[right][h2]Jay’s Catharsis[/h2]
[@Stanifly][@silver21][@DaftJive][@Tlazolteotl][@Blademusica76][/right]
[color=8882be]“I’m not super close with my family. So when I was younger, my friends were my family. At least emotionally.”[/color]

Something turned over in Jay’s chest. Quiet. The click of a lock they hadn’t known was there.

Was that it?

A tribe. Friends who were present for you, and you for them. Maybe that was what they’d been grieving all this time. Not about the group. Not even about the falling out. But the family that could’ve been…

They let that thought sit for exactly one second before deciding it was way too much to unpack right now. 

[color=lavender]“Actions over words. That’s what worked for me.”[/color] Silver Blade’s words hit bone.

Because [i]yes[/i]. That was it. That was the entire thing, stripped clean. People could say “I care” and say “you matter” and say “I feel a kinship,” and if none of that ever translated into anything you could actually see, then what had any of it been? Actions required follow-through. And follow-through was where it all fell apart.


Jay’s face crumpled into that of someone who’d been chewing on something bitter for six months and just bit through to the pit. They didn’t realize they’d been staring at the floor until they stopped. 

When they looked up, the Moderator was watching them. Warmth in her eyes and patience in her posture. Like Jay could take another six months and she’d still be sitting there with that same expression.

It had been months. Literal months since Jay walked in here to unburden themselves about something that happened even more months ago. And these people—Sirpa, Silver Blade, even the quiet ones who hadn’t said a word—were still here.

Jay appreciated that more than they had the words for.

Now came the harder part. The part where Jay actually talked about [i]themselves[/i]. Which (and they knew this was ridiculous, they [i]knew[/i]) still felt like something that required permission. This was a venting space. That was the entire point. But knowing a thing and feeling it had always been two different countries, and Jay had never held a valid visa to the second one.

At what point did talking about yourself tip over into unsolicited? Where exactly was the line between opening up and making everything about you? Jay had never found it.

Years of “friends” who never asked about you. Never turned the question around. The conversation would just flow around you and carry on, like a current rerouting itself around a rock. After enough of that, you stopped wondering if you were part of the conversation and started wondering if anyone would notice if you weren’t. A body in the chat. Furniture that occasionally typed.

So Jay compensated. Asked about others. Listened more than they spoke. Waited for an invitation to share, which rarely came.

They didn’t want to make anyone feel that way. Replaceable. Invisible. God, they really didn’t want to be that person.

“The people I had a falling out with,” Jay said, fingers finding each other again—interlacing, pulling apart—“it came down to actions not matching their words. And that gap just... eroded everything. I kept trying to trust them. Kept giving them the benefit of the doubt.” A short, flat exhale. “Didn’t matter.”

Another breath. Then:

“Before I go on a whole monologue, I want to be really clear about something.” They looked around the circle, making sure to meet each pair of eyes. “This is [i]my[/i] side. My point of view, and [i]only[/i] my point of view. I don’t speak for the other people involved, and I’m not going to pretend I know what they were thinking. Whatever I say is just what I felt and the impression I got. Nothing more, nothing less. I have no doubt they’ve got their own version of how things went. So just... keep that in mind.”

There. Good. Disclaimer out of the way. 

And then their brain, helpful as always, chose that exact moment to dredge something up from the past: A “friend” talking behind Jay’s back. Just decided what was going on in Jay’s head and passed it around like fact. Never once thinking to just ask. Not once.

All that talk about honesty and trust, and what did these “friends” do? Talk [i]about[/i] someone instead of [i]to[/i] them.

Disgust curled Jay’s lip, eyes narrowing, jaw tight before they’d made a conscious decision to feel anything at all.

The arrival of a newcomer snapped Jay back. They caught the tail end of whatever expression they’d been wearing—felt it, really, in the tightness of their muscles—and smoothed it out. Or tried to.

“Sorry about the face,” they said, forcing a smile that was maybe sixty percent convincing. “That wasn’t aimed at you. Promise. Just—”

They took a breath. Reset. “I’m Jay.” A small wave. “Welcome to... this.”