Re: The Jaded/The Disaffected
It would've been enough, just for Nicky to know that he cared. Cared about something, anything. What Emil cared about was largely irrelevant; just the confirmation that he wasn't dealing with a soulless automaton would've been enough. Nicky told himself that he cared too much: about what he wanted, about what other people thought. When he'd acted according to the opposite of that, without regard for others and what they thought, it had gone badly. Of course, holding grudges had proven equally disastrous. It was his fatal flaw, grudges. He'd been told as much, told it would lead him into ruin. So, he worked on that.
"Good, because I'm not buying. It's a gift." So kindness, or whatever. The guy could buy himself some warmer clothes, or something. Shoes that wouldn't sop up the melting snow like a sponge. Nicky hadn't known poverty, even before he'd known who his father was, because he'd still looked out for his children. He'd seen it in others, though, and he wasn't heartless. And really, it had been a demonstration, masquerading as altruism. That's what altruism was, really - doing something for someone else, but only to make yourself feel better. A further masquerade.
They got to Nicky's compartment - a modest, second-class affair: a bench, a bed. Suitcase on the bench, half-open with a couple bits of clothing spilling out. He entered, a little pleased that Emil had followed. He liked the showing-off, a bit. The reveal. The sometimes disbelief, and the questions. His world was a hidden one, right under the noses of ordinary people. It made Nicky feel special and he liked feeling special, if it hadn't been said enough already by this point. Sat on the bed, kicking off his boots. Rainbow-striped socks, of all things. He made concessions for socks. "Sit, if you want." He was going to get a sore neck from staring up at this too-tall guy.