[ That doesn't make it okay. Even if Carlisle's used to it, even if Qubit's apologized - it's not good enough. He should never have laid hands on him in the first place. He crossed that line like it was nothing, and he can't uncross it now.
Yet Carlisle's still here. He's still talking to him, still reaching out. Still trying to help. Would he be doing all that if he didn't care? Qubit shouldn't have doubted. (Add that to the growing list of "shouldn't haves.")
God. He's been so absorbed in himself through all this, he's barely even stopped to wonder what's going on in Carlisle's head. But... they're alike in a lot of ways. A lot of ways. Maybe... maybe Carlisle actually gets it. What it's like in here. The noise, the chaos, the obsession. Fighting your own impulses at every turn.
Maybe there's more than one reason he always looks so tired.
Qubit sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. He doesn't have the words for this. There aren't any strong enough, and emotion is already hard to encode at the best of times. ]
... I can't function like this. I ... I need ...
[ Why did he come up here to begin with? It wasn't to talk about the maze. It was to talk about anything but. He's obsessed. He's stuck. It's eating him alive. And he can't fix it on his own.
It's hard to admit it. The words stick in his throat. But he gets them out, eventually, quiet and strained. ]
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Yet Carlisle's still here. He's still talking to him, still reaching out. Still trying to help. Would he be doing all that if he didn't care? Qubit shouldn't have doubted. (Add that to the growing list of "shouldn't haves.")
God. He's been so absorbed in himself through all this, he's barely even stopped to wonder what's going on in Carlisle's head. But... they're alike in a lot of ways. A lot of ways. Maybe... maybe Carlisle actually gets it. What it's like in here. The noise, the chaos, the obsession. Fighting your own impulses at every turn.
Maybe there's more than one reason he always looks so tired.
Qubit sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. He doesn't have the words for this. There aren't any strong enough, and emotion is already hard to encode at the best of times. ]
... I can't function like this. I ... I need ...
[ Why did he come up here to begin with? It wasn't to talk about the maze. It was to talk about anything but. He's obsessed. He's stuck. It's eating him alive. And he can't fix it on his own.
It's hard to admit it. The words stick in his throat. But he gets them out, eventually, quiet and strained. ]
... I need help.