He blurts it before he can allow himself time to truly process, halfway puzzled, too startled to let betrayal worm its way in. Something swells in his throat, curling into his chest, something caught betwen astonishment and terror and despair and - and relief.
There's no point in hiding from her, is there? No point in lies. There wouldn't be. Not if she already knew.
The next thing out of his mouth is an unstoppable impulse, the next, important question, before he can devote time to sympathy, to trying to put forth some kind of understanding, knowing horrible things no one should know, to wrapping his mind around it.
no subject
He blurts it before he can allow himself time to truly process, halfway puzzled, too startled to let betrayal worm its way in. Something swells in his throat, curling into his chest, something caught betwen astonishment and terror and despair and - and relief.
There's no point in hiding from her, is there? No point in lies. There wouldn't be. Not if she already knew.
The next thing out of his mouth is an unstoppable impulse, the next, important question, before he can devote time to sympathy, to trying to put forth some kind of understanding, knowing horrible things no one should know, to wrapping his mind around it.
"How - much do you know?"