Re: Quiet Home: Misha & Oliver
"Reckon he might believe me. Folks believe what they want, and he wants you happy, so he'd want to believe me. Might not do it full out, but some," Misha mused. Folks were so simple sometimes, and they were so complicated other times. Wanting those they loved to be happy, that was real simple. Course, sometimes that got all twisted up in what happy meant, but Misha didn't think that was the case here, with these boys.
Next thing Oliver said made Misha look longer some, those too-bright blue eyes real warm somehow in that old art studio. "Honey," he said soft, real soft, "Jude's safe. Jude ain't got himself shards. He protects you. He probably lets you have every damn thing you want, and he likely never causes you strife. He loves you that way, sounds like, and protects you that way, but it's safe, and that's why you don't want no one else. Other options, they're real scary, ain't they? You can't control them any." Truth was, love was a terrifying force. It was all 'bout giving the softest parts of yourself to others, and then expecting others not to cram those parts rough between their fingers and squeeze.
"Feeling bad's safe too, sugarplum. If you're already there, then nothing else worse can happen, can it? Not like letting yourself feel good, and then losing it somehow awful." And Misha reckoned Oliver would be running on him at any time now. It was a whole lot of words, and maybe they were much too close to Oliver's squishy parts, but Misha reckoned it might be a one-time opportunity for words Oliver wouldn't hear again. Misha reckoned, based just on these words in this room, that Oliver's brother wouldn't ever lay it out truthful for him like this.
"Living's terrifying, Oliver, but it can be real beautiful, just like your art."