Right. [Basically that should've been a huff instead of a word, and instead of swiping his hand to open his door he thwacks the console while she laughs. Her laughter doesn't do a damned thing to stem the annoyed tide he's got going on, but it checks its vehemence somewhat - always sobering when someone who isn't a nation catches a glimpse of just how ridiculous they can be - and in her case it always seems to feel more like she walked in on him doing something far more embarrassing than ranting about a petty grudge.
So the tail end of his mini tirade comes out in a rush as he jerks his head to let her step in, eyes suddenly locked on a patch of wall.]
Yeah, well. Sometimes people are dumb. What can you do?
[Not much. And in a display of being dumb and doing not much about it, once she's in his room she sort of... freezes up. Tries to keep it low-key, tries to cling to that brief burst of normality, but it's hard when she just doesn't know what to do anymore. All the usual options - flop down somewhere, grab Lodewijk for a kiss, grab him - are worthy of a lot more forethought than she's used to giving this and she just hovers. Jams her hands in the pockets of her jeans and shifts her weight to her back foot in the hopes it'll look casual.]
[Well, she's freezing in the middle of where he wants his bike to go, so even though he notices it and shuts up he lightly rams the shitty tires against her calves.]
In the way. Like that.
[As if the prodding wasn't enough, but Lodewijk is dashing back and forth and in and out between her and him and the bike - the little guy is plenty used to bikes - and that's more than a little distracting. And he could just tell her where her gift was, but. He doesn't want her sorting through his stuff. More importantly, he wants to be able to give it to her, which is suddenly much more daunting as he realizes he has to fight the desire not to on two different fronts. So he chews on his lip and stares down at the carpet as the door slides shut (how final) and waits for her to move as he writes what he needs to say in his head.]
[Smooth, Mason. Still, him being kind of a jerk about it is weirdly, depressingly comforting and she steps lightly out of the way, careful of Lodewijk rocketing around on the floor. His enthusiasm is adorable and once she's out of the bike's intended path she crouches down and flashes the rabbit a wink. Thanks for keeping the secret, little guy.]
Hasn't seen a lot of people lately, [he mutters, resting the bike against the wall and oh if he only knew.] Can't take 'im to the Gardens right now.
[But he doesn't elaborate on it and even though he wants to he doesn't look the two of them over, either. No comment on teasing the rabbit - too used to it to notice. Instead he changes the topic and opens a desk drawer to paw around, obviously stalling because that shit is way too organized for him to have to paw around for anything that's there, let alone a book.]
Uh. [And a glance to the bike only to realize that he's still got one hand on the handlebars - after some glaring he rips it away, looks at her, shy again.] Don't think this is -
[As good as a bike. No way.]
Hope it's okay.
[With that he comes over and flops on the floor by them (too close, doesn't notice), holding a book that actually looks pretty damn nice despite the fact that it's bound in staking twine from the Gardens and the cover isn't leather - none here - but something a little more impractical for a book. Wood, because that's what is around to use, plain and rough-hewn. And of course he doesn't hand it over, just thumbs at it and watches to see what she thinks so far. Handing it over is going to take another minute of steeling himself.]
[She's just going to leave that alone. It's not lying if she doesn't say anything, okay, even if she does make a little 'oops' face at Lodewijk in the meantime, petting his ears while Netherlands does whatever he needs to do over there because he's really not fooling anyone. Looks up at the uh and then goes silent and still.
That's a book.
So everything from him drawing her attention to it to settling on the floor is observed dumbly, wide-eyed and with her lips parted around what she was going to say like she hasn't realized she's not saying it. Too close? Who cares, she's leaning towards him anyway, though she's keeping her hands to herself for now.]
You made this.
[It's not a question, however weighted with feeling it is. One hand comes up and then closes, rests on her knee, because damn she wants to touch it but. Baby steps.]
[The longer she stares the more he fidgets, thinking that she'd probably have liked a book with more words in it and maybe he should've transcribed her a book of poetry or history or folk tales instead of what it is - a book full of carefully illustrated flowers and their meanings penned out slowly, not in his usual scrawl, alongside. There's the occasional comment or tale to go along with a few, but. It's not really a book to read so much as a dictionary with pretty pictures.]
Yeah. Uh. Started a while ago - when...
[Then he loses track of what he was going to say when he sees how much she wants it, glances down, mostly apprehensive but a tad possessive. Just. Get it over with. He turns it over so it's sitting on his palm and pushes it forward with a sigh.]
[Whatever he had been going to say, she's taking it to mean the same thing as what had happened with the bike, which she'd asked for when she was still flush-cheeked and giddy on what might have been. So there's a beat where she drops her eyes to the floor, but then he's holding it out to her and - well.
She takes it, not exactly gingerly but a little more slowly than she ordinarily might. Skims a hand over the wooden cover, gentle fingertips over the twine bindings, but when she finally opens it she goes still again, a sharp little inhale.
It's nothing she'd ever have thought she wanted, not something she'd ask for, but now that it's here in her hands it's perfect and that's a familiar feeling that ought to be a kick in the gut but she's too busy poring over those beautiful illustrations and the careful shapes of his handwriting to make the connection. Lost in it to the point where her quiet is actually pretty rude before she remembers to respond.]
[Before that, even. When she was gone was the rest of it, when he had too much time to miss her and not enough to distract himself with and (foolishly, maybe) hoped he wasn't wasting his time working on a book he might never be able to give away. Kind of makes it easier to give it away, now, because at the time he started he wasn't sure if he'd have to opportunity to. He doesn't make a single move to get it back, just ducks his head and watches her like his hair is down and hanging in his eyes to hide behind. Another old, childlike habit he's mostly grown out of - his hair hasn't regularly gone unstyled for two hundred years - not sure if her silence is good or bad.
When she does speak he blinks and slowly tilts his chin up, confusion flickering for a moment because why couldn't she. Oh. Right. He bites his lip for a moment and nods. Of course it is.]
[As soon as he nods she's moving, throwing her arms around him with the book still clutched firmly in one hand. Tucks her face in against his shoulder and breathes in slowly, breathes him in, and when she breathes out again it's shaky. When she speaks (still holding him, face still tucked close), her voice is tight.]
Thank you. It's beautiful.
[And it's clear that so much care has gone into it, it must have taken forever. Which means she's been wrong about at least one assumption she'd made about his behavior and the mask. And she's not crying, okay, she's just misting up a little. Right into the shoulder of his jumpsuit.]
[After the way she's tiptoed around him he's not expecting her to basically fling herself around him and then stay there, though he wastes no time in pulling her close, awkward with his legs in the way but that doesn't matter as soon as he hears how she sounds. With that his hand comes up to the back of her head and he swallows. Probably too close. Damn.]
Prob'ly shoulda made you something with - stories. Instead.
[Not that he's trying to write off her thanks, it's just. He's nervous - not sure why she's so close and so shaky and not sure what to do about it, let alone what she's okay with right now - and the worry he's been dwelling over is the first one out.]
But, uh... [Nope, asking if she's alright is abandoned as he concentrates on not pulling her into his lap or nuzzling against her hair. It's harder than it really should be, and he tilts his head back to look at the ceiling just so he won't be tempted. Stupid question, anyway.] Good. That y'think so.
[And because she's sort of laughing and Definitely Not Crying (honestly, she's out of the danger zone - especially with him being so him about it and immediately finding fault where none exists - but there's a lingering waver to her voice anyway and that comes out half-hiccuped and weird. She makes a face against his shoulder, turns her head to rest it there a moment, and clarifies.]
I've had books of stories all my life. I love them, but I've never had anything like this.
[She told him to shut up but his head flops back down and he attempts to send her a look over it anyway, only to abort the entire thing halfway through, about the time she scowls against his shoulder. Oh. That's no good and even though she sounds fine with her next sentence one half-hiccup is enough to kickstart a panicked need to fix it.
Which. Kind of also kills his ability to translate thoughts into words, regardless of language. He sighs and he's not sure which one of them it's directed to, decides fuck it and pulls her closer, starts stroking his fingers through her hair.]
Like this. Is it - okay?
[No, he has no idea what "it" refers to. The gift or her not-crying or the hug or herself or them or, hell, maybe all of it. Whatever one she wants to answer.]
[She sighs too, just as soon as his fingers go to her hair, but it's as much relieved as it is frustrated with herself. She tips her head back though - slowly, to make it clear she's not trying to get away from his touch - and gives him a little smile. She really isn't crying, just a little damp-eyes and pink-cheeked.]
I'm not upset. It's fine, it's - it's nice.
[A pause, a beat where she manages not to frown and just breathes carefully instead, a little more aware of how sudden that was, how erratic she must seem.]
Do you want me to move? [and her smile hooks at the corner there, a little cheeky, much more like her usual self.] 'cause I don't want to, so if that's what you need you're gonna hafta tell me.
[Maybe not crying, but he bites the inside of his cheek and frowns as he scrutinizes her damp eyes anyway. If she's not upset then he really wants to know what it is. On the other hand she's edging back to normal and he doesn't want to shove her right back to - whatever the hell it is. Was.
At first he looks bewildered when she says need, but then he gets it and remembers that shit in the Gardens and gets flustered all at the same time, light color to his cheeks.]
It's fine.
[Well, it was, but now he's thinking of kissing all over again. He turns his head to look across the room and focuses on Lodewijk like that'll help.]
[No, don't ask "can I ask" because he might just say yes instead of answering and who knows how he'll take it if you smack him right now]
When did you start this? The book.
[Heather you've been edgy enough for long enough that you at least owe him an explanation for the sudden gear shift, okay. So she stays tucked close - looks at his ear, absently thinks hello, kitty and then has a brief oh fuck moment before she's completely reassured she didn't say that out loud, and shrugs.]
I guess what I really wanna ask you is when you started wearing the mask.
[The first question is easy enough to answer and he's about to speak when her second question makes him forget that he's supposed to be looking across the room. He frowns at her as best as he can manage and raises a brow, wondering how the hell one of those can be a replacement for the other, and just as abruptly turns his attention back to Lodewijk.
When he started wearing the mask - it's not a question he wants to answer because it was spectacularly stupid. Late enough that he knew better than to fuck with them, late enough that she was back and that should've been good enough, right. She's either going to (rightly) throttle him for being a moron or say she's disappointed or start crying for real. Nothing good. His arm around her tenses and if she weren't tucked into his shoulder he'd be tucking into himself. But she asked and he owes her any answer she wants about the mask.]
After Japan left. Again. [And quickly, spilled out and messy - ] I know it was fuckin' dumb. I just -
[Missed everyone. Wanted to see them again. That thought doesn't make it to the air, though.]
[Not okay, because it isn't, at all. It was fuckin' dumb, yes. But also -]
understandable, I guess. I mean if you knew what they did by then, and you'd just lost somebody from home... I get it, I think.
[She doesn't, not really. And his answer doesn't give her the information she'd been hoping for but it's something, right. He's talking about it. To her. It's a start.]
Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying it wasn't an asshole move. 'cause it really was. But -
[she's thinking a lot of people put theirs on under a lot less strain than he did, but ti's not really a constructive thing to say. Hey, you're a dumbass, but at least you're not the biggest dumbass? No.]
It's gone now. And if you try to get it back, I'm here to kick the dumb out of you.
[Goddamnit he's actually blushing even as he glares a hole in the floor. It's not hard to admit he's made a mistake, but admitting that he knew he was making a mistake as he was doing it is something else. And he wants to look at her, kind of a thanks for being there and threatening to kick his ass, but at the same time he can't bring himself to. Just thumbs over her shoulder with the arm around her since he can't really pull her tighter without it getting weird.
So he mutters "thanks" at the floor and shoves down the urge to point out it was stolen from him and frowns as he wonders what "asshole move" is supposed to mean. Mouths it without realizing.]
[It's probably a little creepy that she's using his inability to look at her as an opportunity to pretty much stare at him. It's just that eye contact has been uncomfortable for so long, and she's been aware that he kinda looks like hell but it's only now that she's seeing just how much of the strain is showing in his face. And given how much of himself he usually hold back, the implications of what he must actually be feeling are pretty horrible.
It's kind of funny when it's that phrase, out of everything, that seems to puzzle him. And right now any funny is welcome relief. So she shake her head and shifts, because her positioning is kind of uncomfortable - just sits next to him, leaning on him, setting the book in her lap - and tries to explain without sounding like a moron.]
It's just... uh, something you'd have to be kind of an asshole to do. [There's not as much apology in there as there could be because hey, it's true.] I mean come on, you're like seven feet tall and super strong. The danger factor around you going nuts is a little higher than for most of the other jerks around here.
[His arm doesn't leave when she shifts. Instead of being wrapped around her shoulders it slips to wrap around her waist as he lets her lean and resists the urge to tug her just that much closer. While she explains he still keeps staring at the floor, no recognition happening and if anything when he finally darts a look over he looks even more confused. He's stronger than a lot of people and that makes him an asshole?]
... what.
[About zero of that is computing. Being able to beat up people is not what makes him a danger to others.]
[Wow, Heather, you're doing the best job at explaining this. Meanwhile, another thing that shouldn't be comforting but kind of is? That flat what. She blows her bangs up out of her face and takes a beat.]
Not just you. Just... the more damage you can do, the more of a responsibility you have to make sure you don't. But I know I'm not exactly impartial here.
[She's not even sure where she's going with it anymore, just painfully aware that no matter how she tries to frame it her objections to the mask are always going to be personal. Is she kind of disappointed he knew the risks and still did something that could put people in danger? Yes. Is she way more focused on the fact that she's still confused about where they stand? Hell yes.]
Sorry. It's done, it's not - not important anymore.
[Damn, it'd be nice to smoke and think this over. Or just smoke. It's been a bit and half of that time has been stressful, but then he'd either have to smoke in her face or scoot away and neither of those are gonna fly. So he chews on his lip and blinks down as she explains, halfway stuck in his own head turning it over.]
Guess so. [Back to the present. He looks at her for a quiet moment, swipes at his hair with his other hand and sighs.] Mm, no. It is. Didn't, uh, think of anyone here, first time -
[And it was a day or two between the first and the second time and in that time he really should've fessed up, trusted someone to handle it before it got away from him. Shouldn't have trusted that he could handle it. His eyes slide to the side, guilty, because they wouldn't be in this mess if he'd gone to her in the first place.]
Fucked it up after that. [Another sigh, then he looks down at her without trying to hide the worry at the edges of his expression.] Shoulda said somethin'. Before I tried it again.
[Softly, though, because of that look on his face. Things she wishes she could fix and is finally starting to understand she can't, because for the most part they're nothing to do with her.]
I'm still worried about you, you know. I'm not gonna pretend I'm not hurt and kinda mad at you, but mostly I'm just worried.
[She wets her lips, tries to find a way to say what's in her head without sounding like and after-school special and comes up with nothing. Hell with it, she'll say it anyway.]
I want you to come to me if something's wrong. If you feel like you need to talk about something, or whatever. I know this is all different and weird now but it doesn't make me care about you any less. I still want to help.
[Worry overlaid with guilt all over again and he can't tell if the way she's speaking, careful and gentle, is making this harder or easier. Part of him thanks it'd be easier if she was more angry with him - open, caring sincerity in discussions is hard to handle and especially to sustain without him either closing up or them getting awkward. But it's also reassuring, that she can say she's mad and doesn't make to pull away.]
An' what if what's wrong is - y'know.
[Them. He squeezes her for a second rather than saying it aloud, not quite a hug, before he levels a look that's a little more solemn.]
You don't come, either. When something's wrong.
[And he doesn't only mean that she doesn't come to him. Last time he knows of that she had a problem, she left - didn't come to anyone at all - almost died. It's in the back of his mind, lurking, but probably shows on his face anyway. The more important thing is that he suddenly wonders if she's been waiting on him to say something similar to her, when to him it's a given.]
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So the tail end of his mini tirade comes out in a rush as he jerks his head to let her step in, eyes suddenly locked on a patch of wall.]
But Hello Kitty made a lot more money.
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[Not much. And in a display of being dumb and doing not much about it, once she's in his room she sort of... freezes up. Tries to keep it low-key, tries to cling to that brief burst of normality, but it's hard when she just doesn't know what to do anymore. All the usual options - flop down somewhere, grab Lodewijk for a kiss, grab him - are worthy of a lot more forethought than she's used to giving this and she just hovers. Jams her hands in the pockets of her jeans and shifts her weight to her back foot in the hopes it'll look casual.]
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In the way. Like that.
[As if the prodding wasn't enough, but Lodewijk is dashing back and forth and in and out between her and him and the bike - the little guy is plenty used to bikes - and that's more than a little distracting. And he could just tell her where her gift was, but. He doesn't want her sorting through his stuff. More importantly, he wants to be able to give it to her, which is suddenly much more daunting as he realizes he has to fight the desire not to on two different fronts. So he chews on his lip and stares down at the carpet as the door slides shut (how final) and waits for her to move as he writes what he needs to say in his head.]
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[Smooth, Mason. Still, him being kind of a jerk about it is weirdly, depressingly comforting and she steps lightly out of the way, careful of Lodewijk rocketing around on the floor. His enthusiasm is adorable and once she's out of the bike's intended path she crouches down and flashes the rabbit a wink. Thanks for keeping the secret, little guy.]
Somebody's excited. And awake, wow.
[Yes she is now teasing the rabbit, what of it.]
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[But he doesn't elaborate on it and even though he wants to he doesn't look the two of them over, either. No comment on teasing the rabbit - too used to it to notice. Instead he changes the topic and opens a desk drawer to paw around, obviously stalling because that shit is way too organized for him to have to paw around for anything that's there, let alone a book.]
Uh. [And a glance to the bike only to realize that he's still got one hand on the handlebars - after some glaring he rips it away, looks at her, shy again.] Don't think this is -
[As good as a bike. No way.]
Hope it's okay.
[With that he comes over and flops on the floor by them (too close, doesn't notice), holding a book that actually looks pretty damn nice despite the fact that it's bound in staking twine from the Gardens and the cover isn't leather - none here - but something a little more impractical for a book. Wood, because that's what is around to use, plain and rough-hewn. And of course he doesn't hand it over, just thumbs at it and watches to see what she thinks so far. Handing it over is going to take another minute of steeling himself.]
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That's a book.
So everything from him drawing her attention to it to settling on the floor is observed dumbly, wide-eyed and with her lips parted around what she was going to say like she hasn't realized she's not saying it. Too close? Who cares, she's leaning towards him anyway, though she's keeping her hands to herself for now.]
You made this.
[It's not a question, however weighted with feeling it is. One hand comes up and then closes, rests on her knee, because damn she wants to touch it but. Baby steps.]
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Yeah. Uh. Started a while ago - when...
[Then he loses track of what he was going to say when he sees how much she wants it, glances down, mostly apprehensive but a tad possessive. Just. Get it over with. He turns it over so it's sitting on his palm and pushes it forward with a sigh.]
Take it.
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She takes it, not exactly gingerly but a little more slowly than she ordinarily might. Skims a hand over the wooden cover, gentle fingertips over the twine bindings, but when she finally opens it she goes still again, a sharp little inhale.
It's nothing she'd ever have thought she wanted, not something she'd ask for, but now that it's here in her hands it's perfect and that's a familiar feeling that ought to be a kick in the gut but she's too busy poring over those beautiful illustrations and the careful shapes of his handwriting to make the connection. Lost in it to the point where her quiet is actually pretty rude before she remembers to respond.]
I - this is -
If I hug you right now, would that be okay?
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When she does speak he blinks and slowly tilts his chin up, confusion flickering for a moment because why couldn't she. Oh. Right. He bites his lip for a moment and nods. Of course it is.]
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Thank you. It's beautiful.
[And it's clear that so much care has gone into it, it must have taken forever. Which means she's been wrong about at least one assumption she'd made about his behavior and the mask. And she's not crying, okay, she's just misting up a little. Right into the shoulder of his jumpsuit.]
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Prob'ly shoulda made you something with - stories. Instead.
[Not that he's trying to write off her thanks, it's just. He's nervous - not sure why she's so close and so shaky and not sure what to do about it, let alone what she's okay with right now - and the worry he's been dwelling over is the first one out.]
But, uh... [Nope, asking if she's alright is abandoned as he concentrates on not pulling her into his lap or nuzzling against her hair. It's harder than it really should be, and he tilts his head back to look at the ceiling just so he won't be tempted. Stupid question, anyway.] Good. That y'think so.
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[And because she's sort of laughing and Definitely Not Crying (honestly, she's out of the danger zone - especially with him being so him about it and immediately finding fault where none exists - but there's a lingering waver to her voice anyway and that comes out half-hiccuped and weird. She makes a face against his shoulder, turns her head to rest it there a moment, and clarifies.]
I've had books of stories all my life. I love them, but I've never had anything like this.
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Which. Kind of also kills his ability to translate thoughts into words, regardless of language. He sighs and he's not sure which one of them it's directed to, decides fuck it and pulls her closer, starts stroking his fingers through her hair.]
Like this. Is it - okay?
[No, he has no idea what "it" refers to. The gift or her not-crying or the hug or herself or them or, hell, maybe all of it. Whatever one she wants to answer.]
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I'm not upset. It's fine, it's - it's nice.
[A pause, a beat where she manages not to frown and just breathes carefully instead, a little more aware of how sudden that was, how erratic she must seem.]
Do you want me to move? [and her smile hooks at the corner there, a little cheeky, much more like her usual self.] 'cause I don't want to, so if that's what you need you're gonna hafta tell me.
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At first he looks bewildered when she says need, but then he gets it and remembers that shit in the Gardens and gets flustered all at the same time, light color to his cheeks.]
It's fine.
[Well, it was, but now he's thinking of kissing all over again. He turns his head to look across the room and focuses on Lodewijk like that'll help.]
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[No, don't ask "can I ask" because he might just say yes instead of answering and who knows how he'll take it if you smack him right now]
When did you start this? The book.
[Heather you've been edgy enough for long enough that you at least owe him an explanation for the sudden gear shift, okay. So she stays tucked close - looks at his ear, absently thinks hello, kitty and then has a brief oh fuck moment before she's completely reassured she didn't say that out loud, and shrugs.]
I guess what I really wanna ask you is when you started wearing the mask.
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When he started wearing the mask - it's not a question he wants to answer because it was spectacularly stupid. Late enough that he knew better than to fuck with them, late enough that she was back and that should've been good enough, right. She's either going to (rightly) throttle him for being a moron or say she's disappointed or start crying for real. Nothing good. His arm around her tenses and if she weren't tucked into his shoulder he'd be tucking into himself. But she asked and he owes her any answer she wants about the mask.]
After Japan left. Again. [And quickly, spilled out and messy - ] I know it was fuckin' dumb. I just -
[Missed everyone. Wanted to see them again. That thought doesn't make it to the air, though.]
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[Not okay, because it isn't, at all. It was fuckin' dumb, yes. But also -]
understandable, I guess. I mean if you knew what they did by then, and you'd just lost somebody from home... I get it, I think.
[She doesn't, not really. And his answer doesn't give her the information she'd been hoping for but it's something, right. He's talking about it. To her. It's a start.]
Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying it wasn't an asshole move. 'cause it really was. But -
[she's thinking a lot of people put theirs on under a lot less strain than he did, but ti's not really a constructive thing to say. Hey, you're a dumbass, but at least you're not the biggest dumbass? No.]
It's gone now. And if you try to get it back, I'm here to kick the dumb out of you.
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[Goddamnit he's actually blushing even as he glares a hole in the floor. It's not hard to admit he's made a mistake, but admitting that he knew he was making a mistake as he was doing it is something else. And he wants to look at her, kind of a thanks for being there and threatening to kick his ass, but at the same time he can't bring himself to. Just thumbs over her shoulder with the arm around her since he can't really pull her tighter without it getting weird.
So he mutters "thanks" at the floor and shoves down the urge to point out it was stolen from him and frowns as he wonders what "asshole move" is supposed to mean. Mouths it without realizing.]
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It's kind of funny when it's that phrase, out of everything, that seems to puzzle him. And right now any funny is welcome relief. So she shake her head and shifts, because her positioning is kind of uncomfortable - just sits next to him, leaning on him, setting the book in her lap - and tries to explain without sounding like a moron.]
It's just... uh, something you'd have to be kind of an asshole to do. [There's not as much apology in there as there could be because hey, it's true.] I mean come on, you're like seven feet tall and super strong. The danger factor around you going nuts is a little higher than for most of the other jerks around here.
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... what.
[About zero of that is computing. Being able to beat up people is not what makes him a danger to others.]
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Not just you. Just... the more damage you can do, the more of a responsibility you have to make sure you don't. But I know I'm not exactly impartial here.
[She's not even sure where she's going with it anymore, just painfully aware that no matter how she tries to frame it her objections to the mask are always going to be personal. Is she kind of disappointed he knew the risks and still did something that could put people in danger? Yes. Is she way more focused on the fact that she's still confused about where they stand? Hell yes.]
Sorry. It's done, it's not - not important anymore.
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Guess so. [Back to the present. He looks at her for a quiet moment, swipes at his hair with his other hand and sighs.] Mm, no. It is. Didn't, uh, think of anyone here, first time -
[And it was a day or two between the first and the second time and in that time he really should've fessed up, trusted someone to handle it before it got away from him. Shouldn't have trusted that he could handle it. His eyes slide to the side, guilty, because they wouldn't be in this mess if he'd gone to her in the first place.]
Fucked it up after that. [Another sigh, then he looks down at her without trying to hide the worry at the edges of his expression.] Shoulda said somethin'. Before I tried it again.
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[Softly, though, because of that look on his face. Things she wishes she could fix and is finally starting to understand she can't, because for the most part they're nothing to do with her.]
I'm still worried about you, you know. I'm not gonna pretend I'm not hurt and kinda mad at you, but mostly I'm just worried.
[She wets her lips, tries to find a way to say what's in her head without sounding like and after-school special and comes up with nothing. Hell with it, she'll say it anyway.]
I want you to come to me if something's wrong. If you feel like you need to talk about something, or whatever. I know this is all different and weird now but it doesn't make me care about you any less. I still want to help.
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An' what if what's wrong is - y'know.
[Them. He squeezes her for a second rather than saying it aloud, not quite a hug, before he levels a look that's a little more solemn.]
You don't come, either. When something's wrong.
[And he doesn't only mean that she doesn't come to him. Last time he knows of that she had a problem, she left - didn't come to anyone at all - almost died. It's in the back of his mind, lurking, but probably shows on his face anyway. The more important thing is that he suddenly wonders if she's been waiting on him to say something similar to her, when to him it's a given.]
Uh. Y'know you can, right.
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