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“It’s your house, too, you know,” scolds the housewife as she enters back into the kitchen. “Now both of you, hurry up and come in before it gets cold.”
Caroline disappears back into the house, calling for Tom to come out of his room. But just as you’re about to go back inside, Jean reaches the door first. In a burst of speed you didn’t think he could pull off, he cuts you off, a conflicted, unreadable expression on his face.
…hoo boy.
“Jean, we have to go eat dinner-”
“…punch me.”
You blink. Of all the things you expected, this hadn’t been one of them. “I’m…what?”
“Hit me, dammit!” he insists, almost desperate. “I owe you that much at the very least, after what happened all those years ago…”
He owes you far more than can be settled by just a single punch. Not just for his attack or the price to save Tom’s life. Whether or not he married Caroline to spite you is a question that hasn’t been answered yet…
But your fist tightens out of instinct, even as you protest, “Jean, I’m not going to punch you. We’re about to go eat dinner! Not to moment that the second I do, your wife’s gonna hang us out to dry by our toes!”
Jean shakes his head, gripping onto your shoulders tightly. “You don’t understand, Sinleq. I…I haven’t been sleeping well. Not for the last few years. And it’s been gnawing at me. I see how Caroline writes the letters, how Tom’s been asking if you’re coming to visit. Everything that happened since the accident, all the words I said in the hospital…”
You want to scream at him. What the hell is he trying to pull? You aren’t his therapist, or even his goddamned marriage counselor. It’d be a lie to say that you didn’t dream of punching back, but in this kind of situation?
He continues to shake you. “I want to be friends again! Friends on equal footing!”
Choice of words aside, you never stopped being his friend. Even after…what he had done.
“You’re the only one who can knock all this stupid, petty crap out of me!”
…would it kill him to say 'I’m sorry, Sinleq'?
"We can't go back, but I want to move forward."
<span class="mu-i">"You son of a bitch, you fucking bastard! You...what gave you the right?! He's my son! My...my son!"</span>
You swallow hard, taking one long, hard look at the man who's your brother in all but blood.
<span class="mu-i">"You didn't...we would've...why didn't you tell me before you fucking sold yourself, you bastard?!"</span>
>>Will you punch Jean?
>Yes.
>No.
>>After your interview with the spooks tomorrow, who did you want to hang out with?
>Gully. She had tickets to the local move theater.
>Holt. She wanted to pay you back with dinner.
>>Please structure your vote as the following.
>Punch vote.
>Date vote.
<span class="mu-s">[VOTE OPEN FOR EIGHT(8) HOURS]</span>
