[At the knock, Tetsuo sets down the communicator, paused on Pan's latest broadcast, and sits hunched on the bed, a very familiar red leather biking jacket slung over his hunched shoulders. Tetsuo's always been short, but he looks very small, emphasized by his posture; he's not even bothered to put his arms through the sleeves. He hunches over a little farther.
Hazel.
One of the first people he met here. One of his closest acquaintances. He'd trusted Hazel with what was probably his life how many times? Every time he got her to do that ... that thing she did, his powers went away. She'd never done it without his consent. Not once. She'd never said a word...that he knew about. Even when she'd decided to make his life a living damn hell, there was that underlying understanding. But... was there, really? Did he really know anyone at all?
There's nothing now she can do to him that hasn't already happened, but that knowledge does nothing to stem the painful twist of his stomach, or the fear crawling up through his chest. Trust was hard to come by, and when he thought about it... there was no reason, whatsoever, for anyone to associate with him. Not like this. He had no discerning qualities someone else couldn't do better. He wasn't strong. He wasn't all that fast. When he fought, he was at his best when working to get even with someone who already hurt him, not to keep himself safe.
Now, thanks to that broadcast, everyone knew just how weak and useless he really was. When he speaks up, there's none of the arrogant bluster or anger, no ego or false confidence. It's soft and heavy with raw pain; he sounds like he's either been crying or is about to start. Maybe both.]
What do you want?
[Because, in the end... everyone had to want something. He'd been so, so stupid to think otherwise.]
no subject
Hazel.
One of the first people he met here. One of his closest acquaintances. He'd trusted Hazel with what was probably his life how many times? Every time he got her to do that ... that thing she did, his powers went away. She'd never done it without his consent. Not once. She'd never said a word...that he knew about. Even when she'd decided to make his life a living damn hell, there was that underlying understanding. But... was there, really? Did he really know anyone at all?
There's nothing now she can do to him that hasn't already happened, but that knowledge does nothing to stem the painful twist of his stomach, or the fear crawling up through his chest. Trust was hard to come by, and when he thought about it... there was no reason, whatsoever, for anyone to associate with him. Not like this. He had no discerning qualities someone else couldn't do better. He wasn't strong. He wasn't all that fast. When he fought, he was at his best when working to get even with someone who already hurt him, not to keep himself safe.
Now, thanks to that broadcast, everyone knew just how weak and useless he really was. When he speaks up, there's none of the arrogant bluster or anger, no ego or false confidence. It's soft and heavy with raw pain; he sounds like he's either been crying or is about to start. Maybe both.]
What do you want?
[Because, in the end... everyone had to want something. He'd been so, so stupid to think otherwise.]