Twenty-six – 03

[This post is from J.T.’s point of view.]

Seamus just stared at him, deadpan. J.T. stared back, holding his ground despite every instinct to run—or at the very least, avert his gaze to avoid meeting Seamus’s eyes. “I mean it, Seamus,” J.T. said, his voice quiet. “We never would have agreed to the terms the Hunt offered if we didn’t want you here.”

“You didn’t know what you would be getting when you accepted that bargain,” Seamus countered. “In most ways, you still don’t.”

“And even if we never do, who the fuck cares?” He was back to dropping f-bombs left, right, and sideways, like it was back to before the world had come crashing down around them. Stress and annoyance were the usual culprits—or frustration. Right now, it was all three making a partner of exhaustion.

As enjoyable as the morning had been and as relaxing as it had been in the moment, he was hardly as well-rested as he’d hoped to be.

J.T. took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, trying to calm down and swallow his temper. “Are you thinking that you’re out of place here, or are you thinking that people are coming here to attack us because you’re here? Because honestly, I have responses to either one.”

Seamus turned back to the ravine, leaning heavily against the bridge’s railing. “Go ahead, then.”

“Well, to the first point, you’re far more accepted here than you’re likely to be anywhere else outside of the Wild Hunt. Your sister’s here, your cousin, your lover? Where the hell else would you go and why would you want to, all things considered? Despite the fact that shit keeps coming to try to take over or murder us or suck us into wars we didn’t ask to be a part of, things are pretty okay here day to day.” J.T. shook his head. “And to the second, there is no one showing up here becauase you’re here. None of the bullshit we’ve dealt with is about you. It has everything to do with other factors, none of which are your fault. If someone sees taking you out as an added bonus to showing up here to kick our asses or worse, that’s not on your head. Trust me. That doesn’t make anything your fault. I can’t tell you how often we’ve had to pound that into our own heads and other people’s heads, Seamus.”

J.T. slumped against the rail, shaking his head. “Shit happens. None of it’s your fault at the end of the day. It all comes out in the wash.”

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