#RYBKO I'M PERISHINGGG I love it omg

[islandiis]

Fannar sits back a little bit, and he opts to wrap his arms around himself. It's... Well, it's not the most comforting tone, but — it's something. It's comforting, in some way. He might not be succeeding, but — he tries. He does. In between each line of his journal, there is evidence that he tries. And he's still here, isn't he? Yeah.

"Yeah," He finally cedes, with a thin exhale, and then a sheepish laugh as he pushes one hand through his hair. He still looks troubled, though, and he lets his eyes close with a sigh before he adds, "I'm sorry, though. This isn't — you shouldn't have to deal with this."

And she shouldn't, but... The fact that she's here, and listens, and that she hasn't... well — Fannar doesn't know exactly what he had feared. Did he expect Rainer to echo every sentiment in his own mind? Expect her to tell him he's pathetic, and get up and leave? No. He knows she cares; his self-rejection, is... it's his own thing. He knows better than to expect she'd reject him, it's just... It's complicated.

Fannar mimics her gesture by looking to the fridge, eyebrows raised, but he doesn't say anything about the idea of the explosives being there. He doesn't even know what they'd look like. Plastic, presumably? Is it soft, sticky...? What colour even is it? Either way, a change of topic - and a distraction - are very welcomed. "Eh..." He blinks down at his hands, and then raises one to push his hair back. "Well — Yes, s-sort of? They come up in a few of our sagas — I can't remember them all, right now, it's been a while since I read them, but — Ála Flekks saga, a man was turned into a wolf after he rejected the love of a troll. But there are no wolves in Iceland, so I think a lot of our lore was sort of... Imported?"

The question makes Fannar's eyebrows furrow as if he's confused by it. He's always figured that Rainer was involved in... well, areas, that he is entirely unfamiliar with. But he doesn't really know details, and Fannar is quite happy with that. Ignorance is bliss, after all, and it's really none of his business in the first place. He isn't sure what Rainer does, exactly, or has done in the past — from the sound of it, and what little pieces he's picked up along the way, Rainer doesn't work an office job or anything.

But, the bigger question is: Would it matter? If it were anyone other than his friend, he would almost certainly condemn whatever is happening — but it's not anyone other than his friend. It's Rainer. Hypocritical, maybe, but that's just how it is. He doesn't really want to know details, whatever it is Rainer gets up to, but his answer is simple.

She reads him like a book, and he coughs into one hand before he curls back around his mug, and stares hard into the dwindling coffee inside. She's right — she's right. What should he say? Not saying anything feels like the wrong move, as comfortable as it might be.

"I—..." He coughs into one elbow again, then sits back in his chair, splaying his hands against his thighs. "I don't... know how to change things. I'm too scared to change things." He curls his fingers into the fabric of his pajama bottoms, then releases it and reaches up to press his face into his hands, elbows against the edge of the table. "I-I don't feel good, but this is all I know how to do. I don't know how to stop being scared, so I can't... you know— I don't even know if I want to change things, because it is so scary, and I feel like I'm just..." Pathetic. Weak. Cowardly. Inadequate. Selfish— "I don't know. I just feel... bad."

He sits back a little bit, but clasps his hands together in front of his mouth. His eyes are averted for a minute, as if processing what exactly he had just said, before that confused look returns, and he searches Rainer's expression as he tries to figure out how to reply. After a minute of silence, he just manages, "Are they... real?"

@fangmother