❛ What's going on with you? I know there's something. Just tell me. ❜
They call it family dinner as if it's ever more than the two of them and the same roster of meals that they rarely venture from. Tonight a mostly palatable bolognese with slightly underdone noodles courtesy of John. Once a regularity so dependable he could use it to set his watch, it's become increasingly sporadic to the point there have been nearly three months of missed calls and delayed text responses.
Spinning the too chewy noodles around his fork, he tries to ease the tension in his shoulders. John has never had much luck in lying to @kelstales. Even the preparation for it is a tell and he knows it, but what can he actually say? It's not as if he can explain that the foundation of all knowledge has been shaken for him, that his once steadfast skepticism has given way to new understanding in the face of new and unspeakable truths. He shakes his head, shrugs off the question the same way that he used to shrug off the questions of the people who brought them into this world and internally reviles that it manifested in such a way.
❛ Nothing to tell. Just work. ❜
