[If nothing else, he's a good listener—maybe some karmic balance for the fact that he's so bad at sharing, so much of the time. Or maybe just because it's good occupational practice. Helps that the lack of context is really doing a number on his ability to have any control over this situation. The hints she drops are enough to start sketching in the barest ideas of what's in play. Complicated, in the bad blood kind of way. Pride, and principle. Doesn't it always come down to that.
It's a strange dissonant feeling. Being utterly removed from the situation and deeply entrenched at the same time. Out of step and uninvolved and integral, and trying to get an handle on it only makes it that much harder remove himself. It would be easier to be objective, maybe, if the looming idea of it didn't up and confirm a lot of his more uncharitable doubts. (Hardwired insecurities, hard learned lessons.) Didn't strike out of the blue at so many still open wounds. Get burned often enough and you stop looking for trouble by opening yourself up to it. But sometimes, it's just the kind of thing that creeps up on you. (And maybe he'd let it, because some part of him is still starved of the novel idea that someone might just give a damn about him after all.)
Never enough for principle, though, is it. He is hyperaware enough of the sharp sting of betrayal to feel it start to cut through timelines. Rationally. Irrationally. He breathes out in a scoff, sharp and bitter. Then he sets his mug down on the table and pushes himself off to stand. Movement brisk, posture pulling tighter of its own accord. Those grace inches she left him don't feel like very much, all of a sudden.]
I think asking me is looking for an easy way out.
[Easy way out, because he's ostensibly the same man, but he's got none of the cards, and she's not yet wronged him, right. (Or vice versa.) So he can absolve her. Better yet, he can tell her no, it's impossible, and take the need for a decision or a course of action out of her hands entirely. No muss. This is not a kind response, but he's not really a very kind guy. When he's feeling backed into a corner, his first instinct is always to bite back.]
Sure you really know what it is you think you're missing?
[That she can see him as he was and regret is one thing. (And it rings bittersweet and hollow through his foundations, despite himself.) But twenty years is a long time. If she really needs him to tell her what's worth more to her, maybe she's got her answer already.]
no subject
It's a strange dissonant feeling. Being utterly removed from the situation and deeply entrenched at the same time. Out of step and uninvolved and integral, and trying to get an handle on it only makes it that much harder remove himself. It would be easier to be objective, maybe, if the looming idea of it didn't up and confirm a lot of his more uncharitable doubts. (Hardwired insecurities, hard learned lessons.) Didn't strike out of the blue at so many still open wounds. Get burned often enough and you stop looking for trouble by opening yourself up to it. But sometimes, it's just the kind of thing that creeps up on you. (And maybe he'd let it, because some part of him is still starved of the novel idea that someone might just give a damn about him after all.)
Never enough for principle, though, is it. He is hyperaware enough of the sharp sting of betrayal to feel it start to cut through timelines. Rationally. Irrationally. He breathes out in a scoff, sharp and bitter. Then he sets his mug down on the table and pushes himself off to stand. Movement brisk, posture pulling tighter of its own accord. Those grace inches she left him don't feel like very much, all of a sudden.]
I think asking me is looking for an easy way out.
[Easy way out, because he's ostensibly the same man, but he's got none of the cards, and she's not yet wronged him, right. (Or vice versa.) So he can absolve her. Better yet, he can tell her no, it's impossible, and take the need for a decision or a course of action out of her hands entirely. No muss. This is not a kind response, but he's not really a very kind guy. When he's feeling backed into a corner, his first instinct is always to bite back.]
Sure you really know what it is you think you're missing?
[That she can see him as he was and regret is one thing. (And it rings bittersweet and hollow through his foundations, despite himself.) But twenty years is a long time. If she really needs him to tell her what's worth more to her, maybe she's got her answer already.]