[He took the lighter back, lighting his cigarette and inhaling the smoke before he slipped the zippo back into his worn jeans. But he watches Kavinsky, looking to see how he takes it all. He's a Dreamer, so it's not disbelief, at least. The only time he'd ever told someone like this they'd been in a dream, so this felt like a different thing altogether. But he takes a drag off his cigarette and tries to look nonchalant about the whole thing, even if he isn't.]
Oh, c'mon. We're surrounded by cars you pulled from your dreams. It's not just flattery, Ioska.
[He thought there were probably exactly two people in Henrietta that would understand what he meant, but Kavinsky was one of them. It's the familiar version of the way you say Joseph in Russian, but easy enough to understand for most of the Slavic languages.
There's a slight tilt of his head, a twitch of his expression as he watches him. He's more accepting of the way that Kavinsky says you're a freak like me than he'd like to be- the way that it touches against his worst insecurities. He'd been alone for so long, struggling to fit into a world he wasn't made for any more than Kavinsky was. Before he met Elijah he hadn't known anyone else that could touch dreams like he could. And Elijah had known so little about dreams, and Dmitri had been so glad to show him.
But the rejection broke pieces of him- because it was a rejection of who he was, too. Those are things he doesn't say out loud, but they're there- the sharp parts he hides behind his green eyes.]
If you're gonna go there, might as well go all the way-- say we're monsters.
[There's a touch of vulgar innuendo to the way he says the words- reflexively coarse. His teeth flash white as he exhales the smoke of his cigarette, but it's a complicated thing. Something that speaks to brittle bitterness and suffering as much as it does to edges that cut like a weapon. A fight against the world.
They were strange, dangerous creatures. But they were similar: they were the same, in the ways that mattered. Boys tangled in dreams, in the crushing weight of the world around them. It's part of why he's here, if he's being honest. Selfishness. Because without Kavinsky, who does he have? Ronan and Eli? Boys who it seemed like were made for ruin? He might not have taken the risk of saying it before, but he'd known since he saw him. And it might not be good enough, but it was something to just know that someone else like him existed.]
Nah. It's just me, I think.
[He knows what Kavinsky is really asking, but he takes a breath off his cigarette, all acrid smoke. Through his eyes the world echoes with dreams- and right now it burns. But he doesn't really know how to explain that with his feet on solid ground, so he doesn't.]
Dreams are bad at keeping secrets. But I saw the way you looked at him for months.
[He almost says: I always knew he'd burn you, but he doesn't, because it sounds like jealousy. Instead his voice softens just a little, because it's empathy, not judgement. They might not have ever been close before, but he does care that Ronan doesn't break Kavinsky with carelessness.]
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Oh, c'mon. We're surrounded by cars you pulled from your dreams. It's not just flattery, Ioska.
[He thought there were probably exactly two people in Henrietta that would understand what he meant, but Kavinsky was one of them. It's the familiar version of the way you say Joseph in Russian, but easy enough to understand for most of the Slavic languages.
There's a slight tilt of his head, a twitch of his expression as he watches him. He's more accepting of the way that Kavinsky says you're a freak like me than he'd like to be- the way that it touches against his worst insecurities. He'd been alone for so long, struggling to fit into a world he wasn't made for any more than Kavinsky was. Before he met Elijah he hadn't known anyone else that could touch dreams like he could. And Elijah had known so little about dreams, and Dmitri had been so glad to show him.
But the rejection broke pieces of him- because it was a rejection of who he was, too. Those are things he doesn't say out loud, but they're there- the sharp parts he hides behind his green eyes.]
If you're gonna go there, might as well go all the way-- say we're monsters.
[There's a touch of vulgar innuendo to the way he says the words- reflexively coarse. His teeth flash white as he exhales the smoke of his cigarette, but it's a complicated thing. Something that speaks to brittle bitterness and suffering as much as it does to edges that cut like a weapon. A fight against the world.
They were strange, dangerous creatures. But they were similar: they were the same, in the ways that mattered. Boys tangled in dreams, in the crushing weight of the world around them. It's part of why he's here, if he's being honest. Selfishness. Because without Kavinsky, who does he have? Ronan and Eli? Boys who it seemed like were made for ruin? He might not have taken the risk of saying it before, but he'd known since he saw him. And it might not be good enough, but it was something to just know that someone else like him existed.]
Nah. It's just me, I think.
[He knows what Kavinsky is really asking, but he takes a breath off his cigarette, all acrid smoke. Through his eyes the world echoes with dreams- and right now it burns. But he doesn't really know how to explain that with his feet on solid ground, so he doesn't.]
Dreams are bad at keeping secrets. But I saw the way you looked at him for months.
[He almost says: I always knew he'd burn you, but he doesn't, because it sounds like jealousy. Instead his voice softens just a little, because it's empathy, not judgement. They might not have ever been close before, but he does care that Ronan doesn't break Kavinsky with carelessness.]
I thought you deserved better than being alone.