Convincing Confessions?

[Raffe]

Not good with feelings, he said, but Raffe didn’t find it so. Words, maybe, but Raffe didn’t confess to be any good at that either. He was better at showing what he felt rather than packaging it up, for usually what he felt was too big to communicate anyway. Right now the softness was written all over his expression. This time when Raffe listened, it was without the glaze that suggested it was an endurance for both their sakes, and more a measure of trust. Like something in him shifted, and he suddenly accepted that they were in this together.

“Fireworks guy,” he said absently, thinking of the hospital. And another weapon. He wondered how many channelers Nox actually knew. The care warmed him through, though, in a way he wasn’t really sure how to explain. Raffe had plenty of friends, and he was never short of company if he wished it, but this was something different.

“I’m a survivor,” he said. “I’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it out.” It wasn’t empty reassurance. He believed it. Dying was way down on the list of his worries despite that it was top of Nox’s priorities, though. He rubbed at his jaw. As far as confessions went, his past paled to insignificance in comparison to Nox’s history. But he wanted to share it.

“He killed her when I was small. I guess I saw it, though I don’t remember. I sat with the body for five days before anyone thought to look for me.” He blurted it without context, then frowned. His jaw flexed, though honestly he didn’t feel much about it anymore. “My dad killed my mother, I mean. That’s how I ended up at the orphanage.” His gaze rose, then flitted away when he felt the emotion rise suddenly in his chest upon meeting Nox’s gaze. It surprised him. Not that he ever really spoke about it to anyone, but it felt raw again. “I think it’s in me too. That kind of anger. I beat a kid once, just for picking fun. I could have just walked away, but I didn’t. The power feels dark like that. What if it changes me?”