I'm good at shooting people, cracking wise, and pretending to know how to fight.

You know, the days had ticked away, and for almost 48 hours Atton had been able to ignore it. It was a win for him, even if it was a small one. 48 solid hours of ignorance before realization hit him like a hammer, and he wound up sitting on the floor of his mostly-empty bedroom, staring at the window.

Was this ever going to be easier?

Maybe some other year. Maybe not ten years after exactly (or was it eleven? It was so easy to lose track, with that one year in the middle...). But maybe sometime? The lightness he'd felt these past two months hadn't come from nowhere. It hadn't just appeared. He'd... he'd done the work. He was doing the work. He was getting better.

And still he was back on the floor.

The door opened. Creaked. Almost startled him, until the familiar Force signature wafted over him and he looked up over his shoulder even though he couldn't see the front door from here. There was a rustling, a faint sense of confusion, worry--

Then Dane's face, peeking in through the door. "Hey," he said quietly. "Picked up some soda and some snacks. You wanna come out into the living room? It's probably more comfortable."

"Why are you--" Atton heard his voice creaked. He swallowed. Wetted his lips, eyes set determinedly at the window. "Why are you here? You're not skipping--"

"I moved some shifts around," Dane said. He passed quietly into the bedroom, brushing past the doorway. "Just making sure I'm not gone five nights in a row for the next couple of weeks."

Atton's brow crickled into a frown. "Why?"

"Because it's August, and I know what August means, Jack." Dane held his hand out. "And don't worry, I took the 17th off, too. We can go do something. Or we can hang out here on the floor. Whichever."

Oh.

Oh.

"Yeah," Atton said slowly. He felt like he was moving at half speed, reaching out for Dane's hand like that. Letting the guy pull him up. "Yeah. You're right. Sofa's probably more comfortable."

August. He hated August.

[[ can be open for calls, etcetera. ]]

After Sparkle had left last weekend, Atton'd spent one glorious half day rolling around in ignorance for as long as he could. The next day, the then-upcoming date had struck him, and he had hidden away in his apartment and gotten spectacularly drunk. The day after, they had held a small, respectful mourning ceremony, and they had sat together and traded stories about Meetra for hours.

Well, the others had, anyway. Atton had mostly brooded in the back.

On Tuesday, he'd beaten the hell out of holotargets for hours. On Wednesday, Mical had yelled at him for aggravating his healing wounds, and shoved him in a kolto tank. On Thursday, still reeking of kolto, Atton had resumed lurking around his apartment.

Now it was Saturday, and Sparkle was showing up, and while Atton had only ten percent of his usual motivation to do this, he had left his apartment. He was sitting on the steps of the Temple now, smoking an Earth cigarette and glaring at passers-by. A more difficult exercise than it seemed; most foot traffic kept a respectful distance of the Temple itself. Still, he managed.

Somehow.

[[ for the kid, and phone calls, what have you. ]]

Last night, on a drunken whim, Atton had sent out a message to Sparkle - and then a form to Fandom High. He'd had a feeling he'd regret it in the morning, but the honest truth was he wasn't sure where to go or what to do anymore and at least that night he'd felt some level of commitment to following something through.

The good news was, he didn't regret it in the morning.

The bad news was why.

It was still dark outside when he veered up in bed, a chill striking suddenly deep into his heart. It stayed there, spreading, until he could barely breathe; he hunched forward and gasped out loud. "Nonononononono--"

It was explosive. It was imploding. It leaped straight into his throat and numbed it. His tongue felt like a dead fish in his mouth. "No no no no." He stumbled out of bed and planted his hands against the bulkhead... then threw up all over the floor.

Everything suddenly felt quiet after that.

"No," he mumbled. "No no."

The cold faded, leaving an emptiness in its wake, as if a connection had suddenly snapped and torn a piece of him out of his chest on its way out. He knew which one - he knew it immediately.

He dry-heaved, not because of anything physical this time, but because of the sudden finality of the emotional overload--

"Atton Rand."

He looked up helplessly and caught... no one's eyes. What?

Oh. Right. Visas didn't have any. Atton reached up and rubbed at his mouth instinctively. "Did it--" he managed. "Did she--"

"Yes," Visas said quietly. "I have sensed conflict from our bond for some time." She pursed her lips. "I... I did not realize this would happen now."

"Well, it did," Atton whispered. "Look-- you mind... I don't know."

Neither of them were the hugging and comforting type, he knew that. Maybe it was a legacy of their dark side days, maybe they just weren't like that. He couldn't tell her to get out, either, though. Right now everything felt harsh, and that felt worse.

"I will return later," she said. She vanished from the doorway.

Atton stumbled to his bed and collapsed on his blanket. Was it really crying if there was no one there to see it? Not if you asked him.

[[ nfb etc. this is the last time i will reference that piece of excrement that is drew karpyshyn's 'revan'. ]]