[ At her words, there's a faltering in his expression, but it's brief (and, perhaps, only noticeable because of the way they hold each other so close. Especially these days). It's a strange, fleeting thing -- hope, doubt. Her assurances are always so sweetly matter-of-fact. She could say them, and variations on them, over and over, and part of him will leap at the words, because he is so very far from being tired of them or her, because he wants so badly to believe things will be okay. ]
[ But they don't mend this horrid little hole that mars his confidence like a cigarette burn. He's too schooled in bitterness and disappointment to expect anything better. ]
[ After a beat, he lets off a rueful exhale, the sound dampened only by the way he noses into the crook of her neck, a wave of her dark hair tickling over his cheek. ]
It's been years since I've had a place anywhere. [ Just an expendable tool for the Syndicate. Just a passing ghost in the City's waiting-room. ] That's the problem. When I start to belong, feel happy, I get ... scared. [ The huff he lets off is too acrimonious to be a laugh. ] It's easier to be alone. Out of place. I've made a career of that.
[ The words emerge on a sour bolus he has to swallow down. At least he is talking. His way is usually sealed lips and bottled-up emotions. To go with the fists-and-fury option. Or, failing that, the brush-my-teeth-with-a-bottle-of-Jack option. ]
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Date: 2015-01-02 05:28 am (UTC)[ But they don't mend this horrid little hole that mars his confidence like a cigarette burn. He's too schooled in bitterness and disappointment to expect anything better. ]
[ After a beat, he lets off a rueful exhale, the sound dampened only by the way he noses into the crook of her neck, a wave of her dark hair tickling over his cheek. ]
It's been years since I've had a place anywhere. [ Just an expendable tool for the Syndicate. Just a passing ghost in the City's waiting-room. ] That's the problem. When I start to belong, feel happy, I get ... scared. [ The huff he lets off is too acrimonious to be a laugh. ] It's easier to be alone. Out of place. I've made a career of that.
[ The words emerge on a sour bolus he has to swallow down. At least he is talking. His way is usually sealed lips and bottled-up emotions. To go with the fists-and-fury option. Or, failing that, the brush-my-teeth-with-a-bottle-of-Jack option. ]