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"Nobody's telling me," Gil says dismally.
"Huh? But... I mean, someone must've told you! Otherwise, you're saying you just made it all up for no reason, and you're too smart to make things up for no reason."
"...Not for no reason..."
Gil is probably the most confusing person you've ever met. "So you— you did make it up? You just decided to tell yourself you shouldn't be happy? What's the reason?"
"..." He doesn't say anything for a long time. "...It's just true. I-I'm not a good person, Lottie. I-I-I'm a shitty person, and shitty people don't... they don't... they don't get to be happy. Only good people are happy. Like you. You're such a good person, and you're happy all the time, and you... yeah. I-I'm not you, Lottie. I'm shit. Sorry you had to rescue me, and not... and not... not anybody else."
You shift. "Um, you're right that I haven't done anything wrong in my life, but I'm not— I'm not happy <span class="mu-i">all</span> the time."
"Most of the time," he mutters.
"Not most of the time! Um, much of the time, of course, but I... I... maybe I simply do too excellent a job of concealing my inmost anguish, which does rear up, um, on occasion. Probably more than you think it does. You just don't notice because I'm a famously positive thinker, and— you're a horribly negative thinker! That's what this is. You're drunk, and you're negative thinking all over the place, and it's making you all miserable for no reason. You're literally... who's going around telling you you're such an awful person, huh? Did Horse Face or Richard or Pat say that?" You fold your arms. "Or did you just invent it to make yourself feel bad?"
"I didn't inv- invent it..."
"So give me proof! I want proof you're an awful person. Because you're always nice to me, even if you've been grumpy sometimes, and you went out of your way to save me just the other day— and Dream Gil wasn't an awful person, huh? You said Us didn't change anything about you. Well, Dream Gil was sort of... he was sort of lame, but he was nice too! He wasn't awful! So there. You're literally making things up just so you can think them at yourself and be sad."
"I'm not..."
"You <span class="mu-i">are.</span>"
"I'm not!"
"You obviously are. And you want to be happy, right? Blah blah blah, don't deserve it— doesn't matter. Do you want it? Yes! So just..." You spread your arms wide. "...stop! Just stop telling yourself that! It's really easy! You do deserve it, because you're my retainer, and it will last, because... you're not in beetle prison anymore! There. Bam. Say that, instead of whatever junk you were saying before, and you'll feel better. Also, you'll be more useful, instead of moping all the time. Also, you're on fire."
The match has burnt all the way down to Gil's fingertips, which are— are not strictly "on fire," but they appear to be bubbling and scorching. Gil startles and drops the match. "Aw, shit!"
(2/4)
