The galley of the Cape Rouge, Thursday evening

[betterthanaplan]

Duke had had some time since his last therapist appointment to start slowly processing what his therapist had said. Specifically what the man had said about what he believed was the foundation of Duke's issues. A diagnosis if you will.

Which Duke had finally made time to look up and read about after getting home from the diner. And mull over over a cup of tea.

Sure, it wasn't the first time someone had suggested that he had PTSD. He'd kind of just assumed he had that, by now. But C-PTSD. The complex version. The one most associated with survivors of hostage situations or child abuse.

He sipped his tea and stared into space. And wished it didn't make as much sense to him as it did. Wished he didn't check off quite as many of the usual symptoms as he did.

"Fuck."

[for the partners if they wanna]

Comments

[okteiviakom]

Octavia huffed. "Just nothing that will shed microplastics everywhere."

[betterthanaplan]

Duke shuddered dramatically. "Absolutely not. Ocean's full of enough of that crap already."

[okteiviakom]

"Just making sure," Octavia told him, and gave him a little extra squeeze with her arms.

Maybe to counteract the shudder, or something.

[betterthanaplan]

He would not turn down the squeeze, whatever the reason.

"I am . . . exhausted," he said, nuzzling into her hair. "Let's go cuddle somewhere. Pillow room, maybe."

[okteiviakom]

"Sure, why not," Octavia replied, quietly. Though without seeming in much of a rush to move.

Seeing as that meant pulling away from his chest, and she needed to give that a faint nuzzle, herself.