#CANNOT connect i'm getting hurt = friends worried = what im doing might not be good

[meistoshi]

once again thinking about how satoshi's three categories of "thing that is bad" are, in order of priority, a) harms pokemon b) harms a person c) worries people satoshi cares about. thinking about how he excludes himself from the pool of people in category b. will try to stop doing a thing because it upsets a friend not because it causes himself any harm, but will most be concerned that it doesn't hurt someone else & most-most concerned that it doesn't hurt a pokemon. why is he like this.

[betweenthings2]

okay right. it is Fic Ask time 🙂‍↕🙂‍↕🙂‍↕ YAHOO greatest fears, wringing hands, loudest silence here i come. also sorry this is a little late !! if ur birthday was before i sent this then i hope u enjoyed and if its after then i also hope u enjoy !!! ☺️☺️

"I-" Matty chokes on a sob, "I'm gonna do it, George. I think I'm gonna do it."

never write another word again or i fear you may kill me. GOOD GOD. :( <- me atm

"I've heard it doesn't hurt--do you think that's true?" Matty asks. In the background, George can hear the sound of packaging being opened and George knows.

I FEEL SICK. no it is Not true matthew stop pls im gonna start sobbing. george knows :(((

"Sorry," Matty mumbles. "Sorry for botherin' you."

okay well 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 i actually forgot how sad this is. i blocked it out the same way womens bodies supposedly do after pregnancy. i am going to SCREAM AND CRY

Matty is quiet for a moment, then he says, "Do you think it'll stain the grout? Will my mum be upset I ruined the tile, do you think?"

ohhhh the way hes more worried about how she'll react instead of worrying about himself:(( my chest hurts pls

"There's so much, G," Matty says, something like awe in his voice. "Do you think my mum will be upset?"

google how do i be normal. i genuinely might just sob. :(( i just can't get over how u managed to get that. like. the sort of innocence to it ??? like hes so out of it he cant understand it properly Ohhhhhh :(((

OH THE LETTER NO NO NO NO NO

You deserve something.

i am going to explode thank you

I don't think I'm meant to make it, G. It's ok, though. It's been good. You made it good, but I'm tired and I'm sad and everything hurts.

there are no words in the english language i could possibly use to describe how this hurt me

I know this is happening to you, not me, not really, not anymore.

YOUR DEATH IT WONT HAPPEN TO YOU IT HAPPENS TO YOUR FAMILY AND YOUR FRIENDS 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 i just absolutely cannot comprehend how you put so much sadness into this. im going to sob

And then George is ugly crying in the waiting room. It's big, heaving sobs and it's all he can do to get himself outside so he doesn't bother anyone. Dimly, he thinks that this is the worst day of his life, then immediately tells himself off for feeling sorry for himself when he doesn't even know if Matty is still alive and if he is, then he's somewhere alone and hurting and instead of being there for him, George is feeling sorry for himself.

i had to put my phone down after reading this paragraph and go and scream silently at my cat over it. this pain transcends species. :((((((((( the way uve gotten the idea that it just makes everyone feel shit and then they feel bad for feeling shit and just OHHHHH. ☹️☹️☹️

Regardless of the semantics, Matty looks peaceful. His arms are wrapped in gauze from wrist to elbow, there's an IV in the back of his left hand, and he connected to several other machines, but he looks peaceful, like he's getting long neglected rest.

i need this tattooed like you know how some people get ones that go around their arms all the way like a bracelet im gonna do that but ill do it somewhere that can fit this entire paragraph and im gonna show it to every single person i meet. what the fuck. peaceful ohhhhh what if i sob. ive also been seeing a lot of stuff about divine machinery or whatever it is and this made me think of that? just the image of him in a bed with wires all going to him . im going to explode

"I should say that to you," George counters. "You were going to make me listen to you die."

☹️ I CANNOT DEAL WITH THIS

"Why couldn't you just let me die?" Matty repeats. "'s not like I'm worth it. I'm not worth it, G. You'll be better without me. You'll all be better without me."

tears in my stupid gay real person fiction painted eyes. u cannot just WRITE THAT oh my GOD. ☹️☹️☹️ they will most definitely not be better without u matty pls :(

"You say that," Matty says, his voice thick, "but you don't mean it. You don't want me around when I can't get out of bed, or when I can't seem to stop talking, or when I loose things and double book myself and forget we had plans and give up on things 'cause they're not interesting anymore, or when I try to control everything, or when I fuck something else up, 'cause I will, or-"

my heart hurts. i just cannot deal with this. im going to be in a hospital bed in a minute Oh this is so :((((((

It takes a while, but eventually, George scrubs the blood from the tile, revealing the stains on the tile and grout. Kneeling there, slightly sweaty from the frenzied scrubbing and on the verge of tears, George remembers Matty's worries about the grout. Suddenly it's so ridiculous that George has to laugh and a bird's eye view of himself pops into his head and he has to laugh harder. When he dissolves into tears he'd tried so hard to fight, he starts scrubbing the floor again, but the stains are stuck, so he gives up. It's only when George is done in the bathroom and he goes to leave that he realizes that there are more boot prints through Matty's room and across the plush cream colored carpeting Denise had put in as soon as Louis wasn't a toddler anymore. George doesn't have it in him to clean that, too.

hey so did you know i actually cannot deal with this. i just cannot. the grrroooouuuuuttttttt :((((((

The third thing is that Matty is retrained.

:(

"Matty's not violent."

MATTYS NOT VIOLENT 😭😭😭 crying into my latte pls omfg. the way he sees him at his best even when its probably wrong IM GONNA CRY

"Still," Matty protests. "I didn't want you to see the mess I made."

my cat got in the way of me reading this and now she has my chin on her back and is 'reading' along with me. maybe i shouldve chosen something happier. character development. anyway i am Losing my fucking mind oh good god

Matty raises his eyebrows, saying, "Who knew that's what it took for you to start yelling?"

matty brings out the best and worst in him and its making me sick. OJ MYCGOD

I was gonna take pills, but it was right there and I've heard it doesn't hurt if you use something sharp enough, so I called you, and I wanted you to be the last person I talked to."

THIS IS NOT OKAY I AM NOT OKAY NOTHING IS OKAY NOTHING WILL EVER BE OKAY EVER AGAIN. :((((((( i cant even explain how this affects me

"I spent an hour and a half last night trying to bleach your blood from your bathroom tile," George continues, "and the only thing I see when I close my eyes is what it looked like when I got there and bloody fucking tracks across your mum's nice carpet and you, in a fucking casket, and all I can think is that everyone failed you and that I failed you, and I love you, Matty, and I know everything's kinda a mess in your head and I know it's not about me, but please, for just a minute, think about the people who love you."

i cant put into words what im feeling while reading this but just know this is what i look like

I CANNOT FUCKING DEAL

"I'm gonna fight for you," George says, a little softer. "Why can't you fight for you, too?"

"I don't have the energy to fight," Matty answers quietly.

"Will you let me?"

OH WHAT THE FUCK CAN WE STOP THIS. IM GOING TO SCREAM. u put So much. sad. into ur writing. and its so impressive. i am going to explode. will u let me THERES TEARS. STOP (do not)

George wants to yell at them, tell them that sedating Matty doesn't solve anything, that he's small enough that he's not a threat to anyone, that sedation is half of Matty's problem. George doesn't say anything, just watches.

SMALL ENOUGH TGAT HES NOR A THREAT RO ANYOEN STOP THIS MADNESS IMMEDIATELY. OH MY GOD 😭😭😭😭😭 i actually need to see a doctor im going insane

Sometimes, they all go together and it breaks George's heart to watch Matty trying so hard to be himself for his brother. At some point, Matty's stitches get removed, but the cuts are still red and angry and tender and Matty opts for long sleeves so no one sees them, himself included.

. tears in my eyes .

this is not okay

im going to die

"himself included" :((((( im unwell

"Did you, did they, at the hospital did you, uh-" Matty cuts himself off.

"Did they give me your note?" George fills in.

im feeling very normal about this. the most normal. oh my god. i feel like this emoji ☹️ i CANNOT DEAL WITH THIS

"It broke my heart," George admits.

READING THIS IS BREAKING MINE ☹️ sob sob sob sob sob im going to explode

"You think my life is worth saving," Matty continues, slowly.

i genuinely might start sobbing. death and destruction and pain and OH MY GOOOODDDDDDDD 😭😭😭

George would want to wake up like this forever if Matty didn't look so vacant.

there used to be a heart in my chest but its since shrivelled up and DIED. this is for real going to kill me. pls im SAD ☹️ i love this so much

"Mostly that I really, really love you," Matty mumbles, sheepish. "And about what we talked about last night."

☹️ he loves george so much it makes me SICK. and u know what else makes me sick. how sad. this fic. is making me. but in a good way. im so obsessed im going to CRY

Matty gives a minute shake of his head and says, "I don't wanna do this anymore. I don't wanna wake up and fucking brush my teeth and, and try so hard to do everything right and be enough and still fucking fail. I'm tired, George and the meds make it worse and everyone looks at me like I'm about to lose it and my mum keeps fucking apologizing and I've got these fucking scars that I'm gonna have forever and everyone will know how fucked up I am."

screaming crying throwing up im going to my library and telling them about you and making them tell everyone that comes in about you. this is terrible for my heart but so wonderful for every other part of me. my heart hurts. i love this so much

Matty shakes his head again. "You just look sad."

:((((((((( he just looks sad :(((((((((

"It's fucking hideous. And I did it to myself," Matty argues. "I cut myself. And then I tore the fucking stitches out. Who does something like that?"

im printing this and binding it or like sticking it to my walls and making it into a poster. oh my FUCKING GOD this is so sad and ohsjkwkdmdxkewkdkoeod i need to be SEDATED

Matty groans, ever the dramatic, but agrees, "Fine."

:'))) he still has parts of himself left :'))) he might be terrible mentally but he is Still Matty !!!

Years from now, when they're sitting in a house George has cleaned top to bottom, in a kitchen where the strongest thing is a single pack of ibuprofen and even the cooking wine has been thrown out in the wake of Matty's time in rehab, George will tell Matty of this victory. Matty will cry and apologize and cry some more, and George will hold him and try not to think about the scars, silvery and faded, on Matty's forearms.

I ACTUALLY CANNOT COPE WITH THIS. !??!??!?!??!?!??! how do you just Casually say the most...beautiful sentences...and act like its the same as any other. im in AWE of you. !!!!!!! so sad !!! so happy !!!!!! so !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

In one of the fights that will become more frequent in the coming months, Denise will yell at Matty about how much it cost to have the carpeting and bathroom tile replaced.

DENISE...BE NICE...STOP. im gonna die. oh my god pls no sTOP IT

"Am I," he pauses, "am I gonna be ok? I think I wanna be ok."

fighting demons to Not Cry atm. oh my god. i am. just. oh my god. :( he wants to be okay :(

Matty keeps wearing long sleeves and George can't help but be afraid that Matty break if he's not gentle enough.

never speak again or you Will kill me. oh my god. the way he loves him makes me die inside but in a happy way. do u get the vibe. i hope u get the vibe. i love this in a way that only Vibes can convey

This isn't Matty from before, but it isn't the Matty that wrote the suicide note George can't bring himself to throw out.

hi what the fuck. this is gorgeous and i need it engraved in marble under like. a carving of you or something. oh my FUCKING GOD i swear im putting this somewhere idk where but its going SOMEWHERE

They're sharing a joint and hiding out in Matty's bedroom when he speaks up.

i know its sad and all but this is making me so soft. like. its so intimate i just love it so much :((( sharing a joint even when theyre meant to go on some huge tour ohhhhhh my HEART HURTS. also the image of teeny tiny mini matty being so sad ??????? stop ??????? pls i didnt realise he was meant to be that young im :(((((

this is the most wonderful thing ive ever read and it genuinely should be shown to everybody who even knows what suicide is or something. just everybody. i love it so much and u HAVE to know how amazing it is like omg. i also just realised i didnt give it kudos the first time ?? past me was a little freak. i did like it though i remember that, i think i was just shy, anyway, its amazing and u have to know that. ok. enjoy the rest of ur birthday month and think lots about sad matty i love u u are the best

Fic thoughts!! Thank you so much! My actual birthday was unexciting--I just went to class--but I'm seeing Charli xcx soon and it's still birthday season, so I think that counts for something =)

Anyway, fic time!

Poor fictional!Matty--he's so desperate and scared--and poor fictional!George, hearing him like that =(

George knows!!! !!!! He knows but he doesn't want to know but he can't make himself not know!! They are so very, very tragic.

Fictional!Matty thinks he's a bother!!! He just wants a little bit of comfort in the end from fictional!George, but he still just thinks he's a bother.

He's still so sure he's a bother and the problem =(( Fictional!Matty is just trying to stop being the problem and here he is, certain he's causing another one.

(If I knew how to be normal I would tell you, unfortunately, this fic came from my little head, so normal is kind of out of the question.) However. Fictional!Matty is mostly impressed that he managed to do it and impressed that all of the blood was inside him. He's lost too much blood to be logical about anything, but he's impressed with himself.

The letter!! Fun fact, the letter was almost not a part of this fic because I didn't know how to write it.

Fictional!George does deserve something! He deserves everything, fictional!Matty just doesn't know how to give it.

Hurt was the goal, if I'm being honest. Sorry. I'm glad it worked, but sorry.

I will admit, "I Always Wanna Die (Sometimes)" was very much the foundation of the letter. Fictional!Matty knows he's not the one it's happening to, but he just doesn't know what else to do.

Poor, poor fictional!George =( =( He's so in love and he thinks he might have just lost the person he loves and it really is the worst day of his life, but what about fictional!Matty? What's happening to him? This is probably the worst day of his life, too. (I hope you and your cat have recovered. My goal was never to upset anyone's pets.)

Poor, poor fictional!George that this is how fictional!Matty looks peaceful. And the divine machine is such a good concept!! I'll be thinking about that for the foreseeable future =) and oh my god, tattoo my writing on you? That's too much of a compliment. I don't know what to do.

I think this fic could boil down to poor fictional!George. He was going to have to listen to fictional!Matty die!! They're so sad.

It could also boil down to poor fictional!Matty, too. He's so convinced everyone would be better without him and fictional!George doesn't know what to do about it =(

Fictional!Matty hates himself so much and he absolutely cannot reconcile the fact that fictional!George loves him so much. He can't help but think fictional!George is blind.

The grout!!! There's a piece of writing advice floating around out there that essentially amounts to the bigger and more dramatic the thing you're writing about, the smaller the thing you focus on should be as a demonstration of how big that thing is. Suicide and self-loathing are massive things to tackle, the grout is a near microscopic demonstration.

Love that my typo on restrained is committed to memory now. Anyway, fictional!Matty is restrained! He's a danger to himself!!!

The only person fictional!Matty has any kind of violence for is himself!!

I hope your cat is doing ok =/ Tragedy can be build character, maybe. I am of the opinion that tragedy is good for us, actually.

Fictional!M+G are the best and the worst of each other, I would argue. They have, in this fic, loved each other nearly as long as they've been real people. Of course they bring out the best and worst in each other. That's what they are.

Fictional!Matty is so, so certain he's been horribly selfish, but fictional!George is so ridiculously grateful he was able to save his life. Fictional!Matty is also terminally curious, so of course he'd want to know if it really hurt. (He hoped it wouldn't--he doesn't handle pain well--but it did.)

I would tell you what I looked like writing this, but I cannot remember what I was thinking when I wrote this, but again, poor, poor fictional!George. He's angry, but he's pretty sure he doesn't have the right to be, but god, he is.

I will never stop writing angst. Of all the things I'm actively working on (so many, so, so many), there are about three that aren't angsty, two of which are smut. So. There will be so much more angst.

Fictional!Matty is little tiny! The orderly could just put fictional!Matty over his shoulder and carry him out but he doesn't!! Ahhhh

Fictional!Matty still hates himself, hates what he's done to himself. Fictional!George wouldn't tell him, but he hates seeing the scars, too, so he's not going to complain about the long sleeves, just grieve everything that's happened.

The letter! Originally, they were just going to have a conversation about it here, but then I actually wrote it, so they're just sad here.

Fictional!George probably needs therapy after this--he's so sad, endlessly sad, but at least fictional!Matty is alive.

Fictional!Matty is there, but he's not really there, but at least he's sort of there =(

Fictional!Matty loves fictional!George so much!! He just might hate himself more.

Tell everyone in the library about my sad fics?!?! I am very touched, but that might be too much--I'm just some guy. But, hopefully my next fic hurts less.

They're just sad!!!!

Poor fictional!Matty is angry now, too. He hates what he's done to himself and literally all he can do is live with it. =(

He's still himself! That's what makes it worse for fictional!George--it would be easier if fictional!Matty was just. absent, but he's not and it's heartbreaking.

They will ever, ever escape this. They will live under the shadow of this one thing forever because fictional!Matty will literally bear the scars forever.

Fictional!Denise doesn't know what to do with this either!! Fictional!Matty just fights with her in a way that he doesn't with fictional!George. In his defense, living with your parents in your early twenties is a little bit rough sometimes.

Fictional!Matty wants to try, he just doesn't know how!!

I do get the vibe!! It's a good vibe!!

I do not know what the fuck, I'm sorry. I do know that fictional!George will never throw the letter away. Fictional!Matty will find it at some point, ten or fifteen years down the line, and he'll read it and cry, and then fictional!George will find him and then they'll cry together.

They're so young!! They're too young for this, too young to figure out how to cope with this, but they have to. They have to and maybe that's biggest tragedy of it all!

Here's a fun fact that's maybe not very fun--this fic was originally going to titled "Call Your Mom," because that's the song that inspired it, but it didn't seem quite right when I finished it.

Thank you so much for reading and your thoughts and all the compliments!! I'm so touched and I promise I'm actively working on the fictional!George in a skirt fic.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

jonmartin for 13? :)

i have absolutely no restraint and cannot write anything short im so sorry. this is a mag 102 au where martin finds out jon was kidnapped sooner. warning for discussion of this kidnapping as depicted in the episode, and the aftermath of recovering from this. also here on ao3.

13. things you said at the kitchen table

In the end, it's Melanie who tells Martin Jon's been kidnapped. Catches him in the break room, irritated and banging around the mugs, and she drops it into a sentence like it's something casual to be communicated. Oh yeah, Jon's back. Guess he's been kidnapped or something, and something sharp presses into Martin's chest, something like urgency. He's pushed his way out of his chair and halfway towards the door in a blind sort of franticness before Melanie catches him by the arm. "He's fine, you know," she says. "He looks… I mean, he doesn't look good, but he…"

"A month, " says Martin, feeling sick. "A month, he's been gone, and we… we didn't…"

"We didn't know, " Melanie says annoyedly, but there's a tiny pinprick of guilt in her voice, too. "He… he wasn't here before. You know that."

Right, Martin thinks, because you're probably the person he talked to most before he disappeared, and then he immediately feels guilty. Jon's been kidnapped, and he's… he's just… "Where is he?" he says, softer this time. (The bite's still in his voice, a little bit. He isn't sure who to be furious at, but it's hard not to be under the circumstances.) "Has… has he left?"

"Uh… no, I don't think so," says Melanie. "He… he said he was going to go lie down."

Martin knows, immediately, where he is, and he tries not to wince at it; he remembers sleeping there every night, scared out of his mind on that little cot, he doesn't know how Jon stands it. "I'm going to go check on him," he says. "I… he shouldn't… I'm going to go check."

Melanie lets go of his arm. "I think Elias knew," she says darkly. "Jon said it and he didn't even bat an eye. He knew, and he didn't tell us."

Something twists in Martin, something that he pushes aside—doesn't matter, not yet, all that matters right now is making sure Jon is all right. He nods a little, at Melanie, and then he pushes out of the break room and down towards the office. Tim is out for the day (not surprising), and Basira is reading at her desk; she doesn't look up when Martin comes through. Martin goes to the storage room where the cot is, where he knows it still is, and raps his knuckles quietly on the door frame before opening the door. 

Jon jumps, when Martin enters, in a way that instantly makes Martin shrink back with guilt. He's huddled on the cot, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and he looks awful. Thinner, hair shaggier than when Martin saw him last. He looks exhausted, leaning towards the wall like he needs it to hold him up, and his arms are wrapped around himself in a protective sort of way. "... Martin?" he says, voice thin, and Martin honestly can't tell if he's happy to see him or not. 

"... Hi," Martin says, honestly not sure what to say. (What do you say in a situation like this?)  He chews at his lower lip, reaching for what to say— Are you all right doesn't seem appropriate, when Jon is so clearly not, but it's what he comes up with, his voice shaking a little when he asks it. 

Jon laughs, bitter, and uncoils his arms from around himself, relaxing a little. "Honestly? Honestly, not really, Martin. I… it's been…" He lifts a hand to press against his forehead; his sleeves fall down and Martin winces, immediately, at the red marks on his wrist, where he must've been restrained. "It's… it's, uh, really good to see you, Martin," he adds, softly. 

Martin presses a hand to his mouth, just for a minute; he's torn, he doesn't want Jon to see him upset, not when he's… "Melanie… told me," he tries. "What you… and I didn't… Jon, I'm so sorry. We had no idea, I… I swear, if we'd known, we would've…" 

Jon sits up a little straighter, something flashing in his eyes. "Hey… hey, no, Martin, it's… i-it wasn't your fault, it's all right, it's… t-there was no way to find me, and I hadn't really been… around before then, and it…" He breaks off his words, clutching a little harder at the blanket. "... Elias didn't deem it worth telling anyone," he adds, with a wry laugh. 

Martin takes a few steps closer, trying his damndest not to fall apart (at the fact that Jon looks like this, that Jon's been gone a month, that Jon is somehow trying to comfort him when he's…). "You aren't… d-did they hurt you?" he asks, uncertain who they even are. 

Jon flinches a little, looks down at his feet. "No, n-not… not really. I… not, um…" He laughs a little again, a hollow sound. "I'm just so tired. "

Martin stops, a few feet away; he thinks about touching Jon, some sign of comfort, a hand on his shoulder or—but no, that wouldn't be—he can't do that, not when Jon's just been kidnapped, it's probably the last thing he wants, to be abruptly touched. He does what he can do, instead; he says, "Jon, d-do you have anywhere… er, there's a… there's a reason you're staying here, isn't there? Wh-what about your friend you were staying with, could you go back there?"

Jon immediately, vehemently shakes his head. "I-I can't go back. Not if, n-not after… th-they came there before, they found me there, and if I go back… I-I told Georgie I'd leave. I can't bring her into this. I can't. If they came back…" 

"Okay," says Martin. "Okay, that's…" He crouches a little, feeling awkward as he does it, but he can't shake this feeling of—of looming over Jon. "Y-you can't stay here, Jon. This cot is horrible, i-it's… it's not a place for recovery, it's…"

"I'm going to find a place," Jon says softly. "I just… I need to sleep. First." 

"You shouldn't stay here, though," says Martin, "not after… you need a bed, a real bed, Jon. I…" He stops, halfway considers for a second. Starts again, because what else is he going to do? "C-come stay with me."

Jon looks up, shocked, but he doesn't immediately protest, so Martin continues: "Sleep on a real bed, recover, j-just until you're… I mean, my bed isn't great, but it's better than a cot, especially after…" He stops. He doesn't know what to say. "Just… you deserve something better than that, right now," he tries. 

Jon shakes his head, just a little. "Martin, I can't. I… i-if they came for me again, then you would…"

"I don't care," Martin says, firmer this time. (If Jon doesn't want to come back with him, fine, but he won't let that be the reason.)

"Martin, i-if anything were to happen, i-if you got caught in the crosshairs, I'd…"

"Really, Jon, I don't care. I'm not going to let them take you again, so you can put that thought out of your mind." Martin adjusts his position—it's uncomfortable, squatting like this, but making sure Jon feels safe is more important. (If it's even helping at all.) "You said you didn't want to put your friend in danger because she's out of this, right? Well—I'm in this. Pretty far into it, at this point, there's no getting out of it. So it doesn't matter. Okay?"

Jon worries at the edge of the blanket with his overlong nails. "... I… wouldn't want to impose…"

"You're not, Jon. I'm offering." Jon's still quiet. Martin shifts back into a standing position, because it really is uncomfortable, going slow; he adds, "It's the least I can do. Please."

Jon's hands are shaking. Martin can see it, now, and it's hard to watch; he's pushed a lot of fury back, just watching Jon now, still without any idea what's happened. "A—all right," Jon says quietly, finally, and his voice is thick, like he might cry. "Okay. Thank you. Thank you, Martin." And Martin feels a flood of relief at this, that Jon might be, at least, somewhat safe in his flat. 

---

They take a cab home. The Tube seems like it would be a lot. Jon really is exhausted, huddled up in an old coat despite the warm weather, leaning against the window in the back of the car. Martin shows him the bath and the bedroom, when they get home, says, "Let me know if you need anything," and leaves him alone. It feels like the right thing to do.

Martin stays in the living room. The anger begins to rise to the surface, then, coming out in bursts of nervous pacing and muttering (quietly, of course; he's had lots of practice with that, with Mum). He's furious at whoever took Jon (he isn't sure who, but he has a sneaking suspicion it's connected to the Unknowing), more furious at Elias for not telling them. He's going to say something this time, he thinks—march up there and give Elias a piece of his mind, or, or draft a furious email—and Martin has to stop there because it's all starting to sound ridiculous. He's going to say something now? He didn't say something when they found out Sasha died, when Elias told them that they were all trapped, but he's going to say something now? It sounds ridiculous, it does, and what would saying something do? Jon's back now, more or less safe, and there's nothing he can do now—no charging, triumphant rescues, nothing like that, all he can do is offer Jon his bathroom, somewhere safe to sleep. Shouting at Elias won't do a thing. 

(Martin wants to do something. He should've said something for Sasha, and he thinks he'll regret that forever, but if he couldn't then… well, he wants to have the courage to say something for Jon. But he doesn't. For some horrible reason, he can't.)

Jon sleeps for over fifteen hours, all afternoon and into the night. Martin sleeps on the couch. (He goes into the room to get the extra blanket and a change of clothes, and for a moment, he worries he'll wake Jon, but he must be quiet enough. Jon doesn't wake; he makes a strained sound in his sleep and turns over, curling in protectively on himself, but he doesn't wake up. Martin wants to go over there, kneel by the bed and hold Jon's hand, climb into bed and hold Jon and make sure he isn't hurt again. He doesn't. He doesn't have that with Jon, and now isn't the time, he can't scare Jon, make him uncomfortable, he has to leave Jon alone.) Jon's still asleep when Martin wakes hours later, tangled in his blanket on the couch, restless and on alert. He stares at the front door, tensing like he expects someone to come in (someone coming back for Jon), but nothing does. The apartment stays quiet. 

Martin gets up to make tea. It's still early, still dark outside, but he can't go back to sleep, he can't relax. He puts on the kettle and sits at the table, opens a packet of biscuits to munch on absently. Something to do. Something to do besides sit and think. 

The door creaks, abruptly, and Martin's head shoots up to see Jon, leaving the bedroom, looking dwarfed in one of Martin's rumpled jumpers. He looks at Martin with a tired sort of tentativeness and says, "Hi," softly.

"Hi, Jon," says Martin, his own voice too soft. "How… how did you sleep?"

Jon rubs at his throat, an absent sort of motion, and pads across the floor to the table. "I… well, actually. Very well. Best… best sleep I've had in a month." 

Martin's heart breaks a little, and he pretends it doesn't. Jon motions to the empty chair beside him and says,  "Do you mind if I…"

"No, no, of course not," says Martin quickly. "... D'you want some tea?"

A funny look passes over Jon's face as he sits and he says, "Yes. Yes, I… tea sounds amazing, Martin."

Martin gets up to get out another mug, to get out the milk and sugar. "I can make you something to eat, too," he says, and immediately feels horrible for not suggesting it earlier. (He doesn't want to speculate about when Jon's last eaten.) " Christ, why didn't I… I'm so sorry, Jon, you must be starving. I should've…"

"Don't, Martin, it's… I-I'm fine," says Jon. "Honestly, I… I-I can eat in a little bit, I'm not really hungry."

Martin bites his lower lip too hard and grimaces at the sudden burst of pain. "Okay," he murmurs. "Just… let me know when you're ready."

"I will," says Jon. 

There's silence for a few moments aside from Martin puttering around the tiny kitchen. It feels strangely domestic in a way that Martin isn't used to; he hasn't lived with anyone since Mum. He and Jon have shared meals before—they did it often, before Jon went on the run because they'd thought he was a murderer—and Martin's made him tea a dozen times, but it's never like… this. Quiet and natural, like they've done it a dozen times. Jon's staring down at the table, tracing a pattern cut into the top with an absent finger; he's shivering, in his chair, and Martin makes a mental note to turn on the heat. And then the kettle goes off, a sharp sound in the silent room, and Jon's jumping, jolting nearly out of his chair with huge, panicked eyes. 

"Sorry, sorry!" Martin says in a rush, reaching to yank the kettle off the eye. "Sorry—I-I forgot it was there."

"I-i-it's all right," Jon says. He's tensed against the table, his palms pressed to the top, like he's waiting for a bomb to go off, but he looks at Martin and he says, "Just a… little on edge, b-but really, it's fine."

Martin's chest aches as he fixes the tea. All of him aches, a guilt he can't really put his finger on—he didn't notice Jon was gone, he couldn't go after him, and now he can't even get to the kettle quick enough to keep from scaring Jon out of his wits. He doesn't say anything, though, besides another murmured, "Sorry," as he passes Jon the mug, and sits back down beside him. 

Jon holds onto the mug with both hands, like he expects to be pulled away, inhales a bit before taking a drink. "I've… missed your tea, Martin," he says quietly, stiltedly, like it's difficult to say. "All this time." 

Martin blinks in genuine surprise at that—all this time, and he's wondered before if Jon was just tolerating the daily cups. "You're joking," he says with disbelief. 

"I'm not," says Jon—and it's stunningly familiar, that tone of voice. He smiles a little down into the mug. "Haven't had a decent cup since February—Georgie's a coffee drinker."

"The audacity, " Martin snorts, theatrically, some small attempt to keep Jon smiling like that. 

"Yes, well—that's what I told her," says Jon, still with that halfway smile. He looks up at Martin abruptly, and something shifts on his face, almost—almost guilt of his own, which makes no sense. He says, "Martin, I've… I've taken your bed, haven't I? You… you should've said something."

"No, I shouldn't have, and I won't," says Martin firmly. "I didn't bring you here to sleep on the couch, Jon, for god's sake. The bed is yours."

"Sleeping on a couch won't kill me, Martin—"

"And it won't kill me either. You're not talking me out of this, Jon."

"A couch would be an improvement over that cot— anything would be. I shouldn't have…" That same look passes over Jon's face: that something resembling guilt. "I should never have made you stay there," he nearly whispers. "For months on that cot, after what you'd…"

"Jon, don't," Martin says, and he reaches out suddenly, to cover Jon's hand where it lays on the table. Jon looks up at that, as if he's startled, and Martin yanks his hand back, but he doesn't bring it too far; he leaves it there, hovering just above Jon's. " Don't ," he says. "I-it was a long time ago, and it was… I didn't mind staying there, I wasn't… you gave me a way out, and I-I appreciated that. I still do, Jon. So don't, please. Don't beat yourself up over that."

"I should've offered you better," says Jon, something like disgust in his tone. "I should've… there are so many things I should've done better."

Well—he isn't wrong, Martin thinks, but—but there's a dozen things they both should've done better, and now isn't the time to discuss them all, so Martin just says, "Don't," again. "Please. You don't have to… it's okay. It is. " And after a moment, Jon nods. He hasn't moved his hand away, but Martin feels odd, leaving his hovering there, so he just pulls it back.

They drink tea in silence for a few minutes. It's a pleasant silence, one that, under different circumstances, Martin might allow himself to hope for every day. It's several long moments before Jon speaks again, his voice rasping and small—he says, "It was the Circus. That took me. T-the one we've been looking for, planning the ritual. They'd… they planned it, they were watching me and they came."

Martin tries not to flinch, tries to ignore what feels like his insides grinding themselves together. Jon keeps talking after a moment; he says, "They… they wanted my skin. For the ritual. They… kept me for that, so they could… skin me. They were waiting for that."

Martin can't stop the words this time, when they push their way out; he says, "Oh, Christ, " like air being pushed out of him, like a sucker punch. He says, "Jon…" and his voice breaks, too, and something inside of him rips when Jon looks back at him, when he looks as if he might cry. 

"Um, Martin," he says, and he inclines his head tentatively towards Martin. "Do you mind… um, if I…"

His arms go out to the side a bit, and it's then that Martin realizes what Jon's asking for. He nods, immediately, and opens his arms, and Jon leans forward and into him so quickly that Martin wonders if he was waiting. 

Martin folds his arms around Jon gently, tentatively (one hand cupping the back of his head); he wants to cling, wants to hold Jon tight enough that nothing else would be able to take him, but he's afraid to hold on too tight. Jon, though, clings hard, his grip tight, his fingers digging desperately into the back of Martin's shirt. So Martin tightens his grip, and leans his head against Jon's, and lets Jon expel shaky breaths into his shoulder. He rubs tiny circles into Jon's back, murmurs, It's okay, it's okay now, and desperately wills it to be true. 

Minutes or hours later—it is impossible to be sure—Jon whispers, "Thank you," into Martin's shirt. He whispers it with a sort of finalty, but he makes no move to pull back. So Martin keeps holding him. 

"Jon… I'm so sorry," he says softly. "I'm so sorry. I… i-if I'd known. I swear, I would've come for you if I'd known." 

Jon takes another shuddering breath and looks up at him. His eyes are wet. There's something in his expression Martin can't quite place… reassurance, maybe. Or trust. "I know," he says. "Martin, I-I know you would've. I know." 

They sit there for a while longer, just like that, holding onto each other at Martin's kitchen table. 

[magnusgoetia]

Transcript of a Sinner’s Conversation: A Meeting with Caecus

--Begin (In Medias Res)--

Sinner: You kiddin'? Dyin' was the best thing that's ever happened to me.

Caecus: There’s nothing you left behind? No family to miss?

Sinner: My family? Fuck 'em, I'd ‘ave hired 'elp to kill 'em already if it meant they'd be dead-dead, and I wouldn't have to spend time wiv 'em down 'ere. It wouldn't be right for me to force this on my friends either, but they'll be 'ere in due time anyway. I can wait.

Caecus: So, you’re expecting your friends to join you here as well. The wait must be awfully lonely.

Sinner: Ah, not really. I’ve made friends while I’m ‘ere. The shit I can do ‘ere is like, fucking magic and with it I can make up for what I lack in a lot of different ways. Just wish I could remember how I ‘ad died.

Caecus: Maybe it’s better not to remember… Not all of us intended to be here, after all.

Sinner: No. No, perhaps it’s best not to remember. I quickly found out that it's not just evil folks that end up here, lots of good folks, plenty of weird ones too. I'm sensing you’re of the “gooder” ones, you radiate...well, it’s 'ard to describe, but I don't sense any hostility from you at the very least, even though you were born ‘ere.

Caecus: How amiable of you. But remember, a birth is just a new beginning of sorts. You couldn’t have been alone since you were… delivered to us.

Sinner: Ah, you’re a poetic type aren’t ya? Anyway, I’ve not made many friends but I do ‘ave a particular fondness for this one clown...me an' 'im seem to 'ave this weird connection wiv each other. Actually, he's more of a jester type, though rather embarrassingly his name escapes me...

Caecus: Are you, by chance, referring to an imp named Blocko?

Sinner: Yeah, don’t surprise me you know ‘im. He seems like the type to ‘ave a particular reputation.

Caecus: That he does, and yet a divine will connects us. I’m being led to believe your intriguing appearance has an even more… intriguing history.

Sinner: Riiiight...Well, you know what they say about skeletons and closets. Though I suppose I ‘ave nothing to hide ‘ere...Well, to put it simply, I was a broken kid. I never got help, and I did... unspeakable things to anyone who ‘ad wronged me—or simply didn't like.

Caecus: Even the purest of souls can be corrupted by another’s sins.

Sinner: Yeah...Well, it's not like I'll stop doin’ what I did while I was alive, with all that murder and hedonism. Though death has a way of humbling some people...In any case, the murders mostly stopped as I grew older. I seemed to have preferred to just traumatise people instead, ruin lives of the people I saw as bad or evil.

Caecus: Then you found a different punishment for those you had judged.

Sinner: I suppose so. A lot of it involved me spying on groups of people. I'd worm my way into the seedy societies that thought they were safe in their little circles and collect dirt on them. Really sick shit too by the way but don’t worry, the hypocrisy wasn’t lost on me either.

Caecus: Oh? You judged yourself a hypocrite yet continued along a path of self-appointed righteousness... Why?

Sinner: I don’t know, maybe a sense of catharsis? A lot of these were people who I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about killing or whatever. Sometimes it was more personal too, there were—still are people I am attached to up there that got hurt, and I took my revenge on them in their place.

Caecus: Ahh, how noble. Fighting for your friends.

Sinner: Yeah, there was this one particular bastard. Actually, there were a few…but…eh, nevermind…this one particular guy who was essentially lying to one of these “friends” and caused them a psychotic breakdown. I didn’t take action right away, but I did end up killing ‘im. Didn’t even bother hiding the fact it was a murder.

Caecus: What made you wait?

Sinner: Money, mostly. It makes the world up there spin, and you need a lot of it to get anything done, right? Well, I ‘ad to wait until I ‘ad enough money to fly to the states on top of all that shit involved in immigratin’. When I settled in, that’s when I made my move on a buncha grudges. This guy was just the first. Moving to the states made my life a lot easier in some ways. Was a lot easier to sleep when I took care of the grudges too.

Caecus: Oh, wow. You must have had remarkable resolve to keep a “grudge” that long… Tell me, did all of them truly deserve it?

Sinner: No, most didn’t, but I am…was, an angry person. I found I was very much capable of venting my anger, to put it mildly, and I was much too young when I had...shall we say...discovered it.

Caecus: Young minds are impressionable.

Sinner: Right, and the fact that I was generally good at getting away with it made me feel just that little bit better about it.

Caecus: So, you exploited that validation to continue justifying your actions. Most sinners in your position never reach awareness...

Sinner: Yeah? I’ll take that as a compliment, but I was totally emotionally disconnected when committing my crimes. Afterwards I pretty much always dealt with conflict. Cognitive dissonance is a bitch. Though I had largely stopped my ways. I’m ‘aving way too much fun down ‘ere, and even though I won’t drag ‘em down here with me, I’d love to have my friends join me eventually.

Caecus: Would they be pleased being here, embrace this existence like you have?

Sinner: I dunno, some of them have a hard enough time as it is with one existence, I doubt they’ll be too happy to find out there’s another waitin’ for ‘em. The others I’d imagine would be quite surprised all the same, being atheists and such, but I reckon they’d come to like it.

Caecus: An existence you cannot escape is itself a prison. Albeit, choosing to enjoy it in spite of that perspective is a marvelous thing. If you could imagine them in your presence, what would you do?

Sinner: Again, I dunno. It’s hard to tell when they’re not here yet but I am somewhat interested in what’ll end up happening should they get here. I dunno if I’ll be able to tell if it’s them even.

Caecus: And how do you dare to enjoy existence now?

Sinner: Well, I’ve been doing everything I’ve ever wanted to do but could never do in life amongst other things. It’s kinda embarrassing, but I played a bunch of video games, so I miss those quite a bit. I’ve found plenty of ways to fill that void though. Some of your movies are pretty sick down ‘ere, and importing goods from the other rings to ‘ere means I don’t miss out…mostly, on their fun too. I just wish I could explore the other rings; I don’t get why us sinners can’t.

Caecus: Decretum is often difficult to understand. However, it would seem a blessing that you’ve been placed with the multifarious company of the pride ring.

Sinner: True enough, whatever that means. There’s a lot of strip clubs, greedy businesses and shit, stuff you think you’d only find in the other rings. Though I think I probably would’ve ended up in wrath if we landed in the rings based on our sins.

Caecus: Most catechisms view wrath as an excessive anger. You strike me as having more control than the average sinner.

Sinner: A lot of people on the surface woulda said the same too, I was and I suppose still am really good at keeping it in check, well, good enough to not make it obvious anyway. Though it’s been a lot tougher down here.

Caecus: This is a realm of collective temptation, after all.

Sinner: My only judge here is myself and perhaps my peers if I let them. I still kill down here, but it’s been in self-defence. I don’t think I’ve killed anyone out of anger yet but let’s just say I’d feel sorry for the poor sod who happened to piss me off on a bad day.

Caecus: You’ve always been your own judge. I suspect the lack of good comparisons for your behavior here has coaxed you further.

Sinner: Actually, I could tell you about the first person I “killed” down here. It was soon after I woke up. I suppose this guy thought it’d be easy—fresh sinner, just in time to be another tally mark on some statistic.

Caecus: A second death, the lake of fire…

Sinner: Uh...yeah, I reacted on instinct and it musta been a sort of “kiss of death” type shit. I only touched the dude with my hand, and he just kinda…shrivelled up and died. You know…like when a cartoon character eats a lemo—ah sorry, you can’t watch TV.

Caecus: Ah, yes… a shrivelling death is nevertheless descriptive.

Sinner: Anyway, I have a bunch of other powers too but that one I’m most afraid of you know? I can drop the ambient temperature of an area so shit gets cold, have some form of telekinesis and a buncha other stuff, like I have some kinda control over this weird glowy energy, it’s how I have my eyes, which are purely for show, I don’t need them since I can see perfectly fine without ‘em...not that you’d know I even have ‘em.

Caecus: I’m aware you observe our world, in a traditional sense. My observations are just a bit more… unorthodox. And I feel as if your fear is not from a lack of understanding.

Sinner: Well I seem to have it under control, but I’m afraid in a moment of weakness I might react without thinking, you know? I’ve not had it happen yet, but it would be so easy when flippin’ out that I just give ‘em the ol’ touch of death.

Caecus: Even a king’s heart is just a stream of water to the hand of… fate.

Sinner: Gonna be honest, I haven’t the foggiest of what you just said. Though if I’m being honest myself, I couldn’t care less if it was someone I didn’t know anyway. Only really care about my friends and such. You seem pretty neat yourself.

Caecus: The impression is mutual. It’s not often that I’m seen as anything other than senseless and intimidating. I don’t find it unwarranted, granted; my appearance is as disconcerting as my psyche.

Sinner: How do you even know what you look like? It’s not like you can just look into a mirror.

Caecus: I was presented with a vision soon before I arrived, my last blessing I suppose… Regardless, my rebirth is a tale for another time. I’ve relished in your company long enough, and I must answer my calling. I’m sure our paths will converge again.

Sinner: Hey, I hope so too...uh....

Caecus: Please, call me Caecus.

Sinner: Well, it’s only polite to give you my name too. I go by many names here, but I am quite fond of “Mr. Death” as silly as it sounds.

Caecus: Silly, yes, but very becoming of you. A pleasure, Mr. Death.

Mr. Death:Well, don’t let me keep you. I’d like to see you again sometime, Caecus. I’ll take my leave.

Caecus: All in due time.

--End--

[loi-et-love]

SZ: hi.

first thing first..... T H A N K S ....for so many things... talking to me, being nice to me (even when i was pain in the ass) .... being frank and open..... talking whatever came to your mind (well that you do with everyone) ..... answering to some long emails... with equally wrong emails....

you know i had drafted a mail earlier but had to delete it ... thought might as well write something new and fresh..... and this is what you have done to me ..... When i have free time .... i think "let me write to aditi" ..... sometimes..... i even wake up in the middle of my sleep to check...... if there is any message from you.... but unfortunately only calls or messages i get then at that time are from GC .... some how he just knows when i am busy.... or sleeping in office hours and he will call me..... the joke i tell my mom is "if i want GC to call me ..... i should sleep" and hola ...tring tring ....

initially when we started talking...... i did want to know why is she talking so much to me .... but then i let go of it ..... realized later you are talkative.....

i dont talk to many people..... and i dont remember when i had written 100 odd emails .... to someone ...... i guess there have been days when we have completed more than 50 odd emails in a single day.... like today we are already near 42......

two reasons i dont talk to many people in office is 1) my last name: they have pre concieved notion about me and feel uncomfortable talking to me ...... and i dont like when people are uncomfortable .... and they do make it previous obvious

2) whatever little interaction i have had with some ..... i just dont connect... i dont feel the need to ... or in simpler words..... i dont find anyone else interesting enough

yes i like you,.... want to know you..... but i want to know you at your pace and your convenience .... i am not in a hurry..... but then its like you kind of sweet like an ice cream..... and i get worried... what if it just melts away .... so i want to know things about you......

all those questions hanky panky and all is just to get you open up..... as i always say.... i was also 24 for one full year..... and i know things that happen.... i am no saint either.... and i had a car since i was 16..... so had my share of back seat action too....

sometimes...... its obvious that i am the distraction .... that keeps you away from ex......... sometimes.... its just that ... you have too much stored in yourself ...... and you dont have the channel to release it all..... so you just treat me like an "agony uncle" or lets say punching bag.... i am ok with that.....

And you are currently occupying lot of my mental space..... whether is sleeping or awake ....

like today i didnt need to send the photo which i sent in morning ...... or didnt need to think about you when i saw rainbow ..... didnt need to go for walk ..... i went yesterday also .... the reason : well yesterday i knew you would be busy from 6-7 while driving to go home and today i knew you would be sleeping while i was awake so i thought might as well go for a walk

talking sarcastically or flirting or being funny is natural to me and so is the serious attitude.... seen a lot of things in life....

you dont like flirting we can always stop.... it will be difficult but i can stop.... no more checking out .... btw its not the ass which i check out first in a lady....... its something else

chalo will send across this email when you are back from lunch..... and done with your work

ohhhh last thing ..... you are B E A U T I F U L ....enjoy have a nice day .

I: God!! nobody is ever going to let me read this email with full concentration. *angry face*

Will you stop thanking me?? I didn't do anything FOR you. i'm selfish that way. So stop!! I did everything because I wanted to. I didn't do any favors for you. I talk to you because i like talking to you. I'm nice to you because you have been nice to me (no indecency). I'm frank and open... Well, that's just who I am. I speak my mind. And I respond to your long emails because I love talking to you and I love long emails. Long emails signify how much willing you are to talk to me. It shows your effort, that you are ready to type so much because you so much to say.

Maybe you can send me that email you deleted. I would want to read everything you type to send me because that's what you wanted to say to me.

I know how you feel. you have done the same thing to me too. I was late for lunch and made Kaalu and H sir wait becasue I wanted to finish writing an email to you.

It's true that I am talkative but I don't talk soooooo much with everybody. I'm friendly with everyone but not everybody is my friend. So, I talked so much with you because I chose to and not because I have a compulsive need of talking.

And BTW you spoke to me first. I had my seat changed and you had asked me something. I think you had asked me what I do here, etc. and then why my place was changed. I remember it was dark and there was nobody in the office except you and me and you were filling your water bottle and laughed (that cute laugh I love) when I told you that because French Translator and I talk a lot they changed my place. (I know it was silly of me. I didn't even care that you're a C (last name) and I shouldn't have and I should've maintain a decorum with you)

"i dont talk to many people" Tha'ts what Kaalu said, you don't talk to too many people. And if you talk, nobody hears your voice. So, it's more or less like you don't talk at all.

And those days are the best days where we write over 50 emails to each other.

I know why you wouldn't talk to people here in OIA. I saw and felt how lonely you are. and then you talked to me one day and I felt "god! ye accha baat karta hai. Decency toh baapre.. chalakti hai!! Has a nice soothing, amazing voice. English mast hai." And then Idk how and when I started talking to you. I don't remember. All I know is that I must've blabbered a lot for no reason, forcing you to be in the conversation. Do you remember how I started talking to you so much after you spoke to me once? (answer me) I actually you spoke to me twice. once ws in the elevator when we were going down. I think we started talking about cars and books when we would leave. And then you would advise me like an uncle to drive safe and use this direction than the one I use. Ufff... how annoying I found you then!! Treating me like I'm 10!

So, as i was saying i thought u r introvert n shy n lonely n dont have many friends here. but i was happy to see you chitchatting with anand sir then.. Sometime in february i think. I was relieved..

I don't understand what preconceived notions they would have about you.

People know you're C because you speak THEIR language. (That's how I found out). I would always see you talk with Kapil. And I wud make a face like why does this man have to talk to him (Atul), bichara.. paka raha hoga Atul ko! But then i found out u r a Chaturvedi and I slapped my forehead. Like whyyyyyyy............... But then your last name never felt like a hindrance for me. You last name never bothered me. Is that strange for you? (answer me)

So, you know how I feel about you not being here right now? So, you know how I feel about you leaving? There is nobody interesting in this office. There's nobody who reach my standards and actually hold a conversation with me. You have no idea how ecsatic I was to talk to you everytime!! I would wait for NL to leave so that I could talk to you. But you would shoo me away like a dog.. :( That did hurt me when you continued to do it for a few days but I didn't say anything because i know you didn't mean it

You have to ask questions to know me. Don't ask me questions about what hanky panky I have done. I won't answer that. i don't kiss and tell. I told you about Aditya. I told you I have daddy issues. You figured out I have trust issues. It takes time to get to know people. And it's more fun when you get to know them as the time passes by. Fast-fast karne me koi mazaa nahi hai. I have been very fast in my life and i've realized this now and i always prefer to go slow.

I want to get to know you too. You conceal so much behind this fluffy (hehehe) exterior. But it takes time.

You are not the distraction. Dude. I have many distractions. Do you think you are the only person in the office I flirt with? Think again! Yeah, it's true that you are the only person I actually enjoy flirting with!! ('im not buttering you up here)

Nobody can keep me away from BB. BB and I... We have the strangest chemistry. We wouldn't talk to each other for months (which felt like years) and we'd gravitate back to each other. It's just how it is. Nobody can stop what's happening between me and him. and you're not a distraction. I don't use humans anymore. not that person anymore.

This is true "you have too much stored in yourself ...... and you dont have the channel to release it all" But you aren't my agony uncle or punching bag. I have just been awfully mad at you, once !! Just once!!.

You are just completely different for me. You hold the weirdest place in my life. Never anticipated to go this far. I didn't know you'd give me your number and i would chat with you like its the end of the world!!

And you are currently occupying lot of my mental space..... whether is sleeping or awake .... --> i don't want to ruin the moment, but i do do this to alot of people. What you said in another email that i have made your boring life here in OIA, interesting and now you look forward to it. There was this intern (also Adi, he's a southernese) he too said the same thing. He wasn't somebody who would talk a lot but with me, we would talk for 9 hours straight for 2-3 weeks! He didnt have any work and nor did I. and he still cannot believe it. Yeah, so i do have an effect on people. (I won't say i dont enjoy it. i jsut hope it turns out to be a good experience for them)

If you thought about me when you saw the rainbow, then i think of you everytime i see XUV on the street. I wait for you to text me on whatsapp. I come to work and I check my email first for any email from you.

Today when i came to work, i really thought that you're lying n u have come back n you'll come to work today.

" it will be difficult but i can stop" --> really? it'll be difficult???

What's the first thing you check out in a girl? and what's the first thing u checked out in me?

"ohhhh last thing ..... you are B E A U TI FUL ....enjoy have a nice day ." --> i have to hug you for this. There's a way of saying things. it also matters who is saying to you.

I'm too disturbed after wat NL said yesterday. I jsut want to go to him anymore.. i'm not Veena or Marina. Nor do I behave that way (although i did speak things with you, i hit on you, that's different. but really, i didn't do it with NL)

"ohhhh last thing ..... you are B E A U TI FUL ....enjoy have a nice day ." --> you made my day. (you too have an effect on me, okay. you just don't realize it, although I say it out loud so many times) this made me smile shyly. main sharmati nahi hu.. thank you :*