mutual suffering

Exhaustion and sickness really was trying to creep up on him again, but the buzz kept going, keeping it away and Valentine distracted for a little while longer. It was certainly better than any actual medicine he'd tried, and he was glad, despite his bitterness.

"…You said you weren't cute earlier," Val started, sounding a bit grumpy. "And I didn't have the chance to disagree, so I'm telling you now. I disagree."

After enjoying his regular dose of nuzzling, Val took the offered sweater and pulled it on a bit awkwardly, trying not to get lost within the floppy abyss. He just managed to pop his head and fingers out of the right spots, and with how it draped over him, it kind of felt like he was wearing a weird dress.

No, what it really felt like… was that he was smaller. More feminine than he could usually be, without changing or hiding things. He flushed again, quiet, lightly touching Jack's arm. Val was happy, but he didn't want to explain the reason this time. It was probably silly, and such a little detail to make relevant.

Ah, eating, he'd forgotten about that. Ew. Val exhaled and thought on it, trying to make up some kind of answer for the other's sake. "Soup sounds… not good. I'll eat soon, but I can still wait longer, I've done it before. It isn't that bad. When I do end up eating, though, it might be a lot. Hunger comes and goes in weird ways, one extreme or another, but I'm used to it."

Val paused at the next question. Genuinely thought about it, since Jack was himself and not anyone else. Most things Val did were heavily planned to get specific results, not just purely done because he'd felt like it. Dancing had been nice. He wanted to do that again, differently. If he hadn't been tired, he would've pulled his boyfriend up to dance right now, music from one of their phones in the background.

Boyfriend. Val fidgeted, then turned and leaned into Jack to kiss him.

"…Art?" he tried, a bit shy again.

Valentine sat up, scooting over to watch Jack dig through the stuff next to his bed, curious. He caught glimpses of things, but only just, and that was irritating. He wanted to see more of Jack's art. He already cherished what had been gifted, and had been moved enough to offer his own work in return, even before he'd felt this much overarching adoration for this man.

At attempts to further peer around Jack, he did a bit of a double take, thought he'd hallucinated something for a second. Squinted. No… right? Couldn't be, that's just a bit too ridiculous. Except. He already knew there were a lot of drawings of him in there, so then…

Uh. Hm. All he could really think was that he felt oddly flattered. And flustered, because fuck, did Jack really think about him that much, in that light? He guessed he didn't have to worry as much about not being anything interesting, unable to be a proper match, then. He wasn't the only one this affected.

Val scrubbed at his face, trying to get out signs of red again, then taking the sketchbook and fancy pencil cup. He sat back, stuffing a few pillows behind him for proper support, and settled in.

"Family research journals again. The beautiful sketches held my attention for hours on end, just as much as the words did, and opened up other doors. I actually found it easier to copy the art before I was able to properly detail my own studies. When I was young, I didn't have a lot to intellectually say on reanimated butterflies or the underground tunnels- but I still wanted to capture them in a moment, have something to remind me of my feelings and fascination back then, to remember."

Val drew out a broken looking, but still pretty, butterfly as an example. "These things were never too stylized. Filling in all the little things were the most important, impressive aspect, because it was for study purpose as much as passion."

He took out one of the darkest pencils and started working at a more heavy impression of a scene, vague in some areas but crisp in others. His father's study, which had 'belonged' to him for a long time now, but that he could never really think of that way. The desk was scattered with magical items and trinkets, a half worked at project, interesting and far more expressive than the butterfly. He added in detail with a lone pen.

"Romanticism is my favorite, I discovered after moving past just the one-purpose educational things. I'm not good with people, their emotions, or caring for them. But with art, I feel something, and I enjoy it. Seek it out, even, without having to feel bad for that. There's no pressure to do anything, you can just take it in, as well as then express yourself and have it be natural."

He paused. Put his pen down. "No, it isn't. I've never been settled down enough in college to feel like I... and I don't even know if I would want it to be art. What are your plans, what do you want from school now?"

"They were really rough, so it's a little embarrassing," Valentine sighed, thoughtful. "I must've started when I was five or so. But I didn't have much else to do in terms of a purely personal interest, so as soon as my assigned studying was over, I'd find somewhere quiet and fill pages and pages of my journal with art, almost every day. Before I knew it, I had the first skill that I could say really was my own. So, art… is important."

He laughed a bit. "The boxes are really cute, huh? Pft. You're cute. I suppose that's a relevant enough reason to be fond of something."

And ah, he should've known asking that would be going into risky, personal territory again. Val stopped his own work to quietly watch Jack for a bit, and listen.

"I knew a little, after what I did. Nothing that specific, though, that's not how it works. Imagery. Feelings. Just impressions, enough to take on the pain as my own. It's also based around whatever's most relevant, at the front of your mind." A pause. "I'm just… telling you since, it seems fair to, after I intruded. Pain empathy is more like studying a painting, as opposed to reading a diary, you might say."

Val admired the sketch of Baltimore. He wondered if he should feel some kind of jealousy, or bitterness- but he'd honestly felt more of those things before he'd fallen headfirst for Jack. Strange. He was just slightly amused at himself for that.

"Why not indeed. If you enjoy it, then that's good enough." He hummed at the kiss on the cheek, turning to give one on the lips.

Valentine raised his eyebrows at that, then muffled a sudden laugh. "You were a pirate? How many things have you been, how many interesting stories do you have? There must be errors in historical records you're amused at, I always think about those things in regards to immortals-" He paused. "Ah, I suppose I'm technically one too, though? At least, it's assumed I won't die of old age. Assuming that, I'm still far too young to relate, but it's fascinating anyway."

He eyed Jack quietly for a moment. What would he do if something were to happen to this man, now? Did the other still want to die? It wasn't allowed, not by his powers, not by Val. He'd bring him back if he had to, at that point- even if it'd earn him hatred. He was selfish, he needed this, it was too late to go back. If he was to be a genius necromancer, of course he'd use his abilities for the most important thing he'd had in his life. Give being cursed like this a fucking point.

"I'm not backing down on this," Val said, unimpressed. "You're a big softie, and you're always giving me these goofy smiles, it's… cute. That fits the definition of cute." Was being struck by random urges to say 'I love you' considered to be another expected thing? Um.

"Dresses are my favorite, I have a lot of them. I wear bows tastefully, I don't go overboard like some girls do- except for on special occasions." He thought about showing Jack all his dresses, modeling for him, even. Then, he wondered if Jack would want to see some of the things he'd drawn out brought to life. Oh. That was. Hard to casually ask about. He flushed further.

Then, he put aside his sketchbook and tools completely, settled down again. He blinked a few times. "…People don't usually touch me, or let me touch them, so no. I don't have to worry about it much, except when I seek it out, and. Hm. It's the only way I can understand anything. Funny, isn't it? Pain empathy in a child who can't feel empathy normally."

It wasn't funny, there was no humor in his voice. He shifted, uncomfortable. "It's there and… I use it. Sometimes, if I'm lucky, if the emotional state is heavy enough, I even get flashes of other things."

He felt like a very odd little puzzle, right then, giving away all the clues that made up his being to Jack, one by one. Waiting for reactions.

"I am, very interested," Valentine said, intent. "If there's anything especially magic related, I'd be especially invested in that." His mind buzzed, distractible- having such a genuine source of information was something he couldn't ignore.

Jack took his hands, though, settling him back in the present. Val felt a pull in his chest again, and ducked his head a bit. "Ah..." he murmured. How very eloquent. "Y-yes, I'd like that." He wondered how much Jack had changed, what views he'd had to fit the times, then left behind again- and how Val might change, too. How they'd both stay the same.

He didn't want death to touch this, and perhaps if he was death, he could control that. He didn't want these feelings to fade, either. He'd never had anything like this, he wasn't about to give it up.

Jack looked unhappy, and Val's frowned automatically, feeling self conscious. "I'm not… don't pity me, I'm not stupid, I know things but it's…" He huffed. "Distant. Things don't make sense, but nobody wants to explain, and they get angry, o-or sad and pitying, when I try to talk about it. I don't like the anger because it's like I'm doing it on purpose, to spite someone, somehow faking things but being evil because of them at the same time. And I don't like the pity because it's, it's…"

"They think I'm too broken, and I can't… be alive properly, like people who aren't sick, not even if I try. I'm already fucked because of the way I was born, the way my head works, just like my body."

As he rambled, ranted, whatever, his tone was of a very tired anger. He was outraged, but exhausted, weary. He scrubbed at his eyes because he didn't want to cry again. "Don't pity me," he said, very, very quietly. "I've never told anyone- I don't want to see the lack of faith, it's discouraging- but sometimes, I still want to try. To be some kind of okay, I mean… if I figure out what that is for me. Not the traditional kind, I know that much, and I'm scared if I want to try, it'll be forced into being for that, for what looks 'normal' and not what… actually feels alive."

Val sniffed. No tears. "I'm not broken. Not being normal is evil enough, and I don't fucking care about that part anymore, but I'm not broken."