Re: Elevator
He smiled. The smile was not altogether pleasant, nor was it friendly. "Usually it's a friend," he said, sitting back, staring intently at him. "On more interesting occasions, a relative. Or someone from a story, someone who never existed at all, but it's always someone that they want." The words dripped off his tongue, clearly enunciated. That-they-want. "I hope you enjoy living in your world where what's true isn't true and what's a lie isn't a lie. This," he said, pointing to himself, tone dropping dangerously low. "Isn't a joke. It's a fucking curse, and it makes me a goddamn signpost. So if you want to fuck him, fuck him. This is the universe telling you that's what you want. You pass that up, this stupidity has been for no goddamn reason at all."
He pushed away from him. He hardly cared anymore what Tristan thought of him in that moment. He just wanted to be out of this fucking elevator and alone, somewhere he could stay until this false face, this facade of the prettier boy that Tristan wished he was seeing, dissolved away from him. He missed his own limbs, his own face, his own self, imperfect and unlovable as that self might be.