Just like that, his mood drops. As does his interested expression. He respects her, even when they have their moments, especially during the times that he doesn’t necessarily even listen to her, either.
It’s why he doesn’t push it, despite how he can sense that there’s more going on inside of her. She can’t hide it from him, and the look in his eyes that he gives her is his way of communicating to her non-verbally that she too, can’t hide it from him.
His hold of her slips, his hand going right back to his side as he continues to stare at her, waiting for her to be the one to make the first move to walk away. Because she always was. She’d walk away and avoid him again for a short period of time, just like she’d done so many times before.
“It’s still light outside.”
He remarks.
“So where you really goin’?”
“A fact I am well aware of. I said I should go to bed, does not mean right this second. I can’t be watering these plants all day. It’d be a waste of time-- and water.”
He knows-- why wouldn’t he? It’s so easy to forget that her headspace is just the same as his. He knows she’s avoiding him, his absence simply makes it easier. He stops touching her, warmth gone and leaving her cold, and there’s a small part of her that craves it returns-- but she also prays that it’s affliction goes all the same. What do I want? What! She feels herself screaming and it rattles her skull.
She knows what she wants. It’s standing right there, asking her where she’s going.
“Inside.” She mutters, staring up at him as she inhales. Still... her eyes are drawn to his hand, and boldly does she force herself to take it, to feel the long talon against the surface of her wrist, raking against pale freckled skin, fingers squeezing tight around his hand, almost as if she’s forcing herself to use him as an anchor, because she knows going inside means it’s another night alone.
“Why are you home early?”
