"If there was a button that killed everyone I hated, I probably wouldn't press it ... but if there was a button that killed everyone who hated me, I'd press it without hesitation."
That's what Nikolai wanted. The entire conversation was trying to get me to turn on a friend. My only friend when I came here. And you were so concerned with me 'burning bridges' with him above everything else.
[ There’s a beat where he hesitates. Savoring that one last moment before Quentin knows. That last, precious second. Thinking of the cages. The void. The party. The castle. The strawflower. Pressed in his journal.
[ Yeah, he remembers being covered in bruises all the way up to his jaw. He showed up for the clinic shifts he shared with Junpei looking like that more often than not. Jealousy bites at the edges of his horror, his worry. ]
So you were--drugged. You were turning. You had some kind of--deal or exchange or something.
Bullshit, it was inevitable! You could say no, you could have said it then, you could say it now! Junpei--Junpei, you--fuck this--
[ He cuts the line. Whatever peace, relief, or new anxiety Junpei feels in the absence of contact, he's allowed to sit with it for all of ten minutes before the relative quiet of the clinic is broken by Quentin slamming through the front door. Whatever Junpei is doing, hopefully he can drop it easily; Quentin grabs him by the arm and drags him to the back, as if the wall between the main room and the back will keep anyone from hearing then.
[ He lets Junpei go once they're inside, but he blocks the door bodily, demands, quavering: ] What did I do? You can tell me. If I did something to make you--if I said something, you can tell me. I can hear it!
[ The feeling is sharp, sour. Painful. But he’s prepared for that to be the end.
And then it’s very much not.
It’s clear from how pale he gets when Quentin grabs his arm, how much the color drains from him as he’s questioned once they’re in the back room.
He can’t look him in the eyes. But he doesn’t wiggle away. This is what he earned, and he’s going to force himself to stay every excruciating second. ]
You’re still trying to find excuses for me. There aren’t any.
I'm not--christ! [ He laughs frantically, both hands tearing through his hair. The tension helps the itch in his knuckles, but not the problem rattling his thoughts. He's dismayed; he's pissed. ] I don't want a fucking excuse, I wanna know why! I wanna know why, why, why--why, you know what he did to me! Not just the end of it, you saw what he did to woo me, you've already seen all his tricks! So why the fuck, Junpei?
[ His face twists up: annoyance, disgust, disbelief. ] So what--you felt like a real badass then, and you thought "hey lets be friends"? Are you friends? Do you talk? You seemed pretty fucking friendly with him the other day, was that when that started?
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After everything with Murphy, is it so much to ask my friends not to fight?
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seems like a trend lately
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[ Give him a second to realize the implication here. ]
oh lmao and you're supposed to be one of those people? fuck off
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And he lets it go. ]
I fucked Danny.
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Why?
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Just a slut, I guess.
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Did he hurt you? Did he threaten you, are you okay?
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It was consensual, Quentin.
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So you were--drugged. You were turning. You had some kind of--deal or exchange or something.
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I did it because I wanted to. Because it felt good. Because he said things that excited me.
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Okay! Fine, but you--and now you're--it was mistake! Now you're done!
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You were good to me. Better than I deserved.
But I always belonged with people like him. With creatures like Mahito. This was inevitable.
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[ He cuts the line. Whatever peace, relief, or new anxiety Junpei feels in the absence of contact, he's allowed to sit with it for all of ten minutes before the relative quiet of the clinic is broken by Quentin slamming through the front door. Whatever Junpei is doing, hopefully he can drop it easily; Quentin grabs him by the arm and drags him to the back, as if the wall between the main room and the back will keep anyone from hearing then.
[ He lets Junpei go once they're inside, but he blocks the door bodily, demands, quavering: ] What did I do? You can tell me. If I did something to make you--if I said something, you can tell me. I can hear it!
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And then it’s very much not.
It’s clear from how pale he gets when Quentin grabs his arm, how much the color drains from him as he’s questioned once they’re in the back room.
He can’t look him in the eyes. But he doesn’t wiggle away. This is what he earned, and he’s going to force himself to stay every excruciating second. ]
You’re still trying to find excuses for me. There aren’t any.
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cw: genital mutilation
Last year. During the cages. A guy tried to jump me.
Danny stopped him. Offered to cut off his dick for me. I think he expected me to be spooked.
I wasn’t.
I wanted him to do it. Was excited at the thought. That’s the first time I felt it.
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[ The word feels wrong in every possible way for whatever the hell he has with Danny. There’s no bond. There’s no joy. There’s no affection. ]
I don’t even like him.
I just need what he has. And he knows it.
[ That feeling. That rush. ]
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