[The silence stretches so long that Takeshi could almost fool himself into believing he hadn't said it. Could almost fool himself into believing that Stephen will meet it, this, the only need Takeshi has ever shown to him direct, laid bare under his hands.
But he has said it. And Stephen can't meet it. Wouldn't be himself, have Takeshi this gone, this fucked up about it, if he could.
The irony of it is so tragic that it spins full circle, has him near laughing again. Hands dropping away from Stephen's sides, all of him falling back into the slouch against the tree that Stephen had almost gathered him out of.]
I don't have a home.
[But he is tired, is starting to sober up, so it doesn't succeed in holding the strength of an objection. Just another statement of another sorry fact of his existence.]
no subject
But he has said it. And Stephen can't meet it. Wouldn't be himself, have Takeshi this gone, this fucked up about it, if he could.
The irony of it is so tragic that it spins full circle, has him near laughing again. Hands dropping away from Stephen's sides, all of him falling back into the slouch against the tree that Stephen had almost gathered him out of.]
I don't have a home.
[But he is tired, is starting to sober up, so it doesn't succeed in holding the strength of an objection. Just another statement of another sorry fact of his existence.]