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[ruevealing]

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[ruevealing]

Talking about Hob always inspires a flutter of happiness within Rue, a feeling that only intensifies as Tim flops against them, burying his head so instinctively against Rue's soft feathers. Their arm moves out of the way, just to settle along the back of the couch, their wing feathers trickling down like a gentle curtain around where Tim is pressed against them.

Rue will happily let him stay like this as long as he needs.

For a moment, they expect to hear Jeff's name drop from the young man's mouth, maybe a little shyly uttered, uncertain of where the two boys may stand. But what comes next is not the flustered inquiry of a teenager in love. It's something that makes Rue's insides feel like they're twisting with sickness, both of their dark eyes watching unblinkingly from above as Tim so carefully finds his words.

Oh. It feels like their heart may break.

"I would tell this someone that true love is neither possessive nor does it infringe upon one's own agency. If they are trying to change you into something you are not, then I am afraid that it isn't you that they love at all." It feels a little harsh, but Rue would rather speak plainly on something so serious. The very idea of letting yourself be changed just to find love makes them sick.

"And Tim, let me be perfectly clear when I say this, no one deserves to be treated in such a way. No one should ever have to hide pieces of themself for anyone else, but especially not with the one who loves them."

[ployboy]

A small noise, maybe at his own inability to untangle his intention from the mess of words he'd let slip.

"I don't think... love had anything to do with it back then," he says maybe for the first time. Something raw wants to gnash at his chest. Maybe he would have preferred to be burned by love instead of

whatever the fuck that had been.

He hopes he doesn't have to tell Rue again that, what's done is done. (And he's sorry.)

There's some hesitance, and there is (painfully, so painfully) more than one name that could fit well into the narrative. His own, if Tim was being that sort of introspective. But he had a script to stick to, somewhat, and he sighs. A tired, short sight. It would be too much to scrub a hand across his face so he looks steadily on at a decorative houseplant. "But it doesn't matter," he explains. "Because I do love her. And I don't think I even remember who I used to be, anyway. People tell me I've changed but I don't feel it as much as they do. I guess."

He doesn't feel wrong, until he does. Time steals a lot of things. Never apologizes for it. Tim has figured out it's really useless to ask for purposes, identities. Those are, for better or for worse, built. He dares a glance up to Rue's rounded face, dark eyes.

The guilt just about eats him alive.

"Aaand. To be fair, I haven't been great to her either. That's an understatement. And now she's here."

[ruevealing]

Well! That's quite the twist, isn't it?

It's only due to thousands years of practice that Rue can hide the rush the relief they so suddenly feel. They were so worried for a moment, afraid that it had been Jeff instead who - Ah, but relieved or not, the problem still persists. This old flame of Tim's is here in Gloucester, slammed so abruptly back into his messy life.

"Sometimes change is not as great as people think of it. Sometimes it is the smallest measures of growth that others perceive. I feel even I have changed in small, subtle ways since meeting you."

For the better, Rue thinks. Rue hopes. When Tim tips his head to look up at them, they reach a paw out to gently brush the hair from his eyes with their talons, expression as soft and warm and curious as ever. He has their complete attention.

"But she's here, you say." Rue will not ask whom he means. If Tim wants to reveal that to them, they are certain he will. "And you are worried." Their head tips to the side, thoughtfully considering. They are trying to make sense of the pieces Tim is leaving out. "Are you afraid you may slip into old habits around her? Because of the familiarity there?"

[ployboy]

I feel even I have changed, they say, and Tim's heart picks up the pace in anticipation of what burden he gave them. Instead of hearing that, though, Tim is left with a smug look of contentment and he quips, "What, you learned that not all humans should be allowed near microwaves?"

There's been plenty of ramen noodle cup incidents and no he's not sorry about any of them.

With that brief attempt at levity, Tim can't bear to return to... his thoughts. Can't voice them, he means. He's cowardly like that. And he knows it.

So when Rue suggests his fears are about habits and history, he shakes his head. Does that thing where he drops the small smile but has his expression remain open. No, that's not it.

His habits aren't going anywhere.

The guilt he feels when meeting Rue's eyes is going to literally kill him, so Tim tears off the bandaid and squeaks that, "Uh, actually. I have a confession to make."

Welcome to the world of a boy who massively fucking failed Communication 101.

[ruevealing]

Rue matches Tim's smugness with a gentle, teasing clack of their beak, smiling too brightly for their scold to be anything but playful. "I did not even know that machine could catch fire! That experience alone was enough to change someone, believe me. I will never look at those noodle cups the same way again. I had to ban Hob from ever bringing them into the apartment!"

But then the tone shifts for reasons Rue can not even begin to comprehend, but they feel it, how even the weight of the boy leaning against them changes, his expression so open and true and raw. Such seriousness, such melancholy, it makes Tim look so much younger than he already is.

It takes all of their restraint to not draw him into their arms for a hug.

"You can tell me, Tim." A confession, he says, though Rue can not imagine a single thing he would need to address with them. "Anything you say will be safe with me. It will stay here, just between us. You have my word."

[ployboy]

He laughs a little laugh and thinks about saying that there goes his Amazon gift delivery for a box full of Takis infused noodly goodness.

"It's about the necklace I gave you," he ventures. There's nothing dire or heated or cool in his voice. Tim debates giving a whole backstory worth of context, like Rue had just done for him. But, again, he's no good at words meant to communicate sentiments. Sometimes he wonders if he really did do his teachers a favor by dropping out of high school. Then he thinks, damn, isn't it weird to be thinking about high school when he's nearly 20?

Tim feels another angry tug at his nerves by Guilt, the guilt this time so unrelated to Steph or Jeff or... Rue, that it's dizzying. Yeah. He definitely is no good at Talking.

"I told you I had thought about what my mother would have wanted, right?"

He's also clearly no good at being a son, unless someone fancies him a son of a bitch, then Tim figures he fits the bill. He pulls away from Rue to sit himself up straight, the straight-back and hands-on-lap way that's proper or whatever. As with any... confessional, he lowers his eyes. "I guess I just wanted you to think it was special somehow. You don't really have much in common with her."

Like, yeah, he should feel bad. But consider:

"I think I really like you better."

[ruevealing]

Tim mentions the necklace and Rue barely thinks before their free paw is touching to where it is hidden beneath the neckline of their dress, buried safely against feathers. That, along with the delicate peony clip from Hob, are the two things they try to incorporate into their everyday outfits. Such perfect, meaningful gifts, the best ones Rue has ever received.

So what about such a darling gift does Tim possibly need to make a confession for?

But Rue has all the patience one might expect from an ageless being, quietly waiting for Tim to sort through his own swirling, guilty, complicated thoughts, to sit up and make himself all proper for this big announcement. Rue's only response is the warmth of their encouraging smile, silently reassuring him to move at his own pace.

The mention of Tim's mother - again, how many comparisons does that make between them now - doesn't make sense until it finally does, when Tim lays it all out plainly. But even then, Rue struggles beneath the weight of the boy's words for once, reeling at the sheer rush of emotion it leaves behind. To be compared to a mother is one thing, but to be liked - loved? - more than one's own parents, Rue thinks that must be so much more profound.

"Tim."

It can not be a surprise that Rue draws Tim in for a hug, a tight, trembly embrace, where the boy is pressed in close enough within their wings to feel their great, pounding heartbeat.

"You had me so worried that something was wrong. Or that I had offended you. But instead you bring me another perfect gift. Thank you, dearest, I - I must confess, I hardly know what to say, only that I feel just as strongly about you. To have both Hob and you as my family, I can not think of a greater gift."