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[It's rare to find a person that will stubbornly be kind to Roy. Well. Not the real kindness, the staying and soft words and acceptance that Owen is so bafflingly  displaying. He's used to concern dissolving into anger, thick, honey syrup words being poured into his ears as if not being able to hear for the stickiness might help him forget.

Roy knows what he should do. He knows he should let Owen alone, that he should get up and walk away. He shouldn't even tell the boy why he can't tell anyone anything. Just get up without a word. Get up. Get up. Go. The voices hiss, rising from the recesses of his damaged mind, hissing at him to speak and heat until he shatters onto the pavement, leaving Owen to burn if he tries to pick up the pieces. But Roy won't do that. But he will establish that it's not Owen's fault.] You're not intruding. I would like you to know things if I could let you. But I can't. You're better off far, far away from me, a person like you. [As different from me as anyone can be.]

  [The words are like broken glass, maybe, but maybe not directed at him. It is hard to tell because Roy sounds unhappy, but his voice is less mean and Owen does not want to simply go away when he has just told Roy that he should not have to be alone. 

He swallows, mouth feeling try but he licks his lips and tries to stand his ground for the time being. Tries to continue to believe in the fact that Roy’s actions are driven by fear. And maybe he is wrong, Owen. But maybe he is not. Maybe Owen is not wrong.] 

I do not have to know things to not want you to be sad. But I am sorry. I do not mean to intrude. I just… I just thought that you should know that if you wanted me to know things, I could. [He’s not sure that makes sense. He replays the words in this head, counts the meter of them, thinks they thread logical sense but they sound strange nonetheless. He’s not sure he’ll be understood.]

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[He turns his face away, expression stony, unreadable.] Then don't look at me. Easy solutions to easy problems. [Roy thinks that how in another life he would be flattered to be offered a seat next to such a striking girl. Surely, had anyone ventured near enough to hear, they might've thought him either awkward or shy. But Roy is neither; he is simply very, very scared. And not even that compelling tone of voice, nor that upturned face, nor any amount of words or actions could sway Roy at that moment.

Roy frowns, and decides to ask just one or two questions before he would turn and leave.] Why did you pretend I was funny? [He says sharply, abruptly in the silence.] Did you think it would make me less....[He shrugs, making a wide, loose gesture.]

  [Shielding her eyes from the sun, Jade looks up at the boy. No one ever declines an offer to sit next to her, and certainly not a skinny pubescent boy who’d never have the chance to talk to a girl who looks even half as pretty.] But  it’s hurting my neck, looking up at you like this, and I don’t feel like getting up; let me be lazy on a sunny day like today. [There’s a slight hint of a whine in her voice, one that she’d used to get anything from a simple drink to diamond bracelets. A face that launched a thousand ships, and burnt the topless towers of Ilium, they said of Helen of Troy. It was a great tragedy of her life, Jade had always thought, that men did not wage wars over a woman anymore. Territory, natural resources; they were all so boring. And of course, D-Day had made wars all but impossible for the foreseeable future. No one has the luxury of sending all their strongest off to die a meaningless death.]

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♥♥♥

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You're cute.

Well. 

I guess now it's happened.

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What do you miss most from before?

Video games.

Being able to wake up without my own head screaming at me. My parents. Being able to have a conversation. I don't know.

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First kiss?

Uh. Wet?

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Do you think the voices will ever leave?

They're my punishment. I'm they're keeper, or they're keeping me. I think they'll leave when I die.

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Describe your face.

You mean...you mean like look in a mirror? No. 

But, uh...from what I remember, I had...have..kinda a pointed face. and kinda dusty blondish hair. Blue eyes. Y'know, Aryan poster child 'cept for my stunning physique.

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Has anyone ever told you you're cute?

Never happened.

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No. I don't even think that was a limerick, it just rhymed. 

[Roy admitted, reluctant to be wrong but even more so to admit that he did in fact like poems on occasion-- but he used to prefer video games, hadn't he, preferred them to the books. It's strange; he almost doesn't recognize he own likes and dislikes anymore.]

  [Addison smirked, shrugging her shoulders slightly.] No, it was more of an honest question. 

You like poetry?

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[He shot her a withering smile, eyebrows drawn low in question.] Did you mean to make a limerick when you set out on that adventure of a sentence?

  Also a man of much sass, too. What crawled up your ass?

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[Perceptive little bugger.]

[Roy's eyes fix on the ground beneath his feet. Saying "stupid" had been more at himself than at anyone or anything else. Stupid for talking to people. Stupid for frowning in the midst of sunshine. Stupid for not secluding himself for as long as he lived. Stupid for wishing his parents dead. Stupid for being weak and cowardly, choosing to live on. "Or maybe," whispers some lonely part of his mind free of madness, "Brave." Roy shakes off the thought, even though he sometimes likes to think of it that way--like he's the gate keeping these people locked out from Death's grip. A rusty, flawed gate, but a gate nonetheless.]

[But of course, when he spoken the word, he had thought none of this. It's only now, with Owen's soft voice questioning him, that the reasons rise rapidly to the surface of his thoughts. Almost as if they'd been waiting for him to realize them. He tilts his face back up to the sun, daring it to blind him, but he squints instinctively. ]  

You don't know anything. [The words themselves are sharp, as Roy meant them to be; however, his voice is far kinder, softer, than he had ever intended. He squeezes his eyes shut, and sunspots dance across his lids.]

  [It is almost like Roy is mean by reflex—like when the doctor hits the rubber hammer on your knee and your leg jumps up without you telling it to. Owen never really liked that. It always made him feel a bit uncomfortable because he does not like the feeling of not being able to control what he does. Knowing what he is doing and being able to control it so he can count and meter and know—that is important. 

But Roy seems to wince, like he has been struck even though he hasn’t, has not, and then he spells Owen’s name almost in a whisper. Like he is trying. That is nice. Owen smiles gently, nervously.] 

R-o-y, Roy. [Another dip of a hesitant smile. He steps forward a bit.] I do not think it is nothing. You do not have to tell me but I think it would be good if you knew that you can. If you knew that you can tell me. You do not always have to be so alone, Roy. You do not have to always be sad. I would not want you to be. 

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[He's not funny. He knows he's not funny.  The only thing he can do is turn humor into daggers and make up lame little jokes when it seems to suit.

Roy frowns as the girl proffers a seat. The voices titter, as they tend to do. A brazen one, or maybe many speaking as one-- seems to step to the forefront, words hissing and weaving in such a way that it always results in a headache.

       SIT DOWN, ROY. TALK TO HER. YOU'RE SUCH AN IDIOT.

Giggles erupt from the others, the hundreds locked.                                                                                                             do you know why?  

you complain about being lonelyyyy.

       go on.

                                                                                      listenlistenlisten

silly boy.                                  there's a reason.

Roy knows they're just trying to rile him up. They won't kill anyone if he doesn't get to close, right? He's already borne his greatest consequence, has he not? But thus far Roy has done his best to do exactly the opposite of what the voices say. He shoves his hands in his pockets.] I'd rather stand.

  [Jade smiles at his joke, out of habit more than anything else. Men were always so hellbent on proving how funny or witty they were, and she indulged them not out of the goodness of her heart, but for her own narcissistic reasons. ”You’re so pretty when you smile,” said a boy who loved her once. She sits up, shielding her eyes from the sun.] You’re funny. [She’s never seen the boy before, and she wonders if he’s new to the Colony. New arrivals sometimes had trouble adjusting; perhaps what was why he was out here alone, muttering to himself. She pats the ground next to her.] You can sit, if you like. Unless that rock’s done something to offend you.

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[Roy scowls, but does not respond to her preliminary jab.] I did, though.  I said, "much." I'm a man of few words. [One way to put it, and it sounds sarcastic enough flowing from his lips, from which every syllable seems to seem caustic these days.]

  [Addison nods.] Yeah totally just talking to yourself while yanking at your hair n’ shit. Totally normal, right?

Maybe I just grew up in a place where people were… Not insane. You didn’t answer my question, you feeling okay now?

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[He nods vigorously, though his words are curt.] Much. And, the freaking out was your fault. And you freaked out first. I was fine. 

  [Addison nodded.] Right. Sorry,

Oh shit, yeah… You were totally freaking out or having a withdrawal or some shit. You any better now, man?