"It's a format for communicating difficult things to someone when you're trying to explain your perspective clearly without assigning blame, activating defensiveness, or sounding threatening."
She pulls out a notebook and she'll write down the format there for him:
When you _________ their action____________
I feel or think _________your feeling_________
Because ______why it made you feel that way________
I would prefer _________your preference_____________.
She pushes the notebook over to him and points to the spot just below.
Oh, it's a formula. He brightens, fascinated, and reads it over. Reads it over again, a frown teasing across his face. And then he starts scribbling away, though he gets hung up on the 'I would prefer.'
"...I'm going to change it a little."
He pauses after the last sentence, rereads, and then offers it to Saga.
When you tried to trick me into somewhere I couldn't escape, I was scared at first, and then after that it hurt. It's hard for me to trust people. I want to talk to you about that, but I want you to know I still care about love you and I want to talk because I want to trust you and I don't think you want to hurt me.
She'll look it over, then make a couple of tweaks.
When you tried to trick me into somewhere I couldn't escape, I was scared at first, and then after that it hurt.because it's hard for me to trust people. I want to talk to you about that,butbecause I want you to know I love you and I want to talk because I want to trust you and I want you to know I don't think you want to hurt me.
Better for what he told Saga he wants to do. Better for what he does want to do. But he's suddenly encountering a part of himself that doesn't want to do this at all.
"I'm his friend. My brother is his other half. And he wanted to hurt me. Not... not do anything to me, like hit me, I don't mean that, but he knows. He knows how-- I learned what a panic attack was because the first time I had one I was with Arthur, and it was about being trapped."
He slaps the pad of paper onto the table and tries to center himself with a drink of his mocha.
Quieter, he adds, "He fucking knows. And I think he wanted to use it."
She can't help half a smile as she watches him enjoy.
"'Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity.'" She sips her own coffee. "It's an adage I try to live by, because more often than not, it saves a lot of heartache."
She turns her hand to Edwin.
"You have every right to be mad at him, because what he did was shitty, like you said. But I think you'll be hurting both of you more if you assume that he was trying to hurt you. Or that he doesn't care about you."
Sip.
"I can't say for certain, but I think it's likely that he panicked over whatever you did to John, and since he couldn't fix it, but he needed to do something, he tried to control the situation by 'fixing' things on your side, and he couldn't see the harm he was doing to you or allow for your right to decide things for yourself while he was panicked."
A pause.
"...and the accent and his poise makes it sound like he's not being a freaked out dumbass when yeah, he's still being a freaked out dumbass."
"Oh no. I didn't say he wasn't being cunning. He did some underhanded shit, and I'm going to have a talk with him about it separately."
She looks to Edwin.
"Nothing I said makes what he did any less harmful. Or your anger any less deserved." She makes sure she has his eye. "I'm glad you stood up for yourself and told him what he was doing was wrong."
As always in moments like these, he makes a study of her expression, looking for similarities to others and patterns to use with people later. It helps that he's met enough people by now to have more of a cross-comparison mental database to pull from.
"I... am too." He says it experimentally, trying to see if the words still feel true out loud. "I wasn't... nice about it. Maybe I'll feel bad about that part later, but... I really... I don't think I can be kind about any of it yet."
"So there's sports where you play as a team, but only one person is 'playing' at a time. When the first person feels like they're not up to dealing with something, or they need a break, or the opponent they're up against is getting the better of them, they can 'tag in' their partner to take over the competition."
She sips her coffee.
"In this case, we're both trying to make sure that Arthur realizes the problem with what he did, but that he does so in a constructive way. If you can't be constructive, you can tag me in to handle it until you're ready to tackle it."
There's a distinct and heavy relief from Edwin. He bunches his sweater cuff around his fingers so he can rub his face with something that feels nice instead of his hand again.
"I think I need to tag you in. Because--" He stares into his mocha, something lead and guilty sliding from his chest into the region of the stomach. "Because I'm angry, but I'm... also... scared."
A hug. A hug would be nice. Which is why he doesn't mention it as the movie gets picked and snacks get chosen.
He does scootch gradually closer whenever the TV gets loud enough to be, he thinks, sufficiently distracting. He does pull his arms inside his sweater and s l o w l y, with all the subtlety of a cat who is convinced they are invisible, rest his head on Saga's shoulder.
"Goof," she says before her arm will sneak around his shoulders and yes, reach up to ruffle his hair a little. She'll fix it before turning to give the top of his head a little kiss.
Edwin relaxes. Snuggles in. Senses that soft tug that means sleep could happen if he let it, and sleep sounds nice. Nicer than losing track of the movie every so often while he overthinks a piece of the mess.
He lets his eyes close, lets his body fully relax, and drifts off. Like fireflies coming out at night, colors and wispy half-formed images start to wink in and out of existence around him. The unborn dreams of a child god who mumbles in his sleep.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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She pulls out a notebook and she'll write down the format there for him:
When you _________ their action____________
I feel or think _________your feeling_________
Because ______why it made you feel that way________
I would prefer _________your preference_____________.
She pushes the notebook over to him and points to the spot just below.
"Give it a shot."
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"...I'm going to change it a little."
He pauses after the last sentence, rereads, and then offers it to Saga.
When you tried to trick me into somewhere I couldn't escape, I was scared at first, and then after that it hurt. It's hard for me to trust people. I want to talk to you about that, but I want you to know I
still care aboutlove you and I want to talk because I want to trust you and I don't think you want to hurt me.no subject
When you tried to trick me into somewhere I couldn't escape, I was scared at first, and then after that it hurt
.because it's hard for me to trust people. I want to talk to you about that,butbecause I want you to know I love you andI want to talk becauseI want to trust you and I want you to know I don't think you want to hurt me."How's that fit?"
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"This is better."
Better for what he told Saga he wants to do. Better for what he does want to do. But he's suddenly encountering a part of himself that doesn't want to do this at all.
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"Something the matter?"
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There should not be a 'but' there. John wouldn't have a but there.
"I--"
Another pause.
"I'm angry."
And it's a kind of anger so specific he's never encountered it before.
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First questions first.
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He slaps the pad of paper onto the table and tries to center himself with a drink of his mocha.
Quieter, he adds, "He fucking knows. And I think he wanted to use it."
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"Have you ever heard of something called Hanlon's razor?"
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"'Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity.'" She sips her own coffee. "It's an adage I try to live by, because more often than not, it saves a lot of heartache."
She turns her hand to Edwin.
"You have every right to be mad at him, because what he did was shitty, like you said. But I think you'll be hurting both of you more if you assume that he was trying to hurt you. Or that he doesn't care about you."
Sip.
"I can't say for certain, but I think it's likely that he panicked over whatever you did to John, and since he couldn't fix it, but he needed to do something, he tried to control the situation by 'fixing' things on your side, and he couldn't see the harm he was doing to you or allow for your right to decide things for yourself while he was panicked."
A pause.
"...and the accent and his poise makes it sound like he's not being a freaked out dumbass when yeah, he's still being a freaked out dumbass."
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"So either he was trying to use it, or he just forgot the thing that scares me most in the fucking world."
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"Oh no. I didn't say he wasn't being cunning. He did some underhanded shit, and I'm going to have a talk with him about it separately."
She looks to Edwin.
"Nothing I said makes what he did any less harmful. Or your anger any less deserved." She makes sure she has his eye. "I'm glad you stood up for yourself and told him what he was doing was wrong."
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"I... am too." He says it experimentally, trying to see if the words still feel true out loud. "I wasn't... nice about it. Maybe I'll feel bad about that part later, but... I really... I don't think I can be kind about any of it yet."
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"If you need to tag me in for this, this is part of my duties: as his warden and as your..." she grins a little "can I say 'your friend'?"
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Unequivocally.
Side note-- "Tag you in?"
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"So there's sports where you play as a team, but only one person is 'playing' at a time. When the first person feels like they're not up to dealing with something, or they need a break, or the opponent they're up against is getting the better of them, they can 'tag in' their partner to take over the competition."
She sips her coffee.
"In this case, we're both trying to make sure that Arthur realizes the problem with what he did, but that he does so in a constructive way. If you can't be constructive, you can tag me in to handle it until you're ready to tackle it."
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"I think I need to tag you in. Because--" He stares into his mocha, something lead and guilty sliding from his chest into the region of the stomach. "Because I'm angry, but I'm... also... scared."
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"I think I'm really tired of talking. At least about these things."
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"Then I propose couch and movies and if you want a hug, you can get that too."
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He does scootch gradually closer whenever the TV gets loud enough to be, he thinks, sufficiently distracting. He does pull his arms inside his sweater and s l o w l y, with all the subtlety of a cat who is convinced they are invisible, rest his head on Saga's shoulder.
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He lets his eyes close, lets his body fully relax, and drifts off. Like fireflies coming out at night, colors and wispy half-formed images start to wink in and out of existence around him. The unborn dreams of a child god who mumbles in his sleep.