It is hard to believe right now, but S finds that it makes sense, too. Most things are like that, in his experience. They don't get better, but they get easier, the weight of a burden becoming familiar after a time, not lighter but less unwieldy as a person becomes used to carrying it. Losing his parents was like that, though at least then, he had his best friend to see him through it, which unquestionably helped. Losing J the first time around, when he left, was like that too, if only in part because he never stopped hoping they might be able to reconcile. The sadness turned a bit numb rather than raw. It is, he supposes, a little bit like the wound on his chest, the scar there indelible, but still not nearly as it was.
Still, even if he weren't currently trying to process quite literally life-altering news, even if he weren't in the middle of trying to pull himself together following a very inadvertently public breakdown after one of the most stressful days of his life, he wouldn't be about to say any of that. He's good at making himself come across otherwise, but he's always been reserved, ever since he was a child. There's only ever been one person he's shared such things with, and that person is long gone. That's sort of the problem.
In a way, though, he's apparently long gone now, too. As disorienting as all of this is — impossible, except that it's right in front of him — that's easier to focus on than what he just left behind, if only because he still feels so painfully fragile, his composure embarrassingly tenuous. He's sure he must look a mess, for that matter, flushed and tear-streaked, but there's nothing to be done about that now. What he can do is try to make some sense of this, inasmuch as there's any sense to be made of it at all. Having help on that front makes more difference than he knows how to admit, even if he wishes he didn't need it.
"If you don't mind," he says, the words still feeling unfamiliar in his mouth. It's been a long time since he took English, and he never thought he would need this much of it. Lucky, he thinks, to have a better grasp on it than he thought he would have after all this time, though he supposes having no other real options in this situation, it could just be the result of desperation, long-buried memories being drawn back to the surface now that there's a need for them. "So... there's a train station, but you can't leave?"
no subject
Still, even if he weren't currently trying to process quite literally life-altering news, even if he weren't in the middle of trying to pull himself together following a very inadvertently public breakdown after one of the most stressful days of his life, he wouldn't be about to say any of that. He's good at making himself come across otherwise, but he's always been reserved, ever since he was a child. There's only ever been one person he's shared such things with, and that person is long gone. That's sort of the problem.
In a way, though, he's apparently long gone now, too. As disorienting as all of this is — impossible, except that it's right in front of him — that's easier to focus on than what he just left behind, if only because he still feels so painfully fragile, his composure embarrassingly tenuous. He's sure he must look a mess, for that matter, flushed and tear-streaked, but there's nothing to be done about that now. What he can do is try to make some sense of this, inasmuch as there's any sense to be made of it at all. Having help on that front makes more difference than he knows how to admit, even if he wishes he didn't need it.
"If you don't mind," he says, the words still feeling unfamiliar in his mouth. It's been a long time since he took English, and he never thought he would need this much of it. Lucky, he thinks, to have a better grasp on it than he thought he would have after all this time, though he supposes having no other real options in this situation, it could just be the result of desperation, long-buried memories being drawn back to the surface now that there's a need for them. "So... there's a train station, but you can't leave?"