Jouska: A hypothetical conversation that you compulsively play out in your head.
"Hey, Conn?" Murphy said quietly, chin resting on his clasped hands. "Remember that time when we were kids and I scraped my knee, and it bled and bled and I was sure I was going to die so you gave me some half-assed attempt at Last Rites because we'd just learned about it in Sunday School and you were crying and I was crying because we were six and a scraped knee was the worst of our problems?"
Connor would've nodded and snorted, countered with that time Murphy'd broken his arm riding a bike, and he'd outlawed Murphy from ever touching a bicycle ever again, yet was right by his side when they both got their motorcycle licenses – they did a lot of stupid fucking shit when they were kids, he'd have said. Murphy traced the words with his lips and nodded, even though Connor didn't say any of this. Connor didn't say anything at all, in fact. Connor didn't open his eyes, barely even breathed. Murphy squeezed his eyes shut against the tears, dropped his forehead to his hands and muttered a small prayer – far from the first, farther from the last that day.
"Done some stupid fuckin' shit as adults, too, Conn," Murphy whispered into the silence. "This was a stupid fucking idea, a stupid fucking plan wrapped around it, and the stupid fucking outcome… it wasn't fucking worth it, Connor."
The silence is punctuated with Connor's short breaths, restricted by the bandaging Murphy had gingerly wrapped around his chest after carrying him back from the latest in a string of failed and horribly destructive assassination attempts.
"We never should've targeted the Italian fucking mob, Connor. Yeah, I know, we've done it before, but you knew this family was more resourceful than the Yakavettas, I knew it, why the fuck did I let you go through with this?"
He inhaled through his nose abruptly and held it in his chest for a moment, listening to his brother's breathing – shallow but steady, so much steadier than it had been before – and then let the air out through his mouth, slowly, counting seconds in his head.
Murphy laid his head gently on his brother, ear to his stomach, face tilted so he could see Connor's, and just listened to the sounds of life, and counted the strong beats of his heart.
"I know," he murmured. "You would've gone through with it anyway. So would I have. I'm just tired of seeing you hurt, Conn."
"Please wake up, Connor."