@o188 gets a starter!
He’s never been good. That chance was never there; his very environment right from the start had been against him. He isn’t good, and that’s a fact that he’s accepted and is comfortable with. It doesn’t bother him.
Usually.
Every time he stands with Sonny fucking Carisi, every time he feels that goodness rolling from him in waves, in his actions and words and very being, Ilya finds himself hit with a titanium wall of resentment for what he cannot be, what he can never compare to. For months now, this cold, hard tangle of resentment and anger had been growing in the pit of his stomach, and he can’t take it anymore. Blood pounds through his veins, his fingers trembling with the itch to PUNCH something, to express himself the only way he knows through violence.
But he doesn’t.
Hands clenching and releasing, over and over, Ilya chews on the inside of his lower lip until the sharp tang of iron floods his mouth. ( it doesn’t take much.) A harsh chuff escapes him and he narrows his eyes at the unsuspecting Sonny.
“How the fuck do you do it?”
