"Fuck," Dirk breathes, with something close to real physical pain. He closes his eyes. The subject of narrative, of storytelling and the weekend comes as a hard punch to the gut--not because of the powers themselves, but what comes attendant to them.

"I should have known--I should have put it together after that weekend."

He hates how obvious it is. How clear it would have been if he'd been paying attention. He's a pathetic, deplorable idiot not to have seen it. Abject piece of shit.

"It was right there--right in fucking front of me. No. Not even that. I chalked it up to narrative high and the void it left, but that wasn't it. Did I change after? Was I--nevermind. You wouldn't know. It doesn't matter, anyway." A pause.

"I know I said don't fucking trust me, and I mean it. I'm not all here."

Dirk's expression doesn't change, even as he swerves hard back to Steven's intended point, like what he was just saying didn't happen.

"But on that weekend? There's basically nothing I can't do, or know, except how to fucking leave. John still owes me a favour, but we tested him out and he can't leave either--that doesn't mean anything to you, but trust me when I say there's some real hinky shit going on."