"Do you think you deserved to be loved?" [ valentina pulling out the suckerpunches today,,, unintentionally ofc ]
"No," he says flatly, forearm thrown over his eyes. "But that isn't the point. The point isn't that he didn't love me, it's that he couldn't. He wasn't built for it any more than I was... am? Whatever. It doesn't matter. I can't explain it in a way you'd understand."
He's lying on what used to be his and Sila's couch, now just his, skin crawling with the awareness of another person in the grimy, sparse space. The apartment has stopped smelling like Sila and the little money he left behind hasn't stretched far. At some point the landlord will realise Alex isn't going to pay their already-late rent and from there--he isn't sure. Maybe he'll go back to the Dreaming. What else is there? The Waking has lost much of its charm in the wake of Sila's passing.
The offer will be there when you're ready, the raven had said. It will not expire.
He sits up, reaches automatically for the dark shades folded on the end table by the couch arm. He doesn't need them to blend in anymore--if anything, they make him stand out--but being seen without them makes him anxious. Anxious. Nothing has made him so keenly aware that he's no longer a nightmare than the way his body responds to almost everything now with a vague sense of nausea and unrest.
"It's... complicated," he adds reluctantly, glancing at Valentina. Understatement of the fucking century. "He's not my father, he just... raised... me."