He’s quiet again, the rasp of his breath mingling with the rustle of his bedding when he stretches against it.
It’s a question that doesn’t bear answering, really, an impulse towards dry honesty -- the list of things that don’t concern him would be substantially shorter -- lifted up and let off in a huff of salt, the ghost of a scoff.
“I’m just tired,” he tells her. Tired and unhappy.
no subject
It’s a question that doesn’t bear answering, really, an impulse towards dry honesty -- the list of things that don’t concern him would be substantially shorter -- lifted up and let off in a huff of salt, the ghost of a scoff.
“I’m just tired,” he tells her. Tired and unhappy.
“I'll be alright.”