Your name is Dave Strider, you are thirty years old, and you wonder if this is what numbness is.
It is not happiness for sure - you've not had the prolonged form that so many have been graced with, but you've had it briefly plenty of times and you know that what this is is not that. But at the same time you know what tragedy feels like, you know the aching and splitting of nerves and flesh that you face in your emptiest of times. This is not that either.
It's a lifeless feeling - the mechanical turning of gears as each limb pops into place, time and time again, repeating the day-in and day-out that comes with any job, no matter how glitzy or glamorous the setting. You wonder if one of the interviewers would laugh at you if you told her you felt this way, and felt so unimportant. You think a lot of people would snort at that.
And yet all that happens these days is the clicking of metal on metal and the same conversations. The same phone calls and the same just-firm-enough handshakes. The same halfhearted drinking at night with the same aching back from sleeping on the couch. There aren't tears or silent screams, but your face is plaster and your fingers are caking into statues.
The first time the plaster cracks again is when you find that you are busy on a very important day, meetings holding you up from necessary travel.
"Look, Case, I'm sorry," you say into the phone receiver, seeming to treat her too seriously for her age. "I really wish I could make it for your birthday, but I can't. I'll be on the computer for ya though, 'kay?"
She still sounds upset at you after that, and you can't help but think of how it seems almost like you're a father separated from his family by work, eagerly returning home whenever possible. Except you're no father, and this family and home aren't yours - you are intruding and cast out, longing for something that isn't even yours.
All goes better than planned though - as you find your meetings planned and your calendar open. The brief gap in your mask allows a smile and a quick purchasing of plane tickets, bound for the home that will never be home.
Casey is more than surprised when you're standing at the door, adjusting your glasses as you look down at the party-hat clad girl. You arrived right on the morning of her birthday - having already discussed this with her parents - but grinning at the amazement on her face.
"Davey, Davey, Davey!" she's squealing and jumping with glee before she clings to your legs, nuzzling her face into your slacks.
You chuckle some, reaching down to pet her head. "Hey kiddo."
She remains in this state for a few moments, seemingly pleased with this added joy to her birthday (you would like to make a joke about how you're everyone's favorite birthday gift, but really just seeing yourself as someone's is good enough).
"Aren't you fo'gettin' to say somethin'?" she huffs eventually, puffing out her cheeks and pouting at her. John starts chastising her with his own laugh from the doorway, Molly giggles behind her well-painted nails yet again.
"What, I am?" you say in mock astonishment as you tap your chin. "I can't think of anything else I oughta be saying - today's been pretty lame after all."
And then she gasps and hmfs at you, going to face her head away, and you can't help but snicker at that into your fist before reaching down to pick her up. "Just kiddin' - happy birthday, Case."
And this numbness has a bit more contentment and peace layered atop its stone, but numb it so remains. You think that for your sanity it's likely best for this - to long and occasionally ache but overall remain apathetic. You remind yourself of what your teenage self aspired entirely to be, only you seem to not make people laugh as much as you once liked.
You're soon walking in and seeing that the house is covered with decorations, only those fit perfectly for a four-year-old. Also known as: More decorations than anyone knows what to do with. You have to admire their effort even if you know that it's going to simply result in your own removal of them.
But the day passes in relative peace. Casey's invited some of her neighborhood friends, all of which are excited to see you, and a couple of their older sisters ask for your autograph, which you quickly do with a quick SB&HJ doodle on the side. You're happy to see the party going well though - after all, you never had too much of them as a kid. You never had enough friends and Bro never had enough time, besides, parties were for lame-os, so they just weren't done. You had virtual ones once you met John and the others though.
It's really cute seeing everything go so well with Casey - so much so that you almost forget about the numbness you're keeping up with John, your back turned to him and your hands in your pockets as you sing a flat version of Happy Birthday. You almost forget about the way that John and Molly work as a unit, the parents of the birthday girl, and you're just the floating bystander that seems out of a place - a chaperon at best. You almost forget how you used to scoff at being a parent but how now you're wanting every little bit of it, and to do it with him.
And before you let yourself remember, the wall is back up and your shades are back tight over quivering eyes.
Soon, too soon for any of the children's liking, the birthday shenanigans are over though. Casey is swimming in her new goodies, prancing around in her new feather boa and disguise glasses with the biggest fucking smile on her face. She then runs off in her little Barbie flipflops to pop in the new DVD she got - some show Disney's put out for little kids recently.
It's not too long until you're doing your inevitable job of removing all the decorations, tossing the streamers and balloons down at Casey and John from the staircase. John snorts and tries to toss it back at you, but you're quickly evading it and back to your job.
You notice John seems to be nervous though - laughing a bit too much and too little pranking. He's jittery as he puts things away, and though you were ignoring him mostly for your facade's sake, you're slowly peeking over it if only to see him briefly, and his gestures are worrying you further and further. You wonder momentarily if he's having issues with Molly again, but you aren't about to go down that road again, not so easily.
So you go back to your job, bringing up the wall once more, assuming he'll address it with you if there's anything wrong - he trusts you, after all.
—-
It's evening and Molly is watching another movie with Casey when John goes to help you unpack in the guest room. He's never helped you before, so you figure that's code for "Bro I got 99 problems and a bitch is all of them" or something like that, so you shrug and let him on in.
Strangely, it actually seems to go as actual unpacking for quite some time, silent and repetitive as he nicely folds the clothes and you just toss your toiletries about carelessly. After some time the brushing of fabric and skin ceases though, and he's just sitting there, eyes fixated on the suitcase as he nibbles at his lip.
You sigh, going to move to lean against the wall with your arms crossed behind your head, prepared for a drawn-out conversation. "Spill."
"H-huh?" he sputters and blinks, as if you knocked him from the middle of a long-running train of thought.
"Talk to me about what you really wanted to talk about," you shrug. "Dr. Strider is ready to hear all your woes and then systemically ask you how the fuck you feel about them."
"Oh! Uh, no it's not like that, I guess, hehe…" he says, his usual nervous laugh bubbling out as the side of his mouth stretches dorkishly. Your lip quirks a little at the adorable gesture (pressing at the plaster that you refuse to let crack off).
"Close enough then. Just whatever, spill your guts, bro," you persist. Then you're sitting up. "I'll tickle it out of you if I have to."
His eyes go wide in a joking fear as he waves his hands in front of him. "No no no no! That's fine, I'll tell ya, just gimme a sec, jeez."
You nod, pleased with that answer as you lean back again, as you were.
"I've been thinking and uh, hehe…" he says, eyes never leaving their focus on his knees. "I don't know. Remember when you said you had that crush on me way back when?"
And the world is stopping all over again, frozen in that moment as your mind can't process anything else. Granted, he's said nothing on the subject matter yet - and yet, the mere mention from his lips causes an earthquake in your mind and a lightning strike through your veins; silence before the eventual thundercrack.
"Yeah, I guess? I mean it was kind of me." It's an affirmation, but not a commitment.
He doesn't seem to sure about taking that route for explaining whatever he's going for. "Well I guess… when Molly and I were having issues before, I started to… feel some things I felt back in high school? Did I ever tell you about that?"
You nod.
"Fuck, I don't remember that but, anyway. And I guess even since Molly and I have gotten back together," your heart is pounding out of your chest and you're breaking a sweat, this can't be real, this can't be real, "it hasn't gone away?"
Your eyes are widening behind your sunglasses as they well with tears, the plaster falling from your skin and the walls crumbling down in a symphony of release. It's all you've ever waited for, just on the tip of his tongue…
"So I guess what I'm trying to say is… I really like you, Dave, and I—"
But you hear nothing else aside from crashing stone and the flapping of wings as you propel yourself forward, hands gripping onto his face as your lips collide and tear after salty tear rains down your face. You're a mess and this explosion is more than you bargained for, but you can't restrain yourself as you finally feel without boundaries.
You feel like a life's worth of struggle and hopelessness has just been lifted from you. And it's so fucking great.