#\\ crying for poor bb Steven pls

[preemptivejustice]

Arthur nodded as Steven spoke, just enough to let the man know he was truly listening to him. He wanted the silence to be warm, comforting; it was something that was a necessity. Listening was always a necessity. 

His fingers tapped against the edge of his notebook for a moment, before stilling again. “It’s very common for people who struggle with small talk to also feel like they’re… fundamentally incompatible with others. Like there’s something wrong with you, or something that’s ‘off’. Misaligned. But… Steven, I would like you to imagine this for me.” 

He shifted back just slightly, leaning comfortably in his chair. There was a reason to it, of course - leaning back gave Steven space, and made it feel less like Steven had to believe him without question. 

“Imagine that you speak French,” he offered. “Fluently. Beautifully. But almost everyone around you speaks English. You try to connect with them in French - and it is passionate, it is earnest - but they don’t understand. They decide not to respond. And eventually, sure, they’d drift away.” He stayed holding Steven’s gaze, gently. “It would be very easy for you to think that something is just wrong with you. Maybe that your voice is off-putting, or the sound of your words annoys people. But the truth is… you were just speaking in a different language. One that fewer people are fluent in.” 

He inhaled softly, leaning back in, hands folded gently on the desk. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with how you try to connect. I think you’ve been surrounded by people who don’t know how to respond, or don’t really want to learn. And when that happens enough, you probably do feel unreachable. That it’s not the language, it’s the speaker. But that’s just a lie that you’re telling yourself. It’s a very convincing one - but it’s still just a lie.” 

He adjusted his seating just a bit, briefly letting his eyes flick to the little succulent as if it had something to say with that.

“You mentioned something else that I’d like to come back to,” he continued. “The idea that, even if people don’t initially dislike you, the lack of connection will eventually lead to disliking. That belief is something I hear often from people with social anxiety. It’s not about being afraid of rejection, it’s about anticipating it as inevitable. Like the clock is always ticking, and you have to stay ahead before you get rejected. I want to acknowledge how exhausting that has to be.” 

His tone didn’t waver. It was still calm, still professional; but there was an unmistakable note of sadness in his face. 

“I don’t want to sit here and lie to you, Steven. Not everyone will understand you. Not everyone will make an effort to learn your language. But the ones who do are going to be very lucky. They’re going to meet someone kind, thoughtful, deeply intelligent. They’ll find someone who listens, who cares, who wants to share his knowledge - they’re going to be very lucky to have that. I think Marc knows that he’s lucky to have a person like that talking to him - you’re going to be a very good friend for him.” 

He smiled just barely, genuine warmth in his face even as his eyes were still tired. “Over the next few days, as well, I’d like you to try something. Anytime you feel the urge to pull away, I want you to ask yourself if it’s fact - or feeling. If someone tells you that they don’t want to work on a puzzle with you, then that’s a fact. But if you’re just worrying about it, then it’s feeling. And even though feelings aren’t always wrong, they’re not always facts, either. 

“I want you to start testing your emotions. Start pushing them, do things that might lead to discomfort. And if it ever gets too heavy, then I want you to bring it to me. That’s what this space is here for - think of me as someone you can fall back on.” 

Steven listens, and Steven... thinks, yeah. Considers. Has his gaze drop away, focusing on the little potted plant that still sits there, on Harrow's desk - the succulent - and breathes, in and out.

He's never talked about this, about himself - about what he does, what he feels like, what he... thinks might be going on. To have another person offer him insight from a different perspective is really doing something to him here, has Steven mull it all over; He swallows, fingers continuing to pull and tug on his own knuckles, picking on little flaps of dried skin around his nails...

"But... y'know, if I talk a lot about whatever interests me, but others aren't interested in any of it... y-yeah, maybe they don't immediately dislike me, but it's... it's about me still, no? They will find it hard to interact with me, and therefore they will like me less, because there's... there's nothing going on that would... that would cause a connection to be there." Another swallow and Steven's dark gaze is back on the doctor, brows lifted ever so slightly, a bit furrowed, obvious confusion written into his deep irises.

"I just... I just seem to not know how to do proper small-talk. I never got the hang of it. Never understood any of why people talk about certain things, or when it's appropriate to mention something, when it's not. ---Many awkward moments, many where I thought I was getting somewhere, just for me to never hear back..."

Sadness, again - clinging to spoken syllables, a soft tilt of his voice indicating for it to be the case. Steven blinks, looks down at his own hands again...

"I-if one keeps... to bridge in a certain kind of way... a way others don't understand, don't enjoy... i-it means that, at some point, they will start to dislike the other person. Things just won't fit and match up, a-and... and then it's... over, y'know? So... in a way, while it's probably not about liking or disliking to begin with, it can lead to being disliked, and to find someone annoying, to think they're too much, a burden, pulling on other's nerves. They'll start to think you're weird, you're odd, something must be wrong with you, a-and... well, that's just how it is, then..."

---Steven could really go for a cup of water there, or something else. Maybe a sweet, fizzy drink - a pop. He does not ask, nor does he try to figure out if he even could have something like that to begin with - he just swallows again and looks back up, almost shy in nature, but... moved by everything. Very, very moved.

Thinking about oneself is... it's a lot. It's hard as well, to keep remembering the sad moments, the disappointing situations of where he'd thought he'd found a friend but ended up never getting a text - or a call - back from them.

Harrow suggested for Steven to keep a closer look on how others might try to bridge out to him, and Steven chews along the inside of his bottom lip, considers it as well, before he nods. This is part of his therapy, after all, and... well, he's eager to give his best here, to possibly figure out why he's sleep-walking, all of that. Wants to work together with the doctor rather than against him.

"---Y-yeah, I... I will try, yeah. ...To see how others might bridge out to me, I mean. N-not sure if something will ever happen, b-but... but I will try." It's all he can do, and everything he always does, after all - trying. To just keep trying, again and again and again. To get back up and try, to push forward and try, even if he's being pushed back during the process.

Steven doesn't even know why, not really, but... he feels like he has to do it. He has to try, he has to keep standing and do this, whatever it is. As if he's carrying some sort of responsibility there. Why he does, or for whom he might be doing it? No idea, not at all. But it feels essential, like something really, really bad is going to happen if he stops at some point.

---He doesn't want bad things to happen, to he goes on. That's just how it is.

Another nod, another inhale of air, with Steven looking back at Harrow once again - shifting a bit on his seat, shoulders pulled up, back curved.