[Everything feels like so much, suddenly. An overwhelming crash of waves threatening to sink him if he would just let it. Except Diego Hargreeves has never been the type to simply give up, give in, let someone else call his shots. And he wasn't about to start allowing something as intangible as his own fucking emotions to do it, either.
But Ben insists that he should. Keep talking. Talk to him. And there's something so wildly, and distantly, familiar about it. This is exactly the sort of thing he did with Diego years ago. Something that Diego hadn't realized, until now, that he'd missed. Ben had always been someone he could just talk to, no fear of judgement or mockery, no matter what he wanted to talk about or how long it took him to get through the words to get there.
Another long silence draws between them for a moment as he tries to sort it out in his head. Which parts of all of this he really needed to get out of his head. When he finally speaks again, his words are quiet, not much more than a whisper.]
She listened to me... the one time she finally listened to me, and she got killed. [He can't put the rest of it in words, but the implication hangs heavy in the air between them: He feels guilty about it; like it's his fault. If he hadn't pressed, if he hadn't goaded her, if he just let her cling to her rulebook and quit fucking with her about it, maybe she would still be alive.
But maybe Klaus wouldn't be. And that wasn't any better.]
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But Ben insists that he should. Keep talking. Talk to him. And there's something so wildly, and distantly, familiar about it. This is exactly the sort of thing he did with Diego years ago. Something that Diego hadn't realized, until now, that he'd missed. Ben had always been someone he could just talk to, no fear of judgement or mockery, no matter what he wanted to talk about or how long it took him to get through the words to get there.
Another long silence draws between them for a moment as he tries to sort it out in his head. Which parts of all of this he really needed to get out of his head. When he finally speaks again, his words are quiet, not much more than a whisper.]
She listened to me... the one time she finally listened to me, and she got killed. [He can't put the rest of it in words, but the implication hangs heavy in the air between them: He feels guilty about it; like it's his fault. If he hadn't pressed, if he hadn't goaded her, if he just let her cling to her rulebook and quit fucking with her about it, maybe she would still be alive.
But maybe Klaus wouldn't be.
And that wasn't any better.]