( it's a barbed request, anyway. some childish part of him thinks that endeavor will look at him and say he wished for him, or that he wished to talk, or that he wished that he would just stay. anything to soothe his ego, anything to make him feel like he's worth something: stupid, pedantic things that he shouldn't have even wasted time thinking to begin with. it's always been like this with them, always been him throwing something out and hoping that endeavor will catch it--and he never does. that hole in his heart, desperate, needy, starts to burn and rot around the edges; there's a husky laugh.

his head shakes, eyes darting up to look at the sky above them--the stars are fake and he knows it, but they still twinkle out there like they're far away, like they're capable of holding their wishes there. )

Selfish. ( softly, wryly, like he's going to laugh. ) Selfish to the core.

( is he talking about endeavor? or himself? he doesn't clarify. )

It's gonna be hard for you to atone here when none of your family's here to listen.

( his hands push at the sand beneath him, forcing himself to stand; he feels dizzy, warmed and caked over with anger, and it feels a little like losing his mind--he doesn't know what he's grasping at, doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to stop himself, doesn't know how to start. )

Don't die here, okay? That's what I wish for.

( with a faint, twisting smile: that he directs out at the ocean, because he can't look him in the face again. )