gooseberryhigh | (no subject)

WHO: Ryan Hertz and Chris Park
WHEN: (Backdated) May 9th
WHERE: Coppertale Senior boys cabin
WHAT: Discussing letters and mistakes and just things.
RATING: There will be language so. Also trigger warnings for abuse.
STATUS: Closed/Ongoing

Ryan could still recall how his heart had literally stopped when he realized the wards weren't working. Four long years he had kept his secret. Four years he had managed to make it seem like his dad was just an unfeeling parent. It had only taken one post to undo all that, though his saving grace had been the fact that everything was anonymous. He figured it was only right, really. If the universe was going to fuck with him in these ways, it had to throw something back every now and then.

Once he felt like he'd mostly managed to convince people that he was joking, anonymous or no, Ryan figured he'd head over to Coppertale and find Chris. He really wanted to crawl into a hole, actually, but he knew his friend. After reading something like that, and knowing how it would make Ryan feel, Chris would be worried. Plus he'd want to hear about what his dad had said. Running a hand through his hair, which messed up the infamous faux-hawk, Ryan knocked on the door. Just in case there was a battle royale going on in there. Or someone was enjoying cabin privacy or something.

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Chris opened the door. Battle royale wasn't happening and neither was cabin privacy. Things had actually been pretty chill lately. Which was ... well, it was good - because the tension of the cabin was starting to piss Chris off, but it was also annoying because it kind of just made Chris feel like he'd been the cause of the problem lately, and once he stopped, everything else stopped. Which was... annoying. But he was just going to ignore that, because things had been better. They were seniors, they all deserved to finish out this year with as little tension among them as possible. They deserved a break.

But these last couple days have been... well this last fucking week, since Sunday, has just been a shit show. Chris enjoyed the anonymity of the journals a bit, but like... not fucking really. It was inconvenient. He held the door open for Ryan. "Did anybody see you, or did you make it here under the cover of the - day?" But of course, Chris's baseline was always humor, instead of seriousness. That was how he tried to diffuse things he wanted to diffuse. Almost outing yourself as a victim of child abuse ... well, that felt like a situation that probably needed diffusing and coddling and comforting and a whole fuck ton of other things because that was the worst possible scenario he could think of happening right now. Outside of actually fully outing yourself, obviously.

Seeing Chris on the other side of the door, it was readily apparent he wasn't exactly having a great time of things himself. Ryan had no real idea if anything on the journals was responsible, as he didn't use them as much as his peers. Which really just made it that much more fucking bullshit that the ONE TIME he did, such a huge fuck up had happened. "I don't think anyone did," he returned, slightly less of himself in the reply than normal. "I'm not exactly easy to hide." Being tall sucked sometimes, but he was pretty sure nobody had seen. He'd actually tried to stay concealed due to what they had said on journals.

Without waiting for an invitation, not that he needed one, Ryan threw himself on Chris' bed. His eyes were bleak as he looked at the ceiling. "How much would it take for you to roll me off Azurcrest cliff?" he asked, still looking up. Eye contact was harder for him when he was upset.

Chris didn't make this awkward by joining Ryan on the bed, and forcing him to feel obligated to make eye contact. "Your cliff's got a net, bud. If I roll you off, you'll probably just rebound and bounce back up, or whatever the fuck happens when that spell catches. You won't actually die." For Chris's fault, his tone was a great deal softer than it usually was, almost comforting.

Chris tapped his fingers against his bed, silent for a moment, not really sure how to broach the subject they obviously had to broach. "That bastard sent you a letter?" He asked bluntly, but even the blunt question was softened considerably around the edges by his tone.

"Fucking school," he muttered, which seemed to encompass all of his feelings on the entirety of this matter in two small words. Seeming to realize Chris had not in fact vehemently refused to help him should this possible, though, he slid his glance over to his friend. "I appreciate the support on offing myself. It's uplifting to know you would," he said dryly, though obviously this type of banter was making him feel better; more normal. His tone reflected as much, as did the fact that he was looking over at Chris for small intervals now.

Ryan wasn't sure how to broach the subject, though of course between them there could be no other way but brutal bluntness. "Yep," he said, fishing something out of his pocket and tossing it to Chris. He'd crumpled it up, but hadn't set it on fire. Yet. Probably some sick twisted desire to have some piece of his father, something he could pretend meant he actually cared. "I love the part where he mentions the house needing some upkeep. Like I'm a fucking landlord now too."

Chris offered Ryan a smartass smile, because no - no he hadn't vehemently refused to help Ryan off himself. He knew Ryan never would. And he hoped Ryan knew that Chris would never actually help him do that even if he wanted to. Chris caught the crumpled note and unfolded it, smoothing it out enough that he could read it. This was what they did. Chris let Ryan read the notes his father sent him, and Ryan let him read the notes from his own father. It was like some kind of need for other people to read it, to validate their emotions - that they were dramatic. Or alone.

Chris read the note in silence. It wasn't particularly long. Ryan's father didn't seem to do a lot of well written backhanded compliments. "He lives alone for nine months. He can do his own upkeep," Chris muttered in the middle of reading the note. Once he was finished he crumpled the note back up. "What the fuck does he actually think is going to happen here? That we graduate and you move back in at the age of eighteen and do what? Take care of him? This ain't fucking Cinderella."

Ryan just shook his head at the smile, but it brought one of his own to his lips. Not a full one, mind you, but it was better than how he'd looked when he arrived. It faded as soon as his friend began to read the letter, however. Ryan's gaze returned to the ceiling, unknowingly thinking the same thing Chris was. Why was it that the only people they felt they could share these with were each other? Why was it that the only person they could see validating the way these fucked up parents made them feel were each other?

Why did they even matter at all?

It didn't take long for Chris to finish, of course. Ryan's father wasn't really the long winded type. He didn't have insults or passive aggressive statements like Chris' dad. "Apparently the prospect of having a slave permanently now is almost as enticing as something to hit whenever he gets mad." Which was all the time, pretty much. "I think that's exactly what he thinks," he said quietly, before looking over at Chris again. "Maybe he's even chosen a pretty fucking dress for me to wear while I work." He grinned, but it was without feeling; without mirth.