[A month? He can't help but mouth the word back at her, waiting for confirmation that she hadn't just thrown out some arbitrary number. And she's this detached about... everything? He hums, though, and the reasoning he gives himself is that he's really trying to rule out a hallucination--
he steps past her, bumps her shoulder.] Can't look twelve forever.
[And it's more natural, and he's finally aware he's actually breathing. There's anxiety bleeding from a new tightness in his gut to the extremities of his limbs.
He still doesn't know anything about what she knows or has lived; and Steph, damn her, was purposely withholding.] Warm and dry sounds good. [But he'll get some truth out of her.] The last thing I need is to keel over from a cold. [It's not great. It's not good. He'll bet on her worry because he worried; because he hasn't shaken off the nauseating feel of the unknown, but they-- they owe it to themselves, right? To fucking try to learn?]
no subject
he steps past her, bumps her shoulder.] Can't look twelve forever.
[And it's more natural, and he's finally aware he's actually breathing. There's anxiety bleeding from a new tightness in his gut to the extremities of his limbs.
He still doesn't know anything about what she knows or has lived; and Steph, damn her, was purposely withholding.] Warm and dry sounds good. [But he'll get some truth out of her.] The last thing I need is to keel over from a cold. [It's not great. It's not good. He'll bet on her worry because he worried; because he hasn't shaken off the nauseating feel of the unknown, but they-- they owe it to themselves, right? To fucking try to learn?]