You’re it, baby. Always. No matter what. I’ll keep reminding you. ( maybe they all need it a little, he thinks. the reminder. this was mostly about her, though. ) Love you.
Yeah. Most of the time. [ When he's not being his own brand of crazy. ]
This isn't easy. [ It isn't easy for him. And sure, Jem isn't easy, and Eddie isn't, not all the time, but neither is Billy. Billy can be difficult, bull-like and frustrating. ] Sorry.
I did say you're both stuck with me, baby. It's the two of you. ( most of the time, all of the time. he doesn't think he can imagine anything else now. )
Wait— [ Snapped out suddenly, when she follows it-isn't-easy, with i-love-you. ] It's not about loving you. That part's been easy since— [ the void? the woodshed? the mushrooms? ] Since I knew we were the same. [Because they are, even if they make different choices. Even if their anger and insecurities take different forms. ] I do. I love you.
I'm the problem. I don't say it enough. [ To her or to Eddie, even though he thinks he could. It's easier in the morning, mumbling it against the shell of her ear or pressing his mouth to Eddie's collar bone. ]
Maybe --- ( he starts and then stops, brows furrowed as he thinks. ) What if we find a way to say it without saying it? So it's easier? So we know. Something just for us.
( they have safe words, why not codewords or some sort of action? )
[ No, because if it was enough, then she wouldn't feel like this. It's hard to mumble in the connection, but his voice is a slow roll: ] I try to say it everyday. Even if I don't say it.
Like a code-word or something. Or a gesture. So we all know we're saying it even if we aren't saying it. ( he says to Jem, mostly. to Billy too to encompass what he's said. ) And can you guys stop calling my boyfriend and girlfriend not right? That's really fucking rude.
Billy, I know - I know. I'm sorry, I'm sorry - I'm not trying to say I don't appreciate it, or that I don't feel it or that I don't know. I do - I do.
[she does, she does, she does - she's just -] But I'm not easy, I'm not - perfect, or even - [worth it, half the time. but she stops herself, breathes, recalibrates. ]
[ They both say their piece and Billy cuts himself off from saying anything more about it. He can guess a handful of ways Jem would finish that sentence. He doesn't like any of them, and they don't line up with how he sees this, all the bullshit they drag up. ]
Sure, [ he says finally, thinks about the records that have come to live with them, thinks about whatever's in high rotation. If there's something there. ]
— Okay. [ Okay. An easy concession. She’d rather be there, placing her mark all over them anyway. Making their skin red and purple bruised with her teeth, her nails. She wishes she could write her name across their chests, and have it stick. Have it sink all the way in to their bones.
So little of anything here is hers. It all belongs to other people, Jem occupying the space like an anxious guest. She wants a home, in them, with them, for them. Something hers; something theirs. ]
See you at home, baby. ( soft, simple. Eddie isn't sure if he feels that much better now than he did before he'd prodded and pressed, made them all face the things they tucked away in the corners in hopes of maintaining a delicate peace of personalities, in hopes of showing that love is enough.
he thinks he's learned enough though. enough to think about, to needle at and analyse and maybe make something out of that's better. he doesn't know how to do this, how to be in a relationship with one person let alone two but he wants to make it work with them because he'd meant it — they're it for the long-haul. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
— voice
I think I just need to hear it more often. That I’m - it?
— voice
— voice
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Yeah. Most of the time. [ When he's not being his own brand of crazy. ]
This isn't easy. [ It isn't easy for him. And sure, Jem isn't easy, and Eddie isn't, not all the time, but neither is Billy. Billy can be difficult, bull-like and frustrating. ] Sorry.
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Don't be sorry either.
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[ that she doesn’t make it easy to love her. that she can’t.
she feels tired again; feels unhappily resigned to her own neurosis and insecurities. ]
I love you. I think I need to go lay down or something.
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I'm the problem. I don't say it enough. [ To her or to Eddie, even though he thinks he could. It's easier in the morning, mumbling it against the shell of her ear or pressing his mouth to Eddie's collar bone. ]
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( they have safe words, why not codewords or some sort of action? )
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[ she’s not the person she’s supposed to be. easy. cool. fine with everything. ]
- Something just for us?
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[she does, she does, she does - she's just -] But I'm not easy, I'm not - perfect, or even - [worth it, half the time. but she stops herself, breathes, recalibrates. ]
A codeword? That - okay. Okay.
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Sure, [ he says finally, thinks about the records that have come to live with them, thinks about whatever's in high rotation. If there's something there. ]
Just come back tonight.
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So little of anything here is hers. It all belongs to other people, Jem occupying the space like an anxious guest. She wants a home, in them, with them, for them. Something hers; something theirs. ]
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he thinks he's learned enough though. enough to think about, to needle at and analyse and maybe make something out of that's better. he doesn't know how to do this, how to be in a relationship with one person let alone two but he wants to make it work with them because he'd meant it — they're it for the long-haul. )