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toadletthethird · 3 months ago

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I wrote this oneshot some time ago, and due to the fact that I see more and more skeptunist in the feed (for which I couldn't be happier), I decided to share it. On the menu today: even more hand holding, attempts to outsmart each other in psychoanalysis and accidental confessions of attachment from people who say they never feel attached. So ahhh. Enjoy the show.

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The warm light of the desk lamp illuminated the notebook under his hand, casting long shadows across the scattered papers. Neat stacks from earlier in the evening had surrendered to the chaos of ongoing work, a testament to the hours spent hunched over the table. Worn pencils lay discarded, empty coffee cups adding to the accumulating clutter. But this evening felt different from the many others that had preceded it. This time, there were two of them.

"Isn't the dawn coming soon?"

"And yet you're still here. For what it's worth, I can be here too."

Sometimes they exchanged short remarks. Sometimes they were just silent. But it seemed it was better than being alone.

The opportunist put his elbows on a table, propping up his chin. His hair was slightly uncombed, as if he had run his fingers through it too often, and the shirt was buttoned up out of order—he looked strangely messy for someone who usually spends so much effort to look tidy. His eyes aimlessly stared at the papers nearby. And smile when he talked—it appeared here and there like an old habit, something completely natural, but he made no effort to keep it. It stayed as a shallow shadow in the corners of the mouth.

"It’s impolite to stare like that, you know."

"Did I?"

"Obviously. You always do. Better not squint so much—you have crow's feet already. And get yourself normal glasses." He waved his hand, visibly unhappy with the insistent way he put it. "I mean. I could make an appointment for you. I'm really beneficial."

He felt how wrong it sounded. And, even worse, it was a clear bait for Skeptic to cling to.

"Is everything alright?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"You look tired."

"It's night. How else do you want me to look?" He grinned like he was telling an obvious joke, but it was so out of place that it seemed even more artificial than usual. Both noticed it. He sighed and tilted his head lower in weariness.

Skeptic waited for a few seconds, planning to force him to add something else to the answer, but then, apparently from his own uncertainty, turned away back to his occupation. There was much to do. He could use a break from speculations too—at least one of them should be able to. But the sight of the opportunist suggested he was pondering something as gravely as the detective did. His gaze vacantly followed the movements on the paper. He wasn't reading it. Not even trying to. The opposite of how he used to cling to any clue around him in the next argument, always looking for new levers of pressure. There wasn’t a reason for him to stay now. And still, he was here.

"Hey, want a riddle?"

"Yes?"

"Can you hold my hand for a moment?"

Feeling his stare, the opportunist shrugged, "What I said. I mean, you can do that. Nothing difficult about it," he said as he threw out his arm.

"Why?"

"Don't overcomplicate it. You're here, I'm here, you can write with the other anyway. So, yes or no?"

Skeptic hesitated, probably trying to analyze the situation in these split seconds.

"It's a timed question. Just say no, and I'll leave."

He looked at him for a couple more seconds, trying to guess the intention, after which

He carefully placed his hand under his.

"I've noticed you avoided such contact. I assumed you don’t like it." His voice rose slightly in question. "Are you testing something out?"

"Yeah, well, sort of."

They both went silent, attentively looking at the point of connection. The warmth of the hand below felt unusual, but Opportunist could take it. It was a stable support. Dependable foundation. He tried to loosen up his tense fingers, but the sight of them touching veins on his backhand sent a fresh wave of unease through him. The way his wrist nervously froze didn't look much better. He only now realized how estranged he must appear. He wasn't just uncomfortable; he was shrinking, retreating into himself as if this simple physical contact posed a genuine threat. The strangeness of the situation somehow didn’t intervene with the unexpected gentleness of such a simple sign.

"Is it alright?"

Their eyes met. Furrowed brows compelled the vigilant expression he always had. A bit too strict. Too demanding of meaning. He always wanted to have more than he was given, in a way. They were similar in that. But he was also cautious. Even careful. Especially now.

"That's nothing."

Skeptic lowered his eyes once again. Opportunist's hands were always chilly and slightly clammy, as if it was a warning to everyone that he was a slippery type, someone with whom it should be unpleasant to cooperate from the start. He pushed these thoughts away. It would be wrong to judge from the first impression. Maybe, even from the ninth. Just to see if he would change or if this would be his last life, like a cat's. Skeptic gently stroked his knuckles with a thumb and instantly knew it grabbed his attention.

"Is it too much?"

"No, no. That's fine." His voice trembled for a second, but he hid it quickly.

Skeptic passed over his fingers. He couldn't help but compare it with his own. They were thin and pale against his tawny, rough skin, which was fitting for someone whose hands were ready to work. Someone who'd be ready to face cuts, splinters, and bruises if it was worth it. He wouldn't care enough to notice it, even more so to treat it properly, if not for the thought of how harsh it must feel now.

"You're up in the clouds again," He gave an archly half-smile. "What are you thinking about?"

"My hands are probably too hard."

"That's ridiculous. I wouldn't ask for it otherwise."

Skeptic gave him a quick, curious glance. Then he slowly brought his other hand up to his wrist, gently holding it by the forearm.

"I have a feeling this is what you want. An experiment for... self-reflection. Is it so?"

"Bingo, professor."It was as if he had tightened his grip for a second, still keeping the cheeky demeanor.

"It is an interesting phenomenon.” He leaned over with the interest of a gambling scientist who has discovered something incredibly new, automatically switching to his regular edifying voice. “You're quite tactile with others, but when shown a similar attitude, you seemed very distressed... You look scared. I wonder what the reason behind that is."

"No, I don't."

"Are you scared now?"

"No... I don't think I am."

Skeptic was terribly predictable. As much as the one with a plan must be. It always gave a little reassurance. Even if he were up to something, it would be easy to figure out, especially with the suspicion that was inherent in Opportunist. He knew that the second skeptic was given the opportunity to puzzle over his secrets; he would immediately drop everything—and that's exactly what happened now.

"I believe this is related due to some fundamental feature of the psyche, as it has moved to an unconscious level of reaction. Maybe it's from a core memory or repeated learned pattern." He looked up with a smile, "But I'm not an expert."

"You sure do sound professional."

"How can I not? Also, I believe it correlates directly to your habit of lying."

"I don't have a 'habit.'. Even if I do, it's a strategy. Moreover, to save us both when you keep getting into trouble."

"Don't get defensive so easily. I'm just stating the facts." His eyes sparkled with cruel curiosity. "This is an easy way to distance yourself from others in order to be protected from their influence. The truth provides a mechanism for real impact. You prefer to give false levers. So that no one can hurt you in the ways that matter. This gives you control over the situation—the feeling of it, at least. Am I digging right? I can see I am."

The opportunist's face twisted in discontent. The position of the arms also started to feel suffocating. He was no longer supporting but indifferently holding on, with his mind roving somewhere else. And his skin was harsh after all.

"...So you're avoiding any situation that would put you in a vulnerable position. Apparently, being touched is a clear representation of that. It can't be dodged. But only when you're not the one initiating it, I suppose."

Opportunists finally seized the pause. "Did you really just make that up?"

"No. I had time to think. Moving on, what is your goal here?"

"Huh?"

"You usually have a goal behind every action. I doubt you wanted the introspection that much. And it would be easier not to risk it with... this whole scenario. I generally don't like distractions. I know you're smarter than trying to flatter me with that—I'm not the affectionate type, obviously. What is it then?"

The opportunist started sorting through the options in his head. He could come up with some kind of plan that would be intriguing to figure out. Maybe it's a distraction. Or manipulation. Or some weird way to tell a secret. That would be an understandable reason. But thoughts were stumbling about about what he had just said, and about what answer would please him, and about his hands...

"I just wanted to see if it would feel nice." suddenly slipped out.

"Nice?"

He scowled again, clearly in disbelief. The opportunist felt his whole figure shrink, but it was too late to undo the words, to reclaim the lost ground. "It counts as a reason, right?" He couldn't help but nervously cling to his arm, seeking a small, desperate comfort.

He could practically feel Skeptic judging him, cataloging the pathetic misery of this entire poorly executed performance, as comfortable silence changed to heavy awaiting for his next move.

"Well... is it nice?"

"I don't know. It's... different?"

"I've noticed."

To be in his hold felt warm. Deceitfully welcoming. Opportunist knew better than to trust it, to fall into this fragile giveaway, but the warmth was there, a temporary haven, and he resolved to exploit it while he could. A sudden surge of confidence washed over him. He straightened slightly, his voice regaining its characteristic edge. "And what's your goal, huh? You're quite a go-getter yourself. And so much time into little old me."

"I'm... not sure." His hoarse voice betrayed a hint of vulnerability that the opportunist found both intriguing and unsettling.

"Must be fun to dissect me like some sort of experiment, right?"

He glanced away, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. "I'm not 'dissecting.'."

"C'mon, don't play coy. I'm not even against it, as long as it keeps you entertained. But it's kind of pointless, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

Opportunist sighed, a complacent weariness in his tone. "You think there are facades to people that you can brush off like dust, revealing some good core underneath. But there isn't such a thing as a core. We're all just a whirlwind of words trying to avoid being trapped." He bared his teeth, grinning and flinging away his hands. "What did you expect to hear? 'Ohhh, you're so right! Figured me all out! I am so thankful—now you can fix me!'"

He immediately winced at the caricature but didn't answer.

"What, wrong guess? Well, damn it. No hope for me, it seems. What do you even want then?"

Skeptic narrowed his eyes. "Why do you ask that?"

"Oh no-no, let's talk without questions on questions, shall we? All your 'What do you think? What do you really think? What do you really, really, really think?' I'm sick of your games. If there is a right answer, I fail to guess it, and you keep asking again and again and..." He stumbled, feeling how the line of the dialogue was heading not where he wanted it to. "I mean, I don't know what you want. I don’t know what to show you anymore. Do you even want anything?”

"Why would you try so hard for me?"

"Because we're a team," he drawled it out as something self-explanatory. "That's how collaborations work. And I appreciate our shared achievements. I would like it to stay that way."

He let these words sink in, then, with his voice slow and deliberate, began to speak. "I see. You don't want to be alone."

Opportunist recoiled. "I didn't say that. I said that I wanted to stay in my deserved advantageous position, which is given by our cooperation. And every team needs its contribution."

The skeptic studied his expression with a careful, almost clinical observation until his face brightened with realization.

"Got it."

"Got what?"

But he had already turned away, pretending to end the conversation. Opportunist leaned forward, snapping fingers to catch his attention.

"Hey, you better finish it."

A knowing smile played on the skeptic's lips. "You're scared I'll leave you because you're not as useful to me as before."

Opportunist froze. He didn't even know if it was the truth, but the nagging feeling in his throat gave him a clue. Still, he clearly wanted to see Skeptic’s reaction to his own discovery first before answering, but he seemed to express nothing but satisfaction with solving the puzzle.

"It all checks out. That's why you've been hanging around so much lately, looking worried, talking strangely... That's not a good reason for stress, though. I'm not going to."

The skeptic's smile, as he offered his hands, felt both disarming and strangely inviting. Perhaps without conscious thought, the opportunist reached out, accepting the gesture. The pulse in his wrist throbbed a frantic rhythm against the calmness of the skeptic’s steady hand.

"I think it's time I say something reassuring." There still was uncertainty in his gaze despite the seemingly confident appearance. He spoke a little stiffly, as if every word was difficult for him, but still continued to lead his train of thought. "Listen. I make opinions about people based on their actions. You don’t need to sugarcoat your worries. It’s normal that you need some acknowledgment from me... if I understood that correctly.”

“Maybe? Probably. Depends on what you mean.”

“The point is, I think well of you.” The skeptic continued, his voice gaining strength. “Many of your actions were wrong, and I will never defend them. But I can always explain them. Which means they were justified, by your false beliefs at least. And beliefs are not constant. I know you don't like my morals, but you're the one more reason to be sure of them. You're acting out of fear, not out of cruelty. And when you don't depend on false arguments, you don't pose much of a threat. I think you and I are very similar in this—I'm not without sin either. It's not your fault you're troubled, only the consequences of it. And I see that you behave differently.”

The opportunist smirked, a hint of bitterness coloring his expression. “But I'm still letting you down, am I not?”

“Sometimes. But I’m smarter than to go unprepared—shame on me if I won’t be ready for one of your tricks. And I can’t deny I got used to having you on my side. It would take me a long time to recover if you’d leave." He squeezed his hands slightly, showing how important the next words are to him. "You see, I believe it's worth looking through lies if it means finding at least one truth there. And it’s exciting to investigate. To know you more and more. I don’t think you are as bad as people paint you to be. Why would I believe them without checking first? Plus, it seems to me I have some responsibility for you, considering how attached you've become. Betrayal is not my style. As long as you don’t cut ties yourself, you can count on me. Was that the right thing to say?”

The skeptic’s face was lit up—he was clearly proud of the carefully constructed monologue, although a trace of hesitation was felt through the question. The genuine concern he put into this speech couldn’t flatter. It washed over Opportunist with a wave of triumph for making him admit that their anxieties were mutual and, at the same time, a subtle feeling of… acceptance? The reassurance he craved, subtly woven into his confession, settled deep within. He couldn't help but smile back, so he put back his playful demeanor, chasing off newly appeared hopes.

“A bit embarrassing, but in general—yes.”

“Can’t let me have even this one, can you?”

“Nope.”

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