mrsnesbitt | ic inbox

[ Peter hasn't gotten out of bed in..... awhile, but now he is: finally, he's getting up and walking around, moving to his own window to dazedly shift the curtain aside. The sunlight has him squinting for a moment before his eyes slowly start to adjust.... he definitely needs to get out and get some fresh air, but for now? Just getting up out of his bed is a good first step. ]

I think I'd want to stay.

[ It's... the first time he's ever vocalised that, or even... explicitly considered it? It means accepting something that Peter hasn't really been able to accept for months and months now, since he came here. That there's really nothing for him back home. Nothing to return to. He doesn't know everything about that situation, but he... knows enough.

And could he ever really have a life back there? With what's... wrong with him? Ironically, it's in this place that Peter's actually been able to get help, and is likely a hell of a lot safer than he would be back where he comes from. There's.. people after him there. Bad people.

He's a little stunned by this realisation, and it comes through in his voice. ]

I guess I can't believe I'm saying that out loud, but... yeah. Yeah. I think I'd want to stay.

[ A beat, and Peter actually gives a little laugh, soft, like the echo of one. ]

...Sorry. I don't mean to just uh... ramble on at you about my... thoughts.

I don't mind. It sounded like that was something you needed to admit to yourself.

[there's no judgment in his tone; he can't emotionally understand why someone would want to stay here, but intellectually he can. buzz also knows he has no idea what this guy has been through or what's waiting for him at home to make him want to stay. if he's safer and happier here, then so be it.]

Does it... feel better to say that out loud?

[ The question gives him pause, and Peter can be heard taking a soft breath. It.... it does. He's not used to this at all, sharing thoughts and feelings, and it does feel better. That awareness is weirdly frightening and nice at the same time, and it seems like he's almost nervous to voice this, but then he does. ]

Yeah. Yeah, I think it really does.

[ He carefully moves to sit down on the bed again, glancing around his room where the sunlight's bouncing off his sparse objects. It does feel like some odd little weight has been lifted, and at the same time, there's another weight in him, an odd paradox. To admit that he wants to stay here is to admit that there's nothing left for him back home, some kind of loss and gain, intermingled. But Peter's mind feels more lucid, more clear, and that's... good. That's better than the muddled state he's been stuck in. ]

Thanks. For... for listening.

Admitting it to yourself is the most important step to learning how to cope with it. I know you don't know me, but... I'm proud of you, for managing to do so.

[he hopes that doesn't come off as condescending, especially because... well, they don't know each other. buzz genuinely means it, though. peter sounds young and so, so troubled. even if you take one step forward and three back, you still take a step forward.]

Thank you for trusting me enough to discuss such personal strife. We can talk again if you ever need it. I'll be here.

[ Once again, Peter finds himself... stunned by the stranger's words. It's that simple phrase in the middle of it, and it leaves a strange sort of pinprick in his chest, one that catches him completely off-guard.

'I'm proud of you'

He can't.. really remember the last time those words were spoken to him. It makes him think to his parents, immediately. Somewhere along the lines, you grow up enough to realise nothing you do will really make your mom and dad happy, and you stop seeking it out because you know there's no reason they should be proud of you anyway. Not when you do nothing and are nothing. ....But deep down, doesn't everyone want to hear it? I'm proud of you ]

—Oh. [ He whispers, useless in his stun, voice catching slightly like it's dry. ] I.... Yeah. Yeah, okay.

[ This is where he should ask the person's name, or give his own, but he doesn't, just sits there until a few moments pass and then he hangs up.

Being Peter, it'll take him awhile to process it, slow-burn and lingering, and something that he certainly won't be forgetting. There's something in him that'll hang onto it, childlike.

He can find him again sometime; he can call this username. If he needs to, the man had said. ....After a few more moments, Peter saves the contact. ]

ic inbox

cw: depression things

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject