Luke Henry is cursed to live for (aneternity) wrote in rooms,
Re: [Brandon Shipping]
Once, Luke been the first person to defend against criticism about Thomas' nature. That's just how he is was common. But then, then things changed. He thought he could handle more than he actually, in reality, had been able to, Wren left, and suddenly that's just how he is wasn't enough anymore. Maybe that wasn't fair, but fair hadn't really factored in when his main support system abandoned him.
"That's not true." When he was angry he was even more stubborn than usual. "Maybe you didn't mean to make it about you. Maybe it wasn't always," Luke could concede to that, albeit reluctantly, "but it was, sometimes. I get that you were about the greater good, the bigger picture. So was I. I wanted to save the whole damn world. But for fuck's sake, Thomas, did you really never think part of it was you? What you wanted, what you expected? You say I'm blind, but you are too." His gaze narrowed angrily. "That wasn't what I wanted, and I never said I did. I knew you weren't like that. I figured it out pretty quick."
He paused when Thomas pushed himself back. It wasn't an end, because he was nowhere near done, but it was enough to get him to momentarily stop talking. The tabletop trembled, and Luke watched the lamp and candles rock back and forth together. He let go of the desk, and took a step back. Not out of fear, no, but sometimes in his fits of rage he was still capable of moments of clarity, and this was one of them. If Luke noticed the ice, he didn't comment on it.
Whereas the sharp anger in Thomas' voice didn't affect him, the disgust did. Like being doused in ice-cold water, the shock of it, and Luke's eyes widened a fraction before he narrowed them back into that angry glare. "You--" He inhaled sharply, because calling him a bastard or telling him to go fuck himself really wasn't going to accomplish anything. It wouldn't make him listen. "I didn't say that," he said, finally. "If you could stop putting words in my mouth, a Thomas, I'd really fucking appreciate it. I never once said I wanted you to cry over my problems, or that my life would've been better if you had. I brought a lot of shit on myself. I know that. I'm not saying I'm entirely blameless, so try fucking paying attention. I know I'm not. And maybe-- maybe there was nothing you could have done that would've made a difference. Maybe nothing would've helped. But you didn't even try. And by try," he added, loudly, so Thomas didn't have a chance to interject, "I don't mean crying or coddling me or-- or hugging. It doesn't always have to be all or nothing. Just-- something. Anything." He paused. "But you know what, if you actually fucking think that I believe my life would have been perfect if you'd just shed some tears or hugged me, if you think I don't blame myself at all, then you really don't know a damn thing."