(Just don't give me the headache you get from it.)
[But he doesn't tell him not to bother at all. It wasn't like it was a pointless thing to be attempting, and Bellamy would have more luck with it than him. That's a reminder, though, of how disconnected he is now. Head empty except for Bellamy. The plan to have the symbiote removed had failed, but here was a small glimpse at the privacy he would have regained from it. What was the likelihood he'd ever get this again?
He doesn't cut the connection. He just pulls back, slowly putting space and walls between him and Bellamy, spinning the hold between them out. By the time he's done, the broad red of the belt has thinned to a single thread, caught tight around one finger. It's enough for contact. Continued knowledge of existence. But the inside of his head is his, entirely, nothing but his own thoughts, feelings and memories.
Falling asleep is probably easier than it should be.
He wakes up alone. The grip of it cinched down on him some unknown time before, in dream or nightmare, and it doesn't relent. It gnaws in the pit of his belly, crushes silent and cold over his chest. He pulls himself up to sit, swings his legs over the side of the cot, but the act of movement doesn't shake it loose. Just reminds him how small the room is, how empty it is, only the sound of his own breathing echoing off the smooth walls.
There are people outside. Other prisoners. Guards. There's Bellamy, the connection still strung between them, thin but steady. But that knowledge doesn't stop the swell of memory, the fear rising black in his chest that he's stuck here, that the door won't open, that the days will tick by and tick by and nothing will change, no one will come for him, no one will even look, and--
He fights, desperately, the urge to reach for Bellamy. Chokes it down. He gets to his feet, starts pacing the room, fingers dragging along the walls. It doesn't make it better. It makes it smaller, and closer, and still just as empty, his mind shaking with the effort of trying to pull up, away from the pit of fear and memory widening under each step.]
no subject
[But he doesn't tell him not to bother at all. It wasn't like it was a pointless thing to be attempting, and Bellamy would have more luck with it than him. That's a reminder, though, of how disconnected he is now. Head empty except for Bellamy. The plan to have the symbiote removed had failed, but here was a small glimpse at the privacy he would have regained from it. What was the likelihood he'd ever get this again?
He doesn't cut the connection. He just pulls back, slowly putting space and walls between him and Bellamy, spinning the hold between them out. By the time he's done, the broad red of the belt has thinned to a single thread, caught tight around one finger. It's enough for contact. Continued knowledge of existence. But the inside of his head is his, entirely, nothing but his own thoughts, feelings and memories.
Falling asleep is probably easier than it should be.
He wakes up alone. The grip of it cinched down on him some unknown time before, in dream or nightmare, and it doesn't relent. It gnaws in the pit of his belly, crushes silent and cold over his chest. He pulls himself up to sit, swings his legs over the side of the cot, but the act of movement doesn't shake it loose. Just reminds him how small the room is, how empty it is, only the sound of his own breathing echoing off the smooth walls.
There are people outside. Other prisoners. Guards. There's Bellamy, the connection still strung between them, thin but steady. But that knowledge doesn't stop the swell of memory, the fear rising black in his chest that he's stuck here, that the door won't open, that the days will tick by and tick by and nothing will change, no one will come for him, no one will even look, and--
He fights, desperately, the urge to reach for Bellamy. Chokes it down. He gets to his feet, starts pacing the room, fingers dragging along the walls. It doesn't make it better. It makes it smaller, and closer, and still just as empty, his mind shaking with the effort of trying to pull up, away from the pit of fear and memory widening under each step.]