[ If the question is, "Would Midnight love me, even with this?", the answer is: of course. But he sees these things a bit differently. He understands that he does, has always needed to pick through the contents of a heart carefully in response to his deep pit of wretched, consuming desire to give. Less for their comfort, more because Midnight knows that he can rip through hearts like a typhoon through rice paper. He doesn't have to try. He generally tries not to. (He fails, sometimes.) ]
Talk to me. Another mask. Put it on. Hurt me.
[ He's watching Daan with patient eyes, even if his words are rather steely. He's had people try to hurt themselves before, back when he hadn't realized how much people hurt when they spoke with him like this. He'd rather not repeat the experience of calling hospitals, patching up teethmarks and scratches, especially when one of only two doctors he knows personally in this city is standing in front of him. ]
cw: the therapist part of being a slutty therapist isn't fun, aka self harm mention, not graphic
Talk to me. Another mask. Put it on. Hurt me.
[ He's watching Daan with patient eyes, even if his words are rather steely. He's had people try to hurt themselves before, back when he hadn't realized how much people hurt when they spoke with him like this. He'd rather not repeat the experience of calling hospitals, patching up teethmarks and scratches, especially when one of only two doctors he knows personally in this city is standing in front of him. ]