- How could he have been so careless? Both to forget to see to Peo's needs, while he's probably anxious and scared and hungry, and to let something slip like that. He tries to be deliberate with his words, thinking before speaking, yet the realization hit him too suddenly for him to think better of it. Now she's - now she's asking him that, and -
His gaze breaks away. Putting off telling her is one thing, but he will not lie to her. Not ever. Even if the consequences of his oversight are already threatening to spill out into his tight features, his rigid posture, his fretting hands, flitting over the pages of the book he still holds in his lap. This - this night was never supposed to be about him. This was about her, helping her feel better, making her smile and laugh even though she's sick and the city is in chaos and they don't know who did this, or why. Now he's threatening to take more than he gives, once more, as he always seemed to do. Why, why could he just be here for her, unwavering and supportive, without falling to pieces himself, just once?
His exhale is sharp, burdened, wholly spiteful towards himself. ]
...Not anymore.
[ Then inhaling again quickly, hands up, quick to smooth, to assure, to do anything he can to keep the brunt of this revelation from hurting more than it needs to. Please. Please. ]
- It's - it's fine, there's so many other things going on right now, and - please -
[ Don't worry about him because of this. His friends deserved to be mourned - for what were they, if not all but dead to him now? - but not now, not like this. ]
no subject
- How could he have been so careless? Both to forget to see to Peo's needs, while he's probably anxious and scared and hungry, and to let something slip like that. He tries to be deliberate with his words, thinking before speaking, yet the realization hit him too suddenly for him to think better of it. Now she's - now she's asking him that, and -
His gaze breaks away. Putting off telling her is one thing, but he will not lie to her. Not ever. Even if the consequences of his oversight are already threatening to spill out into his tight features, his rigid posture, his fretting hands, flitting over the pages of the book he still holds in his lap. This - this night was never supposed to be about him. This was about her, helping her feel better, making her smile and laugh even though she's sick and the city is in chaos and they don't know who did this, or why. Now he's threatening to take more than he gives, once more, as he always seemed to do. Why, why could he just be here for her, unwavering and supportive, without falling to pieces himself, just once?
His exhale is sharp, burdened, wholly spiteful towards himself. ]
...Not anymore.
[ Then inhaling again quickly, hands up, quick to smooth, to assure, to do anything he can to keep the brunt of this revelation from hurting more than it needs to. Please. Please. ]
- It's - it's fine, there's so many other things going on right now, and - please -
[ Don't worry about him because of this. His friends deserved to be mourned - for what were they, if not all but dead to him now? - but not now, not like this. ]