Interlude - Get Over It

"Friends" That's what he said. It was nice. It should be nice. Able wouldn't want to give that up for anything. He wanted that. So why did it hurt when the deacon said that? Why would something so nice hurt so much? Able paced in his home, considering what to do. It was clear to him that the deacon didn't want anything else, and he couldn't really shake that feeling.

Able had finally figured out how that box made him feel, and what it changed. He might've been overwhelmed by the more personal side, but the little things stuck out to him most. The talks, the comfort, the support. He didn't think he'd come back to yearn for something like that, again.

He wouldn't say it was devastating, but it certainly opened his eyes to something fairly uncommon in the neath. Loyalty to others. Able didn't expect it, and yet, he still wanted it. He still wanted that small bit of happiness. Sexually it didn't matter to him, those needs didn't mean someone had left.

The first time he was so blinded by his new infatuation that he ended up robbed blind. Thomas helped him out, of course, but it was still something he didn't enjoy remembering. The second and third... just weren't interested. Able had proudly confessed his affections with gifts and words, only to be told off. Seems neither wanted to settle with a mere thief.

He paced, the weasels now taking notice and nipping at his ankles. He groans, sitting, trying not to worry them. He felt his heart sink. Friends was good, at least it was something. Most would never even consider hanging around him afterwards, let alone be Friends. He could feel that lump in his throat swell, his eyes burning as he quietly cries to himself. He felt horrible for even wanting more than what the deacon had offered. Virgil had been so kind to him already, and of course, Able would repay that by getting over this.

He had to. Able didn't want to feel like he deserved that happiness, or even just time with the deacon. He wanted Virgil to feel like he didn't have to walk around his emotions, or have a fear of stepping over them. It hurt, though. Every time he brushed it aside felt like a sickening jab into his gut.

It was difficult to even be direct in his head, he knew how he felt this time. He knew it wasn't something simple he could just ignore, he had to get over it. How?

Able lays on the couch. How could he be so stupid? Who would even want this pathetic idiot? He berated himself until he felt it pointless. Able sighs. He had to get ready.

It was Sunday.