I was a heavy heart to carry

[m_pinocchio]

Sometimes the thought of moving forward makes him hopeful. More often it makes him want to panic. It feels like actual, literal motion, like something that takes exactly that amount of effort and coordination and twice the faith. Sometimes he doesn't even believe that "forward" exists, not for him. It exists for people with jobs and careers and

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[little_moons]

"Because it's your fuckin' house," I scoff, sitting in the sagging armchair by the couch and putting on my own shoes, keys in hand and ready to fucking go.

He can hide in the fucking cave forever, like he's some kind of goddamn troll, but it's fucking stupid and weird, and maybe I don't understand how fucked up this whole thing is for him, and how fuckin' terrifying it must be to go out there into the world, but just feeding into all this bullshit isn't gonna help.

"And if you send me on my own, you never know what I might come back with. I mean, I think this room'd look really awesome in a really bright pink."

[m_pinocchio]

"Yeah, you'd have to look at it too," he says, scowling up at Neil--and perfectly aware that doing so makes the scars look more pronounced. "You'd have to look at more of it. Don't you fucking threaten me."

He kicks out with his good foot, feeling for all the world like a sulky two-year-old, which makes him even angrier. Dammit, he doesn't want to go out there. A couple of times a week to the physical therapist is one thing; this somehow feels like... more. More people, more real, more normal life.

And normal life is a place where he just doesn't belong anymore.

[little_moons]

"Don't fuckin' make me threaten you," I mutter, kicking back at him, the toe of my shoe colliding with his with a dull, rubber on rubber thud.

"Seriously, man. It's your fuckin' apartment. I feel weird pickin' out your fuckin' paint."

[m_pinocchio]

"Oh, yeah, and walking out that door feels perfectly fine to me," he shoots back, glaring and icy before looking away again. Why don't you understand this? Why can't you see how hard this is?

"'sides," he adds, still looking stubbornly away. "You practically fucking live here half the time anyway."

[little_moons]

Heaving out a sigh and pushing to my feet, I say, "I know this is fuckin' hard, Mike. But that... That doesn't mean you shouldn't do it."

But I'm almost ready to give in. I'm not his fucking keeper. I'm not his mom. I just... I just don't want him to fucking disappear into this fucking apartment.

Pushing a hand through my hair, "Yeah, well, whatever. Until I live here fuckin' permanently, which I don't see happenin' any time soon, it's your fucking apartment."

[m_pinocchio]

He falls into sullen silence for a moment or two, and in that time he looks not at Neil but up at the walls. The drab, dirty white of them, the way they seem to shoot whatever sunlight touches them right back out the window, so inside it's always cloudy and gray. And most of him howls at the thought of going out into the daylight in an attempt at changing that--howls that he doesn't even deserve that kind of change for the better so why the fuck should he try to have it, and even if he does, why the fuck would paint change anything--but then a small, sane part of him speaks up.

A part of him that, increasingly, speaks in Neil's voice.

This place isn't good for you, like it is. Being in it isn't good for you. And it isn't good for Neil.

That last thing is what finally makes him heave a sigh, shoot Neil one more poisonous look, and reach down to start pulling on his shoes.

[little_moons]

Breathing out a slow, quiet sigh of relief, I move toward the door to grab my coat from the hook, shrugging it on and making sure I've got my keys.

I'm not stupid enough to say anything else, and accidentally get him changing his mind. He can sulk the whole way, if he wants, that's fine by me.

"You know, we really need a car." And the we slips in there thoughtlessly, and I almost hope he doesn't notice.

[m_pinocchio]

"Can you drive?" The question is terse as he laces up his shoes; with the pant leg down and the shoe on, it's hard to look at it quick and know that it's prosthetic--but it doesn't matter. He knows.

And it isn't the leg he's really thinking about, anyway.

"'Cause with this thing, I don't see me doing it any fucking time soon."

[little_moons]

"Kind of," I shrug, which isn't a lie. I've driven before, I could probably pass the test. Do I have a license? No.

"Bullshit," I say, rolling my eyes, 'cause you drive with one fucking foot, anyway, and he can still fucking see. What the hell is he even talking about? "Let's just go."

[m_pinocchio]

It is bullshit and he knows it, and it just makes him angrier. Because on another level it's not bullshit--or it doesn't feel like it. It feels like something bigger and scarier, something he needs a whole body to do and which he doesn't have anymore.

If walking into a store and buying some fucking paint feels immense, driving feels too big to comprehend.

But he only hunches his shoulders and pushes to his feet, walking toward the door--still walking awkwardly, step-thump, but it's already better than he really wants to admit.

If it gets much better, it's one less excuse.

[little_moons]

Rolling my eyes, I open the door and step out in the hall, the step-thump of his gate familiar enough now that I hardly notice, even though I know it drives him crazy.

I give him a look, shutting the door behind us, turning the lock 'cause there's actually shit worth protecting. It's a decent place, believe it or not. He definitely needs to get himself a better couch, though.

[m_pinocchio]

It's not like walking out into the hall is all that new, but every time it happens there's a clutch in his chest and a shiver of adrenaline, briefly there and gone again, as though something's startled him. Even though nothing has. Even though it's just the same boring walls and poor lighting.

And thankfully everyone else in the building seems to keep very much to themselves. He's seen maybe two other people in the time he's been here.

"Where exactly are we even going?" he asks on the stairs. The stairs are still a little tricky but he can negotiate them if he takes it slow. "Since you got this little adventure planned."

[little_moons]

"There's a hardware store down the street," I shrug, taking my time on the stairs without actually making a big deal out of waiting for him. There are all these little things I learned early on, to make life easier. Rule number one: Outright babying him or making a show of helping him with little stuff? Just pissed him off.

"There's another one, but we'd have to ride the bus to get to it."

[m_pinocchio]

He shakes his head, immediate and firm. Not the bus. No fucking way. People are easier to ignore when you're moving past them.

Even if it means moving in the first place.

"Got no reason to go further if there's one that close."

[little_moons]

"Whatever," I shrug. The other's one of those big, warehouse type deals, probably cheaper, but not enough to warrant an argument.

Plus, it's not my fuckin' money, anyway.

[m_pinocchio]

Out on the street it's cool but not chilly--mid spring but already with hints of summer peeking in around the edges of things. On the middle of a weekday the street isn't that heavily traveled but people are still out and about, and with the trees and the occasional blooming windowbox with cascades of green, it might even be pretty. Maybe it is, to someone's eyes other than his.

He pulls his jacket closer around him like it could hide his face somehow--the gesture all self-defense, all instinct--and glances over at Neil.

Suddenly, absurdly, he has to fight the urge to reach down and take his hand.

"Okay. Lead the fuckin' way, I guess."