Re: Dietre + Oliver ; diner times
The color in Dietre's cheeks flared a deeper red as he was laughed at, and he frowned in a way that was surprisingly childish, though endearingly so. He did not confirm his sexuality either way, because, to be honest, it was not something he allowed himself to think about very deeply. Or much at all. If he did decide to stop and reflect on his tastes, he'd likely realize that he seemed to focus quite heavily on the males in his life. ...In fact, were there even any women he spoke to frequently? None came to mind. Not a one. Ah... It was no wonder his father was so disappointed with him.
"Hm." He sipped his coffee morosely. This conversation was rather depressing. "Well... I'm sure it is easy enough to guess how I feel about myself." Which was why he didn't expect anyone to like him. But he wished they did, just the same.
Did the medication help? Now there was a question he had to think a bit about. "It... dulls the edge. And I need that." He slid an empty sugar packet in a slow circle on the table top with a single finger pressed to its center. "They don't make me happier, but-- I'm just as sad as I ever was. But I'm not falling apart." He was a broken vase being held together with cheap masking tape, flimsy and misshapen. A temporary fix that was doomed to fail sooner or later.
"He must have thought you had talent though, surely?" The business classes had not been difficult, Dietre was an excellent student. Yet, he knew that his father believed he would never become anything. He didn't understand why the man still forced him to go through the motions. Maybe it was just for the satisfaction of seeing him fail and being proven right.