IS IT LOVE YOU NEED? DOES YOUR HEART NOT BLEED? x

The dreams were invasive, and there was only one way to soothe his soul. Confrontation. whywasntthereaneasierway to start? did it HAVE to be this-
if only he could sacrifice a mediator to save his own emotional well-being, someone to stand in the figurative middle (because there was no way he could do this face to face HE COULDNT it was too much) and pass messages back and forth. An indirect means of contact that didn't require Frozenberry to put himself through the wringer, but would that be enough? (what if it didn't work, what if nothing worked) then, someone else would know the darkness -- the messed up part -- that festered in him, and here he was feeling gross again.

Wearing it around like old scratchy stale winter fur as he slid into the habit of watching and not doing anything else despite his efforts. (Useless, it was like he didn't even WANT to get better.) Maybe confrontation would have to wait until later, or another day, or the next millennia.

Meanwhile, it was so very Nice that He could just work dutifully away on a den like a productive member of Clansociety. Cool, cool. Not even a single breakdown, panic attack, care in the world, or, oooh he didn't know,
ACKNOWLEDGMENT??? he deserved at least that during the times he forgot he was undeserving of anything meaningful.

Firebird. Firehawk. That was his dad's name. FIREHAWK.

Frozenberry started walking and didn't let himself stop, because he knew this would go horribly (had to, he was involved) and that was precisely why he needed to do it. Everything about this was out of line. Wildly. Like most of the other interactions he'd waded through in his lifetime and hadn’t given two mousetails about, but this was… intruding and passing a comfort boundary that radiated nausea every time he came too close to the edge.

Each step rightfully punished him. The hardest part hadn't even commenced. Countless times he'd considered what he would say in this scenario given the opportunity to confront his tormentor, how he'd come off confident and put together and.. healed. and Frozenberry was none of those things and he loathed that Falcon was.

In spite of literal years rehearsing, here he stood looking strange and feeling rotten without a word to conjure.

Miserable. (All he was and all he could ever hope to be.)

he just wished Falcon would snap. not take this stupidity and end his chance to even try (save him from failing at the confrontation he'd been upholding as some Perfect moment), and he could imagine it too - teeth closing around his throat to cut off the air, cut off the intrusive thoughts, the peace would be bliss. so many things to say and he didn't know how to broach a single one.

"So?" he rasped out, wavering and broken and . not the picture of bravery he'd been aiming for. Frozenberry wanted to crush his little pet project of the elders' den. Just dismantle the thing and stomp on it. Bitterness.

"You were never that careful with me."

That stung worse than it should've, a kick in the stomach when he'd been unguarded for that particular assault, but he was no stranger to insults slung his way. In the grand scheme it meant nothing, what dug under his skin was the dismissive attitude when he expected something more.

Not that he'd been praying for blood and dramatics but it sure would be validating right about now. (Closure? Where had that gone?) This was unsatisfying which felt so terribly unfair when he still felt his heart in his throat, the discomfort of panic welling at his edges, and he was getting nowhere. All that pain and suffering, for what? Those daydreams about how things would've been just fine, if he cooperated, if he was a better companion...
Falcon wouldn't have hurt him if he'd been good. He would be good.

"No." Measured, even. Frozenberry had spent a long time questioning his own sanity. He was done with that. Accepting what happened to him was a distant future (that he didn't see and didn't believe in), but he could at least acknowledge it did happen in the first place. "We're just forgetting about it, then." Moving on. Like nothing had happened. Like he'd watched Falcon doing the entire time, existing in his la-dee-da world where his brutality went unnoticed.

did he know? did he. even..remember. Hot summer air burned in Frozenberry's lungs. Honey, honey, honey- he could hear it clear as day and he screwed his eyes shut at its sweetness but only saw their residence waiting where he would've told Falcon he was Good, and they were both good (not a sinner) and he didn't have to do this, and Frozen would make him like him through his willingness - he'd manipulate him into taking him as a lover instead of maiming him.

His eyes opened.

this. . act. or whatever. Heartbroken, Frozenberry wanted to hit him but could only stand there, rigid. "You're... fine," his breath hitched, tried to keep his thoughts together, keep himself together and stop slipping toward perilous territory, "Better than I am."

it hurt.

nothing is forgotten nothing is forgotten nothing is forgotten nothing is forgotten

He choked.

This wasn't closure, this was rejection. And it was unbearable. Frozenberry preferred the times when he'd slice his throat and call him some pretty name, far far far more than..... right now. Calling it a conversation implied there was a level of communication happening, and there wasn't -- they were just sharing the same space with words floating between them.

Of everything he'd expected. This had to be the most devastating outcome. Why? Why did he have to prefer Falcon's abuse over this? WHY DID HE ACTUALLY WANT IT, if this was the alternative. That was so messed up. His throat tightened again, chest compressing. The brink of panic waited. It was pathetic, and he didn't forgive himself for being about to start crying over this stupidity - over his own dumb idea to do this - over Falcon not caring - over everything.

why couldn't He have just killed him for stars' sake?? no, instead he'd let him go (the word was Escape, if he hadn't regretted his choice) to wreck his own relationships, live with his own torment, destroyed mental health, and have to keep re-experiencing the same trauma for moons. Frozenberry didn't know why it would be called stages of grief when he remained stuck in a swirling pool of the first four; he hadn't moved on from even one 'stage'.

Shaken from his thoughts by Falcon's remark, he blinked back to the present. Protective layers he'd built up were dissolved in an instant, and he felt the momentary surge of ohgodivemessedupandits my fault, this is a punishment i deserve because im terrible, not even worthy smack him full-force. He wanted to yell back. Really. Unleash his anger, the accusations, the guilt. Why, why, why, why couldn't he have tried harder to save himself, save both of them. That was what he should've done. It was where he went wrong.

Humiliation scorched him. Once again, a failure. If only Falcon just let him fix this, be a perfect partner and show him that violence wasn't needed (and if it was, he'd been asking for and wanted it). This wasn't the Falcon he remembered, though. And Falcon didn't make any indication of remembering him, so those ages of dwelling on scenarios outlining how he'd make it right, how he'd hurt Falcon, how he'd marry Falcon, how he'd elicit an apology, how he'd avoid him forever, were entirely wasted.

No wonder he wanted to be left alone. At the very least, He'd moved on (as unbelievably loathsome as it was) or outright had forgotten with it being so long ago. Frozenberry .. hadn't meant as much to him, a hard truth to accept. "I'll leave you alone." It was mumbled, defeated, as he began fleeing the scene. there was nothing left to say if their shared history was lost on him.