No, it wasn't the sort of thing you say on a first date, or the second, or really any after that. Valentine's lips parted once Jack started, eyes glazed.
He'd taken a deep breath and just, went for it. Val felt so, so very small.
A part of him cringed at how he'd hurt this man, who was endlessly older and sadder than he was. He tried to think on how it would even feel, being this way, and while he mentally lacked the ability to really do so (it would've been difficult even for someone normal, perhaps more difficult), and it was…
From a logical standpoint, Val was surprised Jack still felt things at all. That it wasn't dull and irrelevant, everything having already been seen, going through the motions.
That he was so affected by a pathetic, cursed child… he must've faced worse, right? As well as better? Why, then? Why Val?
He kissed Jack, nervous down to his bones, but fond.
"I was just going to ask things like what your favorite foods, or colors, were," Val said, quietly, terribly flustered. "You didn't have to, to just…"
"I'm glad you did, though."
"Uh," he tried, breath still knocked out of him. "I'm. I'm nineteen years old, but my birthday is soon, I guess. My entire life is public information, a horror story, some kind of cautionary tale. It's really not much in comparison to you. I'm cursed, magically powerful, my father glorified me as a tool, a trophy, and my mother wasn't there. I don't blame her."
"I've always been sick. I don't understand other people unless I hurt them- and I've hurt you, but I still don't understand everything, not even a little bit. It's frustrating."
"People- servants, relatives, strangers- have been trying to kill me since I was five years old, and they usually succeed. When I try to kill myself, I don't succeed. I'm not dead or alive, and I never have been."
"I thought I might be a girl sometimes starting when I was sixteen, and I made my brother buy me new clothes, because I was too scared to do it myself. He was nicer to me than he should've been, just like you. I hurt him, I wanted him to be like me. I hurt everyone, whether I plan to or not. It's better if you pretend you're in control of it."
His eyes were large, sharpness faded.
"My favorite food is chocolate, and my favorite colors are shades of blue, grey, and black."
He'd taken a deep breath and just, went for it. Val felt so, so very small.
A part of him cringed at how he'd hurt this man, who was endlessly older and sadder than he was. He tried to think on how it would even feel, being this way, and while he mentally lacked the ability to really do so (it would've been difficult even for someone normal, perhaps more difficult), and it was…
From a logical standpoint, Val was surprised Jack still felt things at all. That it wasn't dull and irrelevant, everything having already been seen, going through the motions.
That he was so affected by a pathetic, cursed child… he must've faced worse, right? As well as better? Why, then? Why Val?
He kissed Jack, nervous down to his bones, but fond.
"I was just going to ask things like what your favorite foods, or colors, were," Val said, quietly, terribly flustered. "You didn't have to, to just…"
"I'm glad you did, though."
"Uh," he tried, breath still knocked out of him. "I'm. I'm nineteen years old, but my birthday is soon, I guess. My entire life is public information, a horror story, some kind of cautionary tale. It's really not much in comparison to you. I'm cursed, magically powerful, my father glorified me as a tool, a trophy, and my mother wasn't there. I don't blame her."
"I've always been sick. I don't understand other people unless I hurt them- and I've hurt you, but I still don't understand everything, not even a little bit. It's frustrating."
"People- servants, relatives, strangers- have been trying to kill me since I was five years old, and they usually succeed. When I try to kill myself, I don't succeed. I'm not dead or alive, and I never have been."
"I thought I might be a girl sometimes starting when I was sixteen, and I made my brother buy me new clothes, because I was too scared to do it myself. He was nicer to me than he should've been, just like you. I hurt him, I wanted him to be like me. I hurt everyone, whether I plan to or not. It's better if you pretend you're in control of it."
His eyes were large, sharpness faded.
"My favorite food is chocolate, and my favorite colors are shades of blue, grey, and black."