[Of course there is. He's tied John's freedom to the one concession he can never make - the only acceptable exchange for him is one tiny freedom for the loss of every other one.
Why in god's name couldn't Petre just wake up sane someday? Wake up as something he could actually desire without dreading and avoiding the fact for his own sanity?]
You're only fucking yourself over right now. [His laugh is cold, but not arrogant. He knows he's been caught in checkmate again.] That's the best part, that you don't even get that.
So no one getting what they want is the best outcome? How fucked up is the inside of your head, anyway?
[Not that anything could really change the situation, but Petre's actually enjoying it. He's guaranteed that John will never, ever give in, and he's enjoying it.]
[He's finally been pushed far enough to break the lock on a secret he swore he'd never tell. That's how much he needs leverage right now. This time he's the one who leans in, whispers in Petre's ear.]
You almost had it. You were just so drunk that you can't remember, and now you can't make good on any of it because every time you open your mouth, you make things worse for yourself. But keep it up. Keep feeling superior 'cause you're digging your own grave. That really is the best part.
[And he makes to walk away, sure that for once, he's struck the ultimate blow.]
[Well. That makes the smile fade, even if it just gives place to mild puzzlement, because he's pretty damn sure he can remember the night in question. He really must have been drunk if there's any detail from that mess he's missing.
(It's the wrong night. He doesn't even think about it, but he's got the wrong night.)]
Think hard enough, you might get it. [He pauses, glances over his shoulder.] Won't do you any good now, but it'll be something to keep you occupied in the shower.
[Nothing happened. He's frowning and thinking about it while he tells himself there's nothing there, because - nothing happened. And his cigarette's almost over.]
[This is too good. Finally, finally Petre is off-balance, and it really is true that the scene holds no power anymore. Even if John gave in then, so many nails have gone into that coffin since that saying so won't mean shit.
He walks back up to Petre, cups his cheek gently.]
Petre - I've never needed anyone. I need you.
[Then he laughs harshly and turns to leave again.]
[He feels the stab, though he doesn't know where it's coming from. Eyes shift down at his hand when it reaches for his face, and he doesn't react save for the parting of tense lips. It doesn't even make sense, and John's spilling it out like it's the greatest weapon he could have ever used against Petre. He actually gets back on his feet, not to watch him leave, but to make sure he's staying.]
You never said that. [And if that's not enough, he's saying it again.] You never said that.
You did. [And sure enough, he does stay, turning around once more to jab a finger at Petre.] You did, and I ate myself inside out over it for ages, because I had no fucking idea what it meant or if it was even true. But it was true - it was just another sick chunk of your mind that I didn't know how to process yet.
All you need is to control me. Maybe I'm the only thing you actually feel like you have control over, because doing it with your mutation makes everything else worthless. Well, now you've got the control, but you'll never get anything else. I hope it's worth it.
[It's plain to see on Petre's face just how much he's liking this - less and less by the second, by the passing of each word coming out of John's mouth. He can't possibly mean the night they spent together, that'd have to be one elaborate lie to play on the memories he does have, which means -
He's playing the memories he doesn't have. Of the night he met Jon and came back to the room drunk. He'd asked about it, he remembers, but he never thought he'd - actually have done anything. Maybe make a pass at John, but talk to him like that? And make John believe it?
No. He wasn't in possession of himself. For the first time Petre recognizes that, and it makes him feel sick. He needs that control back.]
No. [It's just plain denial in a word.] Why would I say that?
Apparently you can only feel things properly through me. [He never would've dreamed that it would be such a pleasure to spill this all out. Even now that he knows it's Petre's lies, just watching his reaction to them makes John feel about ten feet tall.] Sociopath, that's the clinical term. But I give you some kind of conduit, and you want me to help you figure it out.
[Sociopath. That's a term he's only discussed with his counselor, one he's more convinced he should be diagnosed with than otherwise, even if they never disagreed. Their description of someone incapable of feeling the same way other people do, incapable of processing cognitive situations with any empathy - that's what he is. He's known it for a long while, now, he's just never bothered to discuss it with anyone else. Anyone who could use it against him.
But now, he finds, he is very much feeling this. It's a nervousness that translates into anger. Fear, maybe? Fear of humiliation. There's nothing that might concern John there, just the worry of what else he might have heard from a mouth that didn't know what it was doing.]
It's so much better if it's true. You'd get that better than anyone. A good lie can freak someone out for awhile, you'd know that too, but the truth - that really makes them fucking squirm.
[Now his smile's almost playful.]
I'm not lying, Petre. That wouldn't be half this much fun.
[He jerks out of reach, takes a step back. The whole point of this is that he not be pulled back into it, that he stay above it, and Petre's not ruining that by replaying the whole scene again. No touching.]
Yeah. Twice. [He glances off to one side, as if vaguely nostalgic.] All that sweet-talking, how could I resist? But you still thought you'd made it happen, so then I kissed you to prove you hadn't.
[Let him chew on that for a bit, realize how badly he's fucked up.]
[It seems completely unthinkable. Just like John reached into Petre's brain and fished out the first and last things he ever wanted to hear from him. If - if - that really happened, why the fuck would John keep it to himself all this time?
Sure, John kissing him is more than enough to make something in his chest sink, whatever it is - it should have been that sense of victory, not this - but he can also recognize that there was a level of sentimentality to it. Petre saying he needed John? Either it was drunken stupor or a can of worms he isn't going to touch. For his own sanity's sake.
(Whatever's left of it.)]
So why didn't you tell me.
[Part of him's still testing this to see if it's bullshit. Too easy, Petre.]
Wasn't ready. [He slips his hands into his pockets, shrugs.] I left 'cause I wasn't ready, and I didn't tell you 'cause I knew you'd turn it to your advantage right away and I wasn't ready for that. What happened next was all up to you.
[And then his hands slip back out, arms stretching in an expansive gesture.]
And you, Petre, let one second of jealousy over a joke blind you to the idea that maybe I fooled around with another guy to see if it was even what I wanted. Because of you. And that one extra shot of tequila that made you forget it ever happened.
[He's moving in closer again, chin tilted up, ready to claim his complete victory.]
You made it completely obvious at last that you were just a tin pot megalomaniac and I was supposed to be your one-man dictatorship. You made sure that I would never, ever, for a second, consider wanting you again.
Yeah, you didn't have all the facts. But you were still a total fucking idiot.
[Tension grows in Petre's features, and all of them because of John. His words sink in like the fire he can't use to burn him.
For a second, Petre's hand shoots to grab John. Look him in the eye. He's showing teeth like he's ready to speak again, and this time make sure that John regrets this. Regrets fucking with him again, because that will never be tolerated from him, or anyone. Maybe once upon a time Petre might have shared a truth about him he himself wasn't entirely aware of, but it's all gone now. It's all just anger.
He knows anger. Anger's one of the few he can feel, full-fledged and consuming.
No words come out. He shoves John instead, lets him have that so desired distance between them.]
Anything I ever told you. [There's an unpleasant curl to his lips.] I was drunk. And you're a fucking idiot for believing me.
You mean I was. You think I don't know that? [He straightens out his shirt where Petre grabbed him, his own expression nothing but mild distaste.] If I didn't know that by now, I never would've told you all this.
But it's got no power for you anymore. You can't win with any of this. Like I said, we both lose - but maybe dragging me down with you is enough now. Maybe that'll be your new angle, we both fucked up beyond all recognition, we really are made for one another. Anything that might work, right?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
Why in god's name couldn't Petre just wake up sane someday? Wake up as something he could actually desire without dreading and avoiding the fact for his own sanity?]
You're only fucking yourself over right now. [His laugh is cold, but not arrogant. He knows he's been caught in checkmate again.] That's the best part, that you don't even get that.
no subject
[cigarette goes back between his lips.]
no subject
[Not that anything could really change the situation, but Petre's actually enjoying it. He's guaranteed that John will never, ever give in, and he's enjoying it.]
no subject
no subject
[He's finally been pushed far enough to break the lock on a secret he swore he'd never tell. That's how much he needs leverage right now. This time he's the one who leans in, whispers in Petre's ear.]
You almost had it. You were just so drunk that you can't remember, and now you can't make good on any of it because every time you open your mouth, you make things worse for yourself. But keep it up. Keep feeling superior 'cause you're digging your own grave. That really is the best part.
[And he makes to walk away, sure that for once, he's struck the ultimate blow.]
no subject
(It's the wrong night. He doesn't even think about it, but he's got the wrong night.)]
What on Earth are you talking about?
no subject
no subject
You're full of shit.
no subject
He walks back up to Petre, cups his cheek gently.]
Petre - I've never needed anyone. I need you.
[Then he laughs harshly and turns to leave again.]
no subject
You never said that. [And if that's not enough, he's saying it again.] You never said that.
no subject
All you need is to control me. Maybe I'm the only thing you actually feel like you have control over, because doing it with your mutation makes everything else worthless. Well, now you've got the control, but you'll never get anything else. I hope it's worth it.
no subject
He's playing the memories he doesn't have. Of the night he met Jon and came back to the room drunk. He'd asked about it, he remembers, but he never thought he'd - actually have done anything. Maybe make a pass at John, but talk to him like that? And make John believe it?
No. He wasn't in possession of himself. For the first time Petre recognizes that, and it makes him feel sick. He needs that control back.]
No. [It's just plain denial in a word.] Why would I say that?
[What did you do.]
no subject
Anything yet?
no subject
But now, he finds, he is very much feeling this. It's a nervousness that translates into anger. Fear, maybe? Fear of humiliation. There's nothing that might concern John there, just the worry of what else he might have heard from a mouth that didn't know what it was doing.]
I told you that. While I was drunk.
no subject
[Now his smile's almost playful.]
I'm not lying, Petre. That wouldn't be half this much fun.
no subject
[A pause. Where John's playful, Petre's all edges. Quiet, waiting in the shade.]
What did you say?
no subject
Nothing. Didn't get a chance, 'cause that's when you kissed me.
no subject
[His hand is reaching for John's arm. Was it real?]
no subject
Yeah. Twice. [He glances off to one side, as if vaguely nostalgic.] All that sweet-talking, how could I resist? But you still thought you'd made it happen, so then I kissed you to prove you hadn't.
[Let him chew on that for a bit, realize how badly he's fucked up.]
no subject
Sure, John kissing him is more than enough to make something in his chest sink, whatever it is - it should have been that sense of victory, not this - but he can also recognize that there was a level of sentimentality to it. Petre saying he needed John? Either it was drunken stupor or a can of worms he isn't going to touch. For his own sanity's sake.
(Whatever's left of it.)]
So why didn't you tell me.
[Part of him's still testing this to see if it's bullshit. Too easy, Petre.]
no subject
[And then his hands slip back out, arms stretching in an expansive gesture.]
And look what you did.
no subject
[You're not really expecting Petre to take the blame for this, are you.]
You - you lied to me.
no subject
[He's moving in closer again, chin tilted up, ready to claim his complete victory.]
You made it completely obvious at last that you were just a tin pot megalomaniac and I was supposed to be your one-man dictatorship. You made sure that I would never, ever, for a second, consider wanting you again.
Yeah, you didn't have all the facts. But you were still a total fucking idiot.
no subject
For a second, Petre's hand shoots to grab John. Look him in the eye. He's showing teeth like he's ready to speak again, and this time make sure that John regrets this. Regrets fucking with him again, because that will never be tolerated from him, or anyone. Maybe once upon a time Petre might have shared a truth about him he himself wasn't entirely aware of, but it's all gone now. It's all just anger.
He knows anger. Anger's one of the few he can feel, full-fledged and consuming.
No words come out. He shoves John instead, lets him have that so desired distance between them.]
Anything I ever told you. [There's an unpleasant curl to his lips.] I was drunk. And you're a fucking idiot for believing me.
no subject
But it's got no power for you anymore. You can't win with any of this. Like I said, we both lose - but maybe dragging me down with you is enough now. Maybe that'll be your new angle, we both fucked up beyond all recognition, we really are made for one another. Anything that might work, right?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)