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2015-12-19 01:52 pm (UTC)
It's not that he doesn't
to go for 'just one drink'. It's that Moritz wants it so completely that it's painful, sharp, and knowing that he can't actually
it the way he wants it is worse than it never being offered at all. Now he can't shrink away from the truth that no one will be invested in him - if he spends enough one-on-one time with a new person, they'll dismiss him as boring, too tightly-wound, dull, or any of the scores of other suggestions piping up in the back of Moritz's head.
There's a breath of time between Morgan protesting and switching tactics, a heartbeat where Morgan looks
and frustrated and confused, and Moritz is so tunneled into himself that the only thing he can come up with is a torrential wave of
for causing that reaction. Moritz is two breaths away from a full-blown anxiety attack when Morgan continues actually speaking.
--At which point he freezes, everything in him going as still as a deer in headlights. The urge to run, but the confusion about what exactly the threat is, matches up exactly. Moritz pauses for entirely too long before answering. "You-- really?" There's clear hope in his words, embarrassingly naked. Moritz blushes after asking, shaking his head, backing away. "No-- no, no I can't." He knows better. He made a decision. This is just going to go the same way this sort of thing always goes - the parade of negativity continues on wordlessly in his head, Moritz so familiar with this dance of logic that it's run grooves into his mind. "Look, that's nice'a you, but I--" I know better. I know where this will end up, and I won't let it start again. I
let it start again. Just thinking about getting drinks with you is so exciting that it makes me want to do it, despite everything that I know will happen, but I made a promise and I'm not gonna keep disappointing people anymore. You, and I, don't deserve that.
But oh lord, does Moritz
to. He's so close to spilling it all, suddenly, on this sidewalk that's surprisingly thinned-out, to this stranger with a familiar accent and a weird penchant for grabbing other strangers. "G-- Goodbye," he can muster, before turning and walking away, his knees stinging with the force of his hurried steps on the pavement.
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