[Part of him wants nothing more than to lean into Ronan, give in to the shock and despair, and let himself be taken care of. But that's not a part that Adam has ever been able to listen to, and he's long since taught himself not to even listen to it. He spent too many years with nothing but his meager pride and his own two feet, his knowledge that he has no one to lean on but himself. It's going to be a long time before he can accept help easily, before he stops feeling like it's a failure if he has to.
But even with all of that, the guilt of needing help and the difficulty of accepting it, the shame of letting Ronan see him like this - Adam is still pathetically, desperately grateful that Ronan is there.
He could do this alone. He would manage somehow. He always has before, he's always found a way to survive, to cling to whatever he can, dig his fingers in and hold on with the tenacity that's sometimes been all he has left. He has to believe that he would manage even if he were alone.
But he's not. Ronan is here, and though that makes him want to shrivel up in shame at his own weakness, it also makes things easier, both practically and - well. Everything else. He doesn't have to try to balance the bowl, he doesn't have to find food for himself. Ronan is a solid, warm presence next to him. He's not visibly disgusted by Adam's weakness, he's not any of things he could be, things Adam would understand. He's patient instead, caring. Adam knows Ronan has these qualities, has known for a long time, but it always surprises him anew when they're directed at him.]
Thank you.
[He eats. It's - strange. Once or twice he starts trying to take the bowl himself, with his other hand, and then has to stop. It's like when he lost his hearing, when he kept putting earbuds in both ears because he'd forget. He tries to focus on the food instead, on eating as much of it as he can.]
no subject
But even with all of that, the guilt of needing help and the difficulty of accepting it, the shame of letting Ronan see him like this - Adam is still pathetically, desperately grateful that Ronan is there.
He could do this alone. He would manage somehow. He always has before, he's always found a way to survive, to cling to whatever he can, dig his fingers in and hold on with the tenacity that's sometimes been all he has left. He has to believe that he would manage even if he were alone.
But he's not. Ronan is here, and though that makes him want to shrivel up in shame at his own weakness, it also makes things easier, both practically and - well. Everything else. He doesn't have to try to balance the bowl, he doesn't have to find food for himself. Ronan is a solid, warm presence next to him. He's not visibly disgusted by Adam's weakness, he's not any of things he could be, things Adam would understand. He's patient instead, caring. Adam knows Ronan has these qualities, has known for a long time, but it always surprises him anew when they're directed at him.]
Thank you.
[He eats. It's - strange. Once or twice he starts trying to take the bowl himself, with his other hand, and then has to stop. It's like when he lost his hearing, when he kept putting earbuds in both ears because he'd forget. He tries to focus on the food instead, on eating as much of it as he can.]