[ . . . is he beating himself up? he doesn't know. he thought that he was letting himself off so easy, for so long. people here tell him that it's okay, to care a little less but - is it? his heart aches with the idea of slowing down again.
of becoming such a wretched person again, who only breathed and barely lived.]
.... my friend died. [he says this softly, like being mindful of a raw wound] I think.... I have to find out why. I don't think I get to give up anymore.
[his tattooed hand clenches into a fist]
I don't want to be someone who wants to run away again.
[ . . . . he snorts a little bit at that. well it feels a little bit like drowning in despair but - well, he wonders if that's part of the weird mood of the week. he gestures for white to come closer.]
That's the goal.
C'mere, did I smack you in the head too hard or something?
white freezes in shock, just for a moment. then, he turns bright red, stumbling back a step as he unconsciously presses his free hand against his forehead.
heart thumping in his chest, he stares at mineo.
he opens his mouth—and then closes it, mortification flooding his face when he apparently thinks better about whatever he was going to say. as if to make sure, he moves his hand to cover his mouth,
... It's the name my parents gave me, apparently. That's it. [a beat.] Don't actually call me Charles, though. I don't know why they had such shitty naming sense.
... Well, you just proved that people probably think White's my real name. If I say it's not, they're going to wonder why I went by something else in the first place.
[he presses his partially melted ice pack against the back of his neck.]
... Not much to say.
[he shrugs, trying to look casual.]
Figured—again, until recently—that my parents abandoned me when I was born. I don't remember them at all.
Worked at a factory, until Ares and Caleb came along, killed all the adult workers, told us kids to fight to the death if we wanted to live, and took me in for winning. [that's a nice way of saying they kidnapped him. it's fine.] They called me White since that was the colour of my uniform tag.
[so, honestly, it's more of a label than a proper name. but, well, it was an upgrade from being called a number as he was in the factory, so white couldn't complain. it's what he's used to, by now.]
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of becoming such a wretched person again, who only breathed and barely lived.]
.... my friend died. [he says this softly, like being mindful of a raw wound] I think.... I have to find out why. I don't think I get to give up anymore.
[his tattooed hand clenches into a fist]
I don't want to be someone who wants to run away again.
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he smiles, faintly, moving the ice pack away from his head.]
Well, there you go. Already proving that Sloth association wrong.
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That's the goal.
C'mere, did I smack you in the head too hard or something?
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[but he steps closer.]
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before mineo leans over to press a kiss to his forehead.
it just - feels like an appropriate token after white listened to him pour his heart out.]
There. Feel better.
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white freezes in shock, just for a moment. then, he turns bright red, stumbling back a step as he unconsciously presses his free hand against his forehead.
heart thumping in his chest, he stares at mineo.
he opens his mouth—and then closes it, mortification flooding his face when he apparently thinks better about whatever he was going to say. as if to make sure, he moves his hand to cover his mouth,
...
glancing away, he instead blurts out—]
Charles Frederick Shaw.
[what.]
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Is....
Is he a cool dude....?
[whose mans is this.
he can't even enjoy white's flustered reaction?? he does wonder if this is how people during trial felt though. wow. the power.]
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he mumbles something.]
... th name...
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Whose name....?
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[shoot him now, he looks like he wants the floor to swallow him whole.]
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White wasn't your real name?!
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Forget it.
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he realizes he did something wrong at least, reaching out to nudge white gently where.....ever he didn't hit him earlier.]
I -
Come on, don't give me that.... That was a big thing to trust me with, right? I was paying attention, promise.
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... It's the name my parents gave me, apparently. That's it. [a beat.] Don't actually call me Charles, though. I don't know why they had such shitty naming sense.
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.... just 'White' is fine then....?
[he figures if
he's been trusted with his real name then there's no real point is putting up any more honorific barriers between them]
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[... just that his real name, for all that he thinks it's a lame one, holds a lot of meaning to him.]
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Okay.
.... thanks for trusting me with it. I won't forget it, even if you aren't a fan of it.
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... A secret for a secret. Don't get too mushy.
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Is there a reason why...?
For it to be a secret.
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... Well, you just proved that people probably think White's my real name. If I say it's not, they're going to wonder why I went by something else in the first place.
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Related to what you did before?
[his criminal job?]
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Didn't learn that I did until pretty recently.
[the only gift the parents he never knew left behind.]
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.... you don't have to, if you don't want to -
But if you want to start from the beginning... I'll listen.
[to white's whole story, rather than the bits and pieces they've given each other]
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... Not much to say.
[he shrugs, trying to look casual.]
Figured—again, until recently—that my parents abandoned me when I was born. I don't remember them at all.
Worked at a factory, until Ares and Caleb came along, killed all the adult workers, told us kids to fight to the death if we wanted to live, and took me in for winning. [that's a nice way of saying they kidnapped him. it's fine.] They called me White since that was the colour of my uniform tag.
[so, honestly, it's more of a label than a proper name. but, well, it was an upgrade from being called a number as he was in the factory, so white couldn't complain. it's what he's used to, by now.]
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.... and you stayed with them? This Ares guy was your old boss, right?
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