Klaus' nature, again the decision was made for him.
He maintains the eye contact that had been so warm and inviting before, staring deeply into pupils that no longer welcome him. Sorrow speaks plainly in his expression. His mouth trembles, eyes welling enough to whine wetly without spilling over.
But there's no anger, even though there ought to be. There isn't any shouting or accusations strewn about. He doesn't vow vengeance or try to fight. Perhaps worst of all, he wonders if perhaps he shouldn't have prepared for this. This is what friends do. It's certainly what Daisy's done, just a few days ago.
But still he stares, mute. What is there to say? There aren't any words left.
Confessions are for friends. There are no safe spaces here.]