[ He feels like he doesn't understand so much. Why, after everything, could it still hurt so much to want? He had no one else to blame, either. Messaging Marc instead of literally anyone else like he just couldn't stop embarrassing himself. ] Yeah, right. Right.
[ The tingle in his arm is the only telltale sign until he can't feel it, like it's simply fallen off or he'd slept on it too long. Numb. Gone. It should be terrifying, but it's not. Because it's Marc. The brush of one hand over the other, the slow touch, makes everything so much better and so much worse. He really is pathetic, isn't he? So touched starved that he'll sink back and close his eyes and pretend he doesn't know he's holding his own hand.
A little wheeze escapes. Maybe he should add narcissism to his list of problems. ] You'll hate me.
no subject
[ The tingle in his arm is the only telltale sign until he can't feel it, like it's simply fallen off or he'd slept on it too long. Numb. Gone. It should be terrifying, but it's not. Because it's Marc. The brush of one hand over the other, the slow touch, makes everything so much better and so much worse. He really is pathetic, isn't he? So touched starved that he'll sink back and close his eyes and pretend he doesn't know he's holding his own hand.
A little wheeze escapes. Maybe he should add narcissism to his list of problems. ] You'll hate me.