So much pain. Had Thatch been holding all this in for the last five years? It was a wonder her hadn't broken apart more.
"Aye," Marco's blue eyes were sharper than usual, sad, and serious, unusual for him. Very unusual for him. When did he ever stop kidding around and get serious? Or maybe he was always a little serious so no one except Thatch could tell the difference. And that was the rub of it. Only Thatch seemed to instantly know the difference. "I told you, didn't I? I could barely trust anyone when I first arrived here. The only thing that kept me pushing, kept me trying so that I didn't run and hide in some cave was the knowledge that you and Pops would be disappointed in that. You both taught me better." He poked Thatch's forehead.
"I'm scared, eh." There wasn't a single person in any universe Marco could ever admit that to usually. The more he loved someone, the more the trusted them, the more he had to protect them. Even his father. If Marco was scared, then everyone else had to reason to be scared, and like dominoes they'd fall and knock each other down. "I'm not kidding, either." Seriousness in exchange for seriousness. Honesty in exchange for honesty. Hard words, brutal words. It was poison extraction though. Drawing out the darkness to show it in the light. "What if you're different enough that you're not the same Thatch I always loved? What if you don't like who I've become? What if you--" Marco closed his eyes and let out a sigh, before resting his hand calmly on Thatch's forehead. "But I make it quiet. I remember that I trust you. No matter what. More than everyone. Much more than myself. Do you still trust me Thatchette?"
Like jokes, the nicknames never ended. Nicknames were their affection, their endless reminders that they cared, that they knew each other inside out. The more nicknames they had, the more they could joke around and get through the serious things as well.
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"Aye," Marco's blue eyes were sharper than usual, sad, and serious, unusual for him. Very unusual for him. When did he ever stop kidding around and get serious? Or maybe he was always a little serious so no one except Thatch could tell the difference. And that was the rub of it. Only Thatch seemed to instantly know the difference. "I told you, didn't I? I could barely trust anyone when I first arrived here. The only thing that kept me pushing, kept me trying so that I didn't run and hide in some cave was the knowledge that you and Pops would be disappointed in that. You both taught me better." He poked Thatch's forehead.
"I'm scared, eh." There wasn't a single person in any universe Marco could ever admit that to usually. The more he loved someone, the more the trusted them, the more he had to protect them. Even his father. If Marco was scared, then everyone else had to reason to be scared, and like dominoes they'd fall and knock each other down. "I'm not kidding, either." Seriousness in exchange for seriousness. Honesty in exchange for honesty. Hard words, brutal words. It was poison extraction though. Drawing out the darkness to show it in the light. "What if you're different enough that you're not the same Thatch I always loved? What if you don't like who I've become? What if you--" Marco closed his eyes and let out a sigh, before resting his hand calmly on Thatch's forehead. "But I make it quiet. I remember that I trust you. No matter what. More than everyone. Much more than myself. Do you still trust me Thatchette?"
Like jokes, the nicknames never ended. Nicknames were their affection, their endless reminders that they cared, that they knew each other inside out. The more nicknames they had, the more they could joke around and get through the serious things as well.