[Not to ruin a dramatic moment but this is the fastest someone has gone from horny to horrified in any world record probably. If they record that sort of thing.
Molly doesn't really know how to react here - it's ... existentially horrifying. If he'd considered it for half a second, he could have probably pieced together that Lucien was obviously the one who had done Caleb in, that it makes sense. He'd been the one to attack Beau after all. But in that memory, he'd still been the same shape. Whatever this is, that still obviously has some part of him in it, is a monster beyond anything he's seen. He doesn't say anything, just laying there, hands tight in his own coat at Caleb's collar.]
[Yeah, it's rough! Caleb isn't having a great time, either. It's not fun to be having a nice time kissing someone and then get reminded that their body killed you, and also killed one of your dearest friends.
He lies where he is, still on top of Molly, but shifts a little, repositioning to pressing his forehead against Molly's, just waiting for the initial wave of shock to pass.]
[That helps, actually. He takes a minute still, trying to process all of that - not even sure what he wants to take from it. It's all just a horror. It was always going to be, though, wasn't it?
But they aren't there right now. So there's something to be said for that too. After a long minute, a very choked laugh.]
. . . Seems like the best way to guarantee I would get it.
[It does seem this place is intent on showing him all of his own ugliness. He stays where he is, forehead pressed to Caleb's, but his hands sort of fall off his collar after a bit. He doesn't want him to move away or anything, but he's ... tired. It's like having your insides scooped out and thrown at a wall.]
[It is the worst part. For all of his - well, their mutual - denial that any part of the other remains, it's grabbing him by the horns and forcing him to look it in the eyes. All nine of them. You're killing her, you're killing her, you love her, and you're killing her.
He isn't really sure what to say to that, to any of this, so he just ... keeps sitting there, heart racing, trying to figure out how to square it. Live with it.]
[Here. It's awkward to keep straddling him when he's having a meltdown. He's going to sort of shift to the side, so he can hold him instead? For all of his awkwardness about this sort of thing sometimes, this time he doesn't really hesitate to just put his arms around him, lie next to him.]
[That works. Turning to just curl up against him. It's all a bit pathetic, but he's had, what, three? Four meltdowns around or on him in the past two weeks at least. If he was going to start being embarrassed by it, it's much too late for that. As it is, he mostly just appreciates it as much as he can through all the noise of the rest of it.]
[Oh, Mollymauk. He did this, but now feels a little suddenly awkward, like maybe he went too far trying to hold him in such an intimate way. He doesn't seem to mind, but. . .
Well, in for a penny. He runs his fingers across his back just a little, and then leans to give him a kiss on the forehead.]
[It's better. It's helping. There's a long sigh out when he's kissed on the forehead, like he'd forgotten that he's alive and breathing for the past few minutes. It's funny, that by his own reckoning, he doesn't think he's been held like this by ... anyone. Not while every emotional nerve is raw and vulnerable as it is. After a minute he uncurls just enough to put his arms back around Caleb, digging his nails into the back of the coat.]
[He hasn't held someone like this in a very, very long time, so they're even.]
Does someone have to? [. . .] Even he. . . wasn't exactly steering the ship anymore. Whatever happened for you to come to exist also seemed to have driven him crazy.
[The tears in his voice tug at his heartstrings, but he doesn't know what to say.]
It's better, isn't it? Not to have been . . . born to become what the terrible things that happen to us turn us into. Harder to look at but easier to try to do something about.
[If there was a dam about to break, he manages to rein it in - either by force of will or because that does actually soothe whatever was running through his head just then. Pushing his forehead into Caleb's chest, probably against whatever mortal injury he'd managed to inflict there.]
[He's still like, shaking off the emotional whiplash he just went through, but he finds this mild protest to be more cute than anything - just leaning heavily back against the couch arm and shrugging widely at the I meant. He gets what he meant. He just thinks it's silly.]
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Molly doesn't really know how to react here - it's ... existentially horrifying. If he'd considered it for half a second, he could have probably pieced together that Lucien was obviously the one who had done Caleb in, that it makes sense. He'd been the one to attack Beau after all. But in that memory, he'd still been the same shape. Whatever this is, that still obviously has some part of him in it, is a monster beyond anything he's seen. He doesn't say anything, just laying there, hands tight in his own coat at Caleb's collar.]
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He lies where he is, still on top of Molly, but shifts a little, repositioning to pressing his forehead against Molly's, just waiting for the initial wave of shock to pass.]
. . . I really didn't want you to get that one.
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But they aren't there right now. So there's something to be said for that too. After a long minute, a very choked laugh.]
. . . Seems like the best way to guarantee I would get it.
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[Sighing. He can tell the guilt only makes it worse, so he's trying not to feel guilty for it, but fuck. Why does this have to keep happening.]
I have plenty of ugly memories that are all my own, but it seems they only want you to get these.
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So, not completely gone, then?
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[But that's sort of the worst part of it, isn't it? The hardest part, that sort of future.]
That wasn't the only time it worked, trying to. . . remind him, I suppose.
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He isn't really sure what to say to that, to any of this, so he just ... keeps sitting there, heart racing, trying to figure out how to square it. Live with it.]
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It's awful. I'm so sorry.
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... I'm sorry.
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Well, in for a penny. He runs his fingers across his back just a little, and then leans to give him a kiss on the forehead.]
Don't be sorry. Not you.
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Someone has to say it.
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Does someone have to? [. . .] Even he. . . wasn't exactly steering the ship anymore. Whatever happened for you to come to exist also seemed to have driven him crazy.
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I have no idea if that's better or worse.
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[The tears in his voice tug at his heartstrings, but he doesn't know what to say.]
It's better, isn't it? Not to have been . . . born to become what the terrible things that happen to us turn us into. Harder to look at but easier to try to do something about.
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Fuck.
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. . . So, as far as dates you've been on go?
[It's a joke, but he sort of says it softly, more meant as gentle than funny.]
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Was that a joke, Mr. Caleb?
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[A small smile.]
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That's a shame. It was a good one.
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. . . Okay?
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. . . It's both the best and worst date I've ever been on.
[The only date he's ever been on.]
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Can't imagine what I was doing instead?
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I meant. . .
[Other people? Attractive, appealing people?]
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My performance? As far as dates you've been on.
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