It's a while before the reply comes back, while Steven loses himself in prepping the berries because he feels like utter shit right now and it's all of it deserved.

No.

You're right.

I... was going to say that I don't know what's wrong with me, but I do. Just. Not what's wrong with me in this specific context.

I. Don't know how well I'm going to do at this. And maybe I should stick to texting to you where I can actually *see* you, because it's easier not to slip into bad habits that way.

I *do* want to not be such an asshole about this. I'm going to try as hard as *hell* not to.

Can I ask you to tell me when I am being that asshole in case I don't catch it?

Just. I don't know. Think of me as if I were (a monster, he thinks, before typing,) an alien who's gotten really good at faking being a human... but doesn't know how to act when he's not pretending to be a human. And who *is* trying not to pretend anymore, because he's in a place where it might be okay to be a little bit of an alien and he owes it to the people he's placed his trust in to be more honest with them, but the only practice he's ever had at not hiding that he's an alien has been with one single person who he's known since she was born.

Because. That's basically what's going on. More or less.

I don't, actually, want to be this kind of dick, Tyler. But I am fucked if I know how to be honest in any other way. I am going to *try*. Just... please tell me when I'm fucking up. Like, right away. I think I can trust you not to mince words with me.