Oh fuck. To say that Steve's story is relatable is a hell of an understatement. Jim's expression freezes a moment, his face paling a shade or two, even before Steve gets to the heart of the matter, the wastefulness he feels and the bullshit mind games that never stop no matter how much you try to rationalize it away.
Seeing that the other man is making himself another sandwich anyway is a small comfort, part of the anxious knot in his chest loosening, despite a whole new type of agitation taking hold. He can't talk about his own reasons. He can't. Even Hunter doesn't know it all, more than the basics of what happened, more than he should know. But he also can't just... sit here like a statue and let Steve think that he's alone. Not when his own neuroses are playing a part here, too.
No specifics. No names. People, places, nothing. Jim crosses his arms over his chest, uneasy but set on saying something. "I've gone without, before. Seen others... others too. Had to eat when I could." The less said about that, the better. It's been long enough, now, that he can shove those thoughts aside, force them to the background, well aware that they're going to come back with a vengeance the next time he closes his eyes at night. But James T. Kirk is nothing if not stubborn, and he continues, not making eye contact. The sooner he gets this over with, the sooner he can stop. "I have a... hard time, having food and not eating it. Or watching other people."
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branchandroot
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Date: 2018-03-12 01:31 am (UTC)Seeing that the other man is making himself another sandwich anyway is a small comfort, part of the anxious knot in his chest loosening, despite a whole new type of agitation taking hold. He can't talk about his own reasons. He can't. Even Hunter doesn't know it all, more than the basics of what happened, more than he should know. But he also can't just... sit here like a statue and let Steve think that he's alone. Not when his own neuroses are playing a part here, too.
No specifics. No names. People, places, nothing. Jim crosses his arms over his chest, uneasy but set on saying something. "I've gone without, before. Seen others... others too. Had to eat when I could." The less said about that, the better. It's been long enough, now, that he can shove those thoughts aside, force them to the background, well aware that they're going to come back with a vengeance the next time he closes his eyes at night. But James T. Kirk is nothing if not stubborn, and he continues, not making eye contact. The sooner he gets this over with, the sooner he can stop. "I have a... hard time, having food and not eating it. Or watching other people."