[ Ben takes the brush from Kieran wordlessly, with a small grateful smile. It's easy, slipping his hand into the strap and bringing the brush up to run through Branwen's mane. He gives a little toss of his head and snort, but they seem to be out of contentment rather than irritation, and a quick glance at Kieran confirms to Ben that nothing is wrong. So he continues, brushing in long and steady strokes, letting the repetitive motion sooth him.
At first, he only answers Kieran in a little shrug. Words are so hard, and much of his brain is screaming he's already said too much, that only bad can come from talking about any of this, letting himself be vulnerable, letting himself be known. But Ben likes Kieran. And he knows that, if any kind of scale could be devised, Kieran has been through much worse than him. So he needs to make himself understood. That he understands how weak he is, for caring. For being impacted. ]
I should be better than this.
[ He keeps brushing Branwen's mane, sighing softly, frustrated with himself. There is little Ben has less patience for in the world than what he sees as his own failings and flaws. ]
It wasn't hell.
[ The response is automatic, like a kneejerk. He still feels that impulse, to diminish it, to conceal anything that might seem bad to an onlooker. And there's something else, too. Ben's cheeks actually grows hot, and he angles his face away from Kieran, embarrassed: ]
It wasn't like- it wasn't as bad as. I mean. Any of the stuff you... talked about.
[ What is he doing, whining about his life to someone who had lost his parents so young, who'd had to support himself and make his way in the world, who had been tortured and threatened by gangs and here is Ben, complaining about some security cameras in the mansion he grew up in.
Self-loathing sits in his stomach like a stone, heavy and solid. ]
At least back then I knew about the cameras, and I was always aware anything I did or said might be watched, either then or later. I could decide things based on that. Here, I've gotten too used to - just... talking. Saying stuff without... putting it up for review in my head first.
[ The fact that Ben is talking about his current self as more chatty and incautious with his words than he was a kid really just goes to show how quiet he'd been, back then. He can remember stretches of time when he'd barely said a single thing aloud, apart from answering questions his father asked. ]
no subject
At first, he only answers Kieran in a little shrug. Words are so hard, and much of his brain is screaming he's already said too much, that only bad can come from talking about any of this, letting himself be vulnerable, letting himself be known. But Ben likes Kieran. And he knows that, if any kind of scale could be devised, Kieran has been through much worse than him. So he needs to make himself understood. That he understands how weak he is, for caring. For being impacted. ]
I should be better than this.
[ He keeps brushing Branwen's mane, sighing softly, frustrated with himself. There is little Ben has less patience for in the world than what he sees as his own failings and flaws. ]
It wasn't hell.
[ The response is automatic, like a kneejerk. He still feels that impulse, to diminish it, to conceal anything that might seem bad to an onlooker. And there's something else, too. Ben's cheeks actually grows hot, and he angles his face away from Kieran, embarrassed: ]
It wasn't like- it wasn't as bad as. I mean. Any of the stuff you... talked about.
[ What is he doing, whining about his life to someone who had lost his parents so young, who'd had to support himself and make his way in the world, who had been tortured and threatened by gangs and here is Ben, complaining about some security cameras in the mansion he grew up in.
Self-loathing sits in his stomach like a stone, heavy and solid. ]
At least back then I knew about the cameras, and I was always aware anything I did or said might be watched, either then or later. I could decide things based on that. Here, I've gotten too used to - just... talking. Saying stuff without... putting it up for review in my head first.
[ The fact that Ben is talking about his current self as more chatty and incautious with his words than he was a kid really just goes to show how quiet he'd been, back then. He can remember stretches of time when he'd barely said a single thing aloud, apart from answering questions his father asked. ]