[ It's precisely this kind of behavior that Claude can't get behind, this hopeless optimism. There's no salvation in wearing yourself thin for the sake of others: it's the sort of thing you do when you're desperate, scraping away at yourself until you have no layers left, until you're forced to admit that this is all you have left, your heart and your soul. Vulnerable. Open to rejection. Open to fault.
There's not a single person in the world that wanted to save him before. He wants that to remain constant— he wants to disappoint, because pleasing others is terrifying.
(It doesn't last. It never has.)
He almost looks like he wants to lash out for a moment, sharp eyes narrowed in retaliation, in that wall he throws up when someone gets too close. He wants to prove her wrong, wants to hurt her— people will always hurt you, how can you be so blind— but he doesn't.
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There's not a single person in the world that wanted to save him before. He wants that to remain constant— he wants to disappoint, because pleasing others is terrifying.
(It doesn't last. It never has.)
He almost looks like he wants to lash out for a moment, sharp eyes narrowed in retaliation, in that wall he throws up when someone gets too close. He wants to prove her wrong, wants to hurt her— people will always hurt you, how can you be so blind— but he doesn't.
But he doesn't laugh, this time around. ]
...I don't intend to make you a murderer.