[ she'd been reluctant to remove the blindfold, not wanting to feel the pain of her death or see the blood or the hands groping for her again. she'd only agreed to it with his reassurances, by his touch and the tone of his voice grounding her, keeping the horrors at bay. it's now been a couple of days and maybe she could have gone home. maybe she should have. but he hasn't asked her to and she hasn't wanted to.
right now there's silence, both in her head and in his, and all she can see is his space. he hovers above her, listening to the messages on the network, occasionally giving her updates on what's been going on outside of the little world they've built for themselves. her eyes slide close even though she's not tired, just enjoying the relative peace of the moment. and then he asks her his question.
she doesn't respond at first, except to open her eyes and curl her fingers into the fabric of his sweatpants. this is a conversation she hadn't expected to have, that she hadn't wanted to have. she'd convinced herself that she'd be fine if things remained the way they've been, realized that when he'd last seen her alive, he'd thought she'd left him because he'd disappointed her, how much that had hurt him. she hadn't expected things to go further. it doesn't mean she hadn't wanted things to go further, but she wasn't going to be the one to bring it up. and she'd figured that the fact that he hadn't meant that he wasn't going to.
she straightens eventually, looking at him head on, waiting for him to look at her even if he can't see her. this isn't something she wants to do when she can't see his reaction. ]
Were you ever going to tell me you knew?
[ she knows he's able to hear her reactions. she's had some involuntary ones over the past few months that she's sure he's been able to discern the meaning of if he really thought about them. that he hadn't brought it up meant that he had been ignoring them, or so she'd thought. ]
no subject
right now there's silence, both in her head and in his, and all she can see is his space. he hovers above her, listening to the messages on the network, occasionally giving her updates on what's been going on outside of the little world they've built for themselves. her eyes slide close even though she's not tired, just enjoying the relative peace of the moment. and then he asks her his question.
she doesn't respond at first, except to open her eyes and curl her fingers into the fabric of his sweatpants. this is a conversation she hadn't expected to have, that she hadn't wanted to have. she'd convinced herself that she'd be fine if things remained the way they've been, realized that when he'd last seen her alive, he'd thought she'd left him because he'd disappointed her, how much that had hurt him. she hadn't expected things to go further. it doesn't mean she hadn't wanted things to go further, but she wasn't going to be the one to bring it up. and she'd figured that the fact that he hadn't meant that he wasn't going to.
she straightens eventually, looking at him head on, waiting for him to look at her even if he can't see her. this isn't something she wants to do when she can't see his reaction. ]
Were you ever going to tell me you knew?
[ she knows he's able to hear her reactions. she's had some involuntary ones over the past few months that she's sure he's been able to discern the meaning of if he really thought about them. that he hadn't brought it up meant that he had been ignoring them, or so she'd thought. ]