[He rubs his eyes, and for a moment Aubrey thinks he heard it the way she didn’t mean: “You were never a burden,” not then, but maybe…
[He’s not a burden, but that’s what Aubrey’s gotten good at anyway—treating him like one. Ignoring him. Talking down to him. Dragging him into her space and demanding he answer for what no one can—
[He thanks her.
[She stares at him like she doesn’t understand. He keeps talking. She doesn’t understand.
[He should really hate her.]
A-alright.
[Aubrey takes a step back. Another. Back thumps against wall and her breath catches as if she’s startled, and she’s not, and she’s covered her face with a hand before the first tears can escape. She doesn’t like crying in front of people, either; always felt worse at holding back than him.]
[“Later.” Bizarre, how that’s the word that gets her—to stifle it, that is. He’s not offering to stay now, in this heavy and hellish moment, who should be listening to whom be damned. He can listen; just not now.
[It feels like a consolation. A compromise. Aubrey can handle that.
[She wipes her eyes with a fist.]
Sure. Later.
[Back to watching the ground, then. Aubrey reaches for the door, and opens it for him.]
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no subject
[He rubs his eyes, and for a moment Aubrey thinks he heard it the way she didn’t mean: “You were never a burden,” not then, but maybe…
[He’s not a burden, but that’s what Aubrey’s gotten good at anyway—treating him like one. Ignoring him. Talking down to him. Dragging him into her space and demanding he answer for what no one can—
[He thanks her.
[She stares at him like she doesn’t understand. He keeps talking. She doesn’t understand.
[He should really hate her.]
A-alright.
[Aubrey takes a step back. Another. Back thumps against wall and her breath catches as if she’s startled, and she’s not, and she’s covered her face with a hand before the first tears can escape. She doesn’t like crying in front of people, either; always felt worse at holding back than him.]
You can… [Whispering, ragged.] …y-you can go now.
[He always could.]
no subject
It doesn't feel right, just leaving her when she's still upset. He bites his lower lip, frozen in place for a moment. )
I--
... I... If you need to talk-- later, Aubrey. I.... I can listen.
( He can at least do that much. )
no subject
[“Later.” Bizarre, how that’s the word that gets her—to stifle it, that is. He’s not offering to stay now, in this heavy and hellish moment, who should be listening to whom be damned. He can listen; just not now.
[It feels like a consolation. A compromise. Aubrey can handle that.
[She wipes her eyes with a fist.]
Sure. Later.
[Back to watching the ground, then. Aubrey reaches for the door, and opens it for him.]