Még apám is felhívott, mert tesóm mondta neki (ő is ismerte Pétert és nagyon kedvelte).
Szóval én vagyok olyan szerencsés, hogy eddig nagyobb veszteségek nélkül megúsztam. Vagy nagyon kicsi voltam, és másképp éltem meg (8 voltam, mikor kedvenc nagyszülőm meghalt).
Ahogy a legnagyobb szakításom is 30 után talált meg, felnőttként kihordott gyerekbetegségként hagy rajtam nyomot minden ilyen "új" élmény.
Self-respect and ego can look similar on the surface, but they come from entirely different places. Self-respect is quiet, it doesn’t need to prove anything. It sets boundaries with clarity and grace, protecting your dignity without demeaning others. Ego, on the other hand, is loud. It reacts, defends, and often wounds to preserve an image. One is rooted in self-worth, the other in fear. When we confuse ego for self-respect, we mistake self-protection for self-awareness and that’s how we end up sabotaging the very connections we crave.
writing under here! tw: egotrip, ego trip, check the tags etc. mentions of past abusive relationship, light touching, terror
It's in the quiet witching hour that Exe fetches him. He's tossed from his scratchy cot to the chair, barely avoiding having his fingers caught up in the metal bindings of the arm rests as he zooms with alarming speed to his destination. It dumps him, rather unceremoniously, at the foot of Exe's bed. One that he's become intimately familiar with in the past couple of weeks, but it still feels foreign nonetheless as Exe snaps at him to get in already.
He's not sure whether to feel relief or nervousness when he crawls under the covers. A fully clothed Exe wraps a fuzzy arm around him and draws him to his chest with a rough pull - but its forcefulness is softened by the silk sheets, by a high stack of fluffy pillows, by the warmth emanating from this terrifying touch.
12 suppresses a whimper as Exe presses his nose into his scalp, inhaling deeply. 12's face gets squished against his chest. His arm wraps around him, pads of fingers digging against the fabric of his thin cotton-T (his lab coat having been stripped away by the robots). He shivers. Then braces himself for punishment - shoulders tense, arms bound to his sides like a straitjacket.
The soft sleeve is like a cloud enveloping him. A memory stirs in the back of his mind. Cashmere? Velvet? It's not...warm, exactly, but their mingling body heat soon makes up for that, filling up the little pocket of air in very small space between them.
