"My ex-partner. We did jobs together. Robbed banks. Jacked cars. Stole what couldn't be stolen, just because we could. Made Oceans 11 look like the Teletubbies." A snarl, advancing on Kabal. Gloves hands clenching into fists. Len is the thinker, not the brawler, but drowning Kabal in a bowl of punch in front of a crowd would feel better than anything a doctor could give him.
"That wasn't this. Don't get it twisted. Mick was my--" Best friend. Brother. On and off lover, minus the love. And most recently? The man whose only goal in life was to hurt him in every possible way.
"It wasn't like that."
Not for lack of trying. Len tried plenty of times, and it always backfired. Sometimes violently. With neither of them talking for weeks, months, even years, until one of them broke. Usually (always) Len. Like a dumbass moth to an even dumber flame.
Len's never loved something that hasn't hurt him, which is why he doesn't fuck with it.
"Maybe I'd tell you if I thought you gave a shit." Fuck. He shouldn't have said that. Len regrets his words almost as soon as they leave his mouth. There's momentary rage in his eyes, then surprise, upon the realization he's played himself. Shit indeed.
Stupid. Weak. Pathetic.
This is what always happens. He shows his hand. Loses the game.
Len told Mick he was nothing without him, but Mick was the one who was ready and willing to walk away. It was Len holding him back. Doing everything he could to keep them together when Mick was be better off alone. Len never could pull the trigger. That was the real irreconcilable difference between them.
Len gave a shit, and Mick didn't.
He bites his lower lip hard enough to bleed. It takes him out of his head, and away from more dangerous wounds.
"Y'know what? Doesn't matter anymore. I'll go. Enjoy your tramps."
no subject
"That wasn't this. Don't get it twisted. Mick was my--" Best friend. Brother. On and off lover, minus the love. And most recently? The man whose only goal in life was to hurt him in every possible way.
"It wasn't like that."
Not for lack of trying. Len tried plenty of times, and it always backfired. Sometimes violently. With neither of them talking for weeks, months, even years, until one of them broke. Usually (always) Len. Like a dumbass moth to an even dumber flame.
Len's never loved something that hasn't hurt him, which is why he doesn't fuck with it.
"Maybe I'd tell you if I thought you gave a shit." Fuck. He shouldn't have said that. Len regrets his words almost as soon as they leave his mouth. There's momentary rage in his eyes, then surprise, upon the realization he's played himself. Shit indeed.
Stupid. Weak. Pathetic.
This is what always happens. He shows his hand. Loses the game.
Len told Mick he was nothing without him, but Mick was the one who was ready and willing to walk away. It was Len holding him back. Doing everything he could to keep them together when Mick was be better off alone. Len never could pull the trigger. That was the real irreconcilable difference between them.
Len gave a shit, and Mick didn't.
He bites his lower lip hard enough to bleed. It takes him out of his head, and away from more dangerous wounds.
"Y'know what? Doesn't matter anymore. I'll go. Enjoy your tramps."