All these years and so little has changed; here he is, comforting her through what may not be an end after all. She gives him a smile-- a little watery, but radiant; filled with hope, because all she's got to go on his is word, but that's enough.
There's probably a part of her that knows. That recognized something in this house she's never seen-- won't see, for who knows how many years. A part of her that can guess why the flatware was where she expected it to be, and what might have happened a year or so ago to cast this shadow on him. But this is the first moment, looking in his eyes, where the thought occurs to her consciously-- maybe. It's not the first time she's considered the possibility-- but considering the possibility, potentially, far after the fact is a different matter.
It's too big, too much to examine. She reaches for his hand and squeezes it.
"What would I know that's still on the air?" she laughs, but it doesn't really matter. She wants it anyway-- to sit on the couch with him in a future she shouldn't have, and try not to wonder at his past.
no subject
There's probably a part of her that knows. That recognized something in this house she's never seen-- won't see, for who knows how many years. A part of her that can guess why the flatware was where she expected it to be, and what might have happened a year or so ago to cast this shadow on him. But this is the first moment, looking in his eyes, where the thought occurs to her consciously-- maybe. It's not the first time she's considered the possibility-- but considering the possibility, potentially, far after the fact is a different matter.
It's too big, too much to examine. She reaches for his hand and squeezes it.
"What would I know that's still on the air?" she laughs, but it doesn't really matter. She wants it anyway-- to sit on the couch with him in a future she shouldn't have, and try not to wonder at his past.