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TW // suicidal/suicide
“It’s like, I don’t know... I don’t know how to propose a company escape to Alaska? Argentina? Agrabah? Oh, darn it, that’s not a place, that’s from a fucking Disney movie--”
Steven’s not entirely sure why he’s ranting about his write-up to Anthony. Most of the time he’d get more productive answers out of talking to, say, a brick wall, or pile of rocks. But Anthony is there, and listening, and existing, and he supposes that will just have to do.
So something must be in the air today, or perhaps it’s a full moon, because he answers him.
“It depends,” he starts, crossing the length of Steven’s small home office silently, “what all do they want? Mountains? Even then, there’s a difference between the ones that are so tall they turn blue and the clouds surround the peaks and the ones that have succumbed to the stones and just make you feel small. Snow is an important one. Pervasive snow is miserable to navigate but if they’ll be indoors it’s a good way to forget who you are when you look out the window. But a little snow, just the dusty kind, feels more like a fairy tale. That’s maybe not a great mood for a business retreat. The beach is nice for a taste of freedom, but then you have to choose between the cerulean seafoam against miles of white sand that will burn all your fragile skin to a crisp as opposed to the choking power of the dark waters you find up north smashing against black rocks like glass shards. I like those better. I tried jumping from the cliffs once, but all I got was wet.”
He’s smiling, vaguely, when Steven glances up at him. His eyes are burning with the desire to cry, because he truly, madly, deeply hates thinking about how much he has wanted to die and detesting how casually he can just bring it up, and with a vengeful sniffle Steven rubs at his own face and takes a steadying breath before replying to him.
“Here’s a better question,” Steven grumbled. “What’s the best place you’ve ever visited? Somewhere that didn’t make you suicidal.”
Anthony’s mouth twitches. There’s something quiet and sulky in his eyes, almost resentful as he turns away to look out the window where there is only the atrament of night.
“Here.”