She didn't disagree with him, or with the strategy they were going to have to take to make some kind of attainable future out of this. They both knew what was needed for it. And even so, there was the niggling sense that they were loosening the ties they had already made with this, somehow... going backwards.
Forwards, Tyb. Forwards. This was how to get to that future, and it didn't matter if the road looked long or meandering or like scrambling up the side of a giant bloody mountain.
But he'd see her in the park sometimes, with Mrs. Haynes in tow. "Nothing wrong with that, no sir," he agreed, with an over-the-top nod as if it might assure himself of that. If only that sounded like a better consolation, and not a trial of its own. He could still be friendly - even her family must know they had been friends through their last few years of school; they couldn't deny him friendliness - but if he wanted to be known not for that reason, not as some boisterous quidditch player, then he would also have to be decorously polite, and chivalrous, and smartly-dressed, a gentleman-in-training who lifted his hat to the ladies, had neat-combed hair, and didn't grin.
Not quite himself, then. And how on earth was he going to keep up such an act for long enough to ever make his introductions to her parents? How would they ever like him? (How on earth would Elsie still even like him, if he tried his hardest to be boring? What if he became responsible and unfunny and a genuine bore, after all that trying? What would be left to like?)
It was the same worry he had about the letters, really. (It turned out he had a lot of worries. Had he always worried like this?)
Maybe it was what came from not having had Elsie around for so long. Maybe it had frayed his confidence, somehow. But being here now was a balm to that, was beginning to soften the blow at last, gave him a brighter outlook to ride out against the doubt. They had weathered worse already. They could do this.
"I know," Tyb told her - to both of her statements, smiling back and chasing out the fears with it. She was teasing him, and the world had been righted again, and everything would be fine. "Of course we will." He ran his hand along her arm until he found her fingers, and twined them into his. "And don't be daft, Elsie Beauregard," Tyb said, and he couldn't suppress his grin, however true his next words felt to him. "I may not like writing, but you know I'd rather write to you every day of my life than go back to the way things were without you."
Forwards, Tyb. Forwards. This was how to get to that future, and it didn't matter if the road looked long or meandering or like scrambling up the side of a giant bloody mountain.
But he'd see her in the park sometimes, with Mrs. Haynes in tow. "Nothing wrong with that, no sir," he agreed, with an over-the-top nod as if it might assure himself of that. If only that sounded like a better consolation, and not a trial of its own. He could still be friendly - even her family must know they had been friends through their last few years of school; they couldn't deny him friendliness - but if he wanted to be known not for that reason, not as some boisterous quidditch player, then he would also have to be decorously polite, and chivalrous, and smartly-dressed, a gentleman-in-training who lifted his hat to the ladies, had neat-combed hair, and didn't grin.
Not quite himself, then. And how on earth was he going to keep up such an act for long enough to ever make his introductions to her parents? How would they ever like him? (How on earth would Elsie still even like him, if he tried his hardest to be boring? What if he became responsible and unfunny and a genuine bore, after all that trying? What would be left to like?)
It was the same worry he had about the letters, really. (It turned out he had a lot of worries. Had he always worried like this?)
Maybe it was what came from not having had Elsie around for so long. Maybe it had frayed his confidence, somehow. But being here now was a balm to that, was beginning to soften the blow at last, gave him a brighter outlook to ride out against the doubt. They had weathered worse already. They could do this.
"I know," Tyb told her - to both of her statements, smiling back and chasing out the fears with it. She was teasing him, and the world had been righted again, and everything would be fine. "Of course we will." He ran his hand along her arm until he found her fingers, and twined them into his. "And don't be daft, Elsie Beauregard," Tyb said, and he couldn't suppress his grin, however true his next words felt to him. "I may not like writing, but you know I'd rather write to you every day of my life than go back to the way things were without you."
