[ He’s grateful that Set lets it go, or so he foolishly assumes. It’s enough for him to get to typing his response, because there’s plenty with the topic of the Souls. After all, Set’s description does match up better with his own experience than what he’s heard from others. More or less, at least. His own Spectral Soul is a bitter, vengeful thing, so he’s never felt anything from it but the intensity of those sorts of emotions. In contrast, he wonders if it even feels things like fear or pride anymore. He wouldn’t be surprised if it’s all an intensity of envious hate.
And, admittedly, a little pang of defensiveness over his sensitivity being pointed out. Set is right, of course. He’s more aware of it than anyone else here. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to protest it, though.
All of that wind goes out of his sails with that deceptively simple question, though. He taps at his screen for a few moments in consideration. He could just ignore it and barrel along. It’s almost a preposterous question on its face because no! Of course he hadn’t! That’s an insane thing to do!
…But also.
He sighs. Saves the message he’d partially typed up as a draft. It’s not that he’s worried that Set won’t let this go. It’s more that he might get the wrong idea from it. ]
Setting aside the fact that I’m a terrible romantic and thus wouldn’t be able to do it—
It would have proved him right, Set. I thought otherwise, but he never trusted me to not be a monster, as it turned out. That my blood was cursed to send me down a dark path.
Why would I give him that satisfaction?
Edited (I changed my mind… Hugo is so closed off lmf) 2026-01-03 07:13 (UTC)
"Proved him right"? The burden of proving you a monster should have been on him. Not on you to prove him wrong.
He is the one who thought you a monster. Any deviation from the standard he set for you would have been enough to condemn, and you simply... walked on eggshells, and called him your lover? That is not love. That is a hostage situation, with your sanity and self-image as the repeated price you paid. How dare he. How DARE he.
[ It's a strange sensation to read words like this. It's digging up feelings that he hasn't indulged in for... Well, not since the year after it had happened, and that was a year he was very much not proud of. His first (and only, so far) love failing so tragically had sent him spiraling for a good, long time.
Part of his heart feels pettily, spitefully validated by the words. It's the part of his heart that still lives in that year, when enough liquor was enough to loosen his tongue and he'd tell the stranger he was hooking up with about his ex. They'd say things like this too, but the feeling was always temporary. Sense would come back to him the next morning with the hollow feeling of knowing that their words were misplaced, at best. It's not like they knew the story.
So, he'd always been a coward. Block them, ghost them, whatever. He'd never see them again and never have to tell that story.
He's not that young man anymore, though. He's matured (thank god), but the words still feel uneasy. It's that disconnect of knowing he should explain, but also desperately not wanting to unearth one of the worst nights of his life. ]
I mean this in the most polite way possible, to be clear.
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no subject
And, admittedly, a little pang of defensiveness over his sensitivity being pointed out. Set is right, of course. He’s more aware of it than anyone else here. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to protest it, though.
All of that wind goes out of his sails with that deceptively simple question, though. He taps at his screen for a few moments in consideration. He could just ignore it and barrel along. It’s almost a preposterous question on its face because no! Of course he hadn’t! That’s an insane thing to do!
…But also.
He sighs. Saves the message he’d partially typed up as a draft. It’s not that he’s worried that Set won’t let this go. It’s more that he might get the wrong idea from it. ]
Setting aside the fact that I’m a terrible romantic and thus wouldn’t be able to do it—
It would have proved him right, Set. I thought otherwise, but he never trusted me to not be a monster, as it turned out. That my blood was cursed to send me down a dark path.
Why would I give him that satisfaction?
no subject
He is the one who thought you a monster. Any deviation from the standard he set for you would have been enough to condemn, and you simply... walked on eggshells, and called him your lover? That is not love. That is a hostage situation, with your sanity and self-image as the repeated price you paid. How dare he. How DARE he.
A monster. Bah! Nothing about you is monstrous.
no subject
Part of his heart feels pettily, spitefully validated by the words. It's the part of his heart that still lives in that year, when enough liquor was enough to loosen his tongue and he'd tell the stranger he was hooking up with about his ex. They'd say things like this too, but the feeling was always temporary. Sense would come back to him the next morning with the hollow feeling of knowing that their words were misplaced, at best. It's not like they knew the story.
So, he'd always been a coward. Block them, ghost them, whatever. He'd never see them again and never have to tell that story.
He's not that young man anymore, though. He's matured (thank god), but the words still feel uneasy. It's that disconnect of knowing he should explain, but also desperately not wanting to unearth one of the worst nights of his life. ]
I mean this in the most polite way possible, to be clear.
But why do you care?