There's so much Amal hasn't told him about, and even those he's been open with don't know the explicit details, or all of them. The hungry years, the prison years, the taste of the lash until he couldn't remember the rest, the first time he killed someone, the last time he killed someone. The first time he lost someone he really loved, and that one time he just laid down and accepted his death. Amal came into this world screaming, covered in blood, and unwanted—and he had always assumed he'd go out the same way.
His life is so much. Too much for one person. So he only gives out little bits and pieces, if anything at all, and he carries the weight of it himself. Like his sword, like his armor, like everything else he's dragged with him for the past twenty-seven years.
It's a good thing this is text, and it's also good that he's in his room alone, because it isn't long before he feels himself breaking down. Not just a little bit, either. He blinks hard but his vision is all blurry and his face is hot, and he realizes he's grieving again.
And all it took was hearing that it's okay to put his sword down.
Welcome home.]
Ah, hells.
[Sorey is really good at this, and that's infuriating too, but even Amal knows that's a childish emotion. Regardless, it's closer to a half hour before he manages to pick up his phone again and text Sorey back.]
depends
what if i'm too much for you?
what if i'm no good at this?
do you really want to know how all of this began?
when you spend long enough in chains everything looks like a cage
the best i can do is make sure no one else has to turn out the way i did. now im learning that's not enough
cw mentions of abuse, indentured servitude
There's so much Amal hasn't told him about, and even those he's been open with don't know the explicit details, or all of them. The hungry years, the prison years, the taste of the lash until he couldn't remember the rest, the first time he killed someone, the last time he killed someone. The first time he lost someone he really loved, and that one time he just laid down and accepted his death. Amal came into this world screaming, covered in blood, and unwanted—and he had always assumed he'd go out the same way.
His life is so much. Too much for one person. So he only gives out little bits and pieces, if anything at all, and he carries the weight of it himself. Like his sword, like his armor, like everything else he's dragged with him for the past twenty-seven years.
It's a good thing this is text, and it's also good that he's in his room alone, because it isn't long before he feels himself breaking down. Not just a little bit, either. He blinks hard but his vision is all blurry and his face is hot, and he realizes he's grieving again.
And all it took was hearing that it's okay to put his sword down.
Welcome home.]
Ah, hells.
[Sorey is really good at this, and that's infuriating too, but even Amal knows that's a childish emotion. Regardless, it's closer to a half hour before he manages to pick up his phone again and text Sorey back.]
depends
what if i'm too much for you?
what if i'm no good at this?
do you really want to know how all of this began?
when you spend long enough in chains everything looks like a cage
the best i can do is make sure no one else has to turn out the way i did. now im learning that's not enough