[ everyone keeps saying that of late, but what does that even mean to dolph? it's not as though deserving it lets him have it. whatever worth he scraped off, dragging himself away from eden hasn't absolved, hasn't made him important enough, hasn't helped him carve out a life. he just doesn't want to hear it anymore. he doesn't care to hear how he's worth it because in the end, it's worthless.

"someday, dolph, I will give you the life you deserve." alex. alex. alex said that. alex believed it. and trying to do that broke him. it broke their love. it broke everything. so why the fuck does dolph care about deserving if this is always the end result?

everyone is waiting for the magic to turn dolph into gold, but here he was. tin and copper, beaten down. he's done. there's nothing left to salvage from his parts. no gravestone. just a smear on the ground on another world, far away.

his voice is hoarse. ]

I don't give a shit about that.

[ the words tumble out, blazing, burning in his throat. he's not sure if he's angry. he's not sure if he's heartbroken. he knows vash. he knows why vash would say it that way. he knows the hole vash has dug for himself, a pit with no bottom. he was there for so much of it. ]

I had a present for your birthday. A sapling cutoff from my darjeeling tree. You said you wanted to get better at gardening. I had it ready. I was walking down your castle. I wanted us to do it together. But you were already gone.

I — [ dolph cuts himself off. his voice feels heartsore. ] — I wish you'd fucking try. Just fucking try, for once. Stop doing this to yourself.