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[credere]

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[credere]

Credence gives him the baleful look of someone who's spent his life being taught he's not worthy of love because he's a Hell-bound freak of nature, then eats another mouthful of bread.

"Okay."

[magician_king]

"I love you. Even if you'd killed like, ninety people this flood, I'd still love you, despite having some concerns."

Says Quentin, matter of factly.

[credere]

Credence just stares blankly into space for several long moments, while he chews and swallows. He can't unpack a statement like that. Wouldn't know where to start.

"...Okay."

[magician_king]

He swallows, and looks down, going to fumble with the cocoa, pour himself a second glass, try to drown the suspicious little part of his brain that wants to try to interpret Credence's responses as apathy, dislike, rather than the result of specific, ongoing, long term abuse. Something to drink for himself, a little of that bread, and maybe a little silence will be all right.

[credere]

"...I just..."

The silence feels too heavy, the weight of unsaid words too great.

"I don't understand....why."

[magician_king]

"I don't know how to explain. I just- know."

He admits, eyes burning.

"So I've got a weird, unrelated question for you, that I need an honest answer to."

[credere]

Credence draws in a slightly shuddery breath, then lets it out, and nods.

"Okay."

[magician_king]

"Would I be a good father?"

He asks, extremely quietly, looking at the bread.

[credere]

"I don't know what good fathers are like," he points out, very quietly. Good parents, period. If he said anything, yes or no, it would be facile - and Quentin would know that, surely.

[magician_king]

"Me neither."

He answers, voice drying up a little, head tipping back to rest against the wall, eyes closing very, very tight.

[credere]

"I'm sorry," Credence murmurs, voice very low now, thick. "I wish you did. You're - a good person. A good friend. You...deserved that."

[magician_king]

"He was one. My other me, from the breach. And he was a really good dad, he loved them so much."

He says, to the ceiling.

[credere]

"O-oh."

Being whittled down to a fine, razor thread of cold rage and detachment, only then to get back the pain that insulates it, every day - that's one thing. But to spend any length of time knowing that you have children, a beloved family, only then to have them torn away and for them to have never existed...

"That's so awful. I'm sorry."

[magician_king]

"It's fucking shitty, it's fucking, unfair, they-"

God, he presses a hand hard over his face and hides behind it, trying hard to compose himself.

"Sorry, I just keep falling apart on people. I've gotta get over it, I just- miss them?"

[credere]

"I - you don't need to be sorry," Credence murmurs. "It's...it's horrible that the flood would...give you a family, and then take it away."

[magician_king]

"This place is bullshit."

He says, not for the first time, not for the last.

"I don't know what to do about how much I hate it, and am not ready to go."

[credere]

"How - how do you think you will know?" he asks, genuinely wondering. "When you're ready."

[magician_king]

"I don't know at all."

He admits, making a small face.

"I don't know even a little bit. I feel more in touch with myself lately, but it's hard to weigh the difference between what you want to be true, and what has actually come to pass."

[credere]

"What does that mean? Being in touch with yourself. Sorry," he adds, quickly, convinced it must be a very stupid question.

[magician_king]

"It means knowing and being able to name what you're feeling, and when you think about it, being able to understand why."

Translates Quentin, with a small smile.

[credere]

"Oh," Credence says, his mind having wandered to the kind of place where you might risk hair growing on your palms. "That seems important. You - couldn't before?"

[magician_king]

"Not at all. I'd find myself somewhere- drunk, or yelling at someone, and wouldn't be able to know, I'm hurt, I'm scared. Just- impulse."

He says, closing his eyes.

"That's one thing I'm better at."

[credere]

"Does that make it easier to not yell at people?"

[magician_king]

"Oh, by far."

Says Quentin, with an actual laugh.

"I mean, until it doesn't- like when I lose it over the network. But whenever that happens I always end up thinking later, 'oh, I guess I was actually stressed about this other thing that hadn't occurred to me."

[credere]

Credence looks a little bewildered.

"I...how do you work that out? How you...feel?"

He only has two modes that he recognises at their extremes: misery and anger. A vague sort of contentment is still making itself known, sometimes, but he can barely identify it.