@undoings continued from here.
Okay, great, that came out wrong, it sounds like he’s refuting her or, like, denying her her own belief, which is awful and not something he is capable of or entitled to doing, obviously. He doesn’t think that.
“No, uh, I mean, I mean ‘no’ as in, sorry, uh, I should, if, I can leave. If one of us is leaving, I can. You don’t have to leave. You can, you can stay.”
They are in his apartment.
He points hesitantly, suggestively to his front door with his eyebrows raised.
“Do you want me to leave?”
Oh man, does she feel trapped in here? Did he lock the door? He can’t remember. In a panic, he throws his house keys onto the coffee table between them. To, you know, show he isn’t her keeper. He should maybe go unlock the door. But, to her, that might look like he’s actually locking it instead. What kind of walk to the door would best convey this intent? A slow saunter? A casual meandering? He thinks of his broad shoulders, his stubbly face, his pronounced brow. In no world could his natural physique and demeanor ever illicit a calmer atmosphere regardless of the action. Like, he held a baby yesterday (a boy: yes, he asked first) and it cried as soon as it touched his skin. Immediately. Didn’t even make it to his arms. It’s best he stays here. On the couch. Where he can slouch. Across from Dory. With a coffee table barrier between them. Keeping them five feet apart. His gaze hops all over her face–looking for emotion, thought–like a floundering fish flailing on a dock.
well, now she feels bad. it’s a little unnatural for stubborn old dory to switch extremes so quickly, but he’s proved himself to be hapless a hundred times over, and she can’t stand to watch. he’s not the fun kind of train wreck, eliciting sympathy over comedy.
‘ no it’s fine, man, it’s fine. i said what i said just so it was out there, you know? i just wanted to be honest about how you sounded so you know for next time. i’m okay though, dude, i’m comfortable. i promise. ’
she forces a smile and tries her best to look friendly, even though she’s realizing she’s unsure what “looking friendly" entails past a show of teeth. has anyone ever known or have we all just thought up individual meanings in our own time? never mind, doesn’t matter, as long as the warmth in her cheeks doesn’t look too put on. it’ll take years off her life if she has to act more fine than this to convince him she really is. men, in her experience, like to test your word instead of taking it. that said, maybe she should stop trying to make assumptions about bev. he is...something else. something new, at least. not a type of person she can find a one to one comparison for. which could be for the best, as her previous judgement calls keep ending up bloodied. keith powell would agree, watching from the far corner, boring holes into the back of dory’s head. a hallucination with the conviction of someone living.
‘ we can change the subject and talk about, dogs, or whatever. ’
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