No. The bottom of his stomach dropped out too far, too fast.
No. Theo tried to stay still and calm in spite of it, but every next second made the situation sound worse and worse. He wants me to marry was not the same, not nearly as bad as he’s arranging a wedding. (Not a meeting with some girl, not a courtship, not an engagement, somehow he had leapt straight to wedding?) And arranging a wedding still wasn’t as damning as Cash’s last appeal, like the news had worn stale in a breath – like his words already spelled desperation.
His hand fell away from Cash slowly, his throat too tight to answer. He didn’t know what to say, anyway. This had not occurred to him as something of which to be afraid: marriage as an entire concept felt distant to him, some other stage of life, too faint on the horizon to even feel inevitable. Cash wasn’t that much older than him, and he was a second son, and besides, he was still playing quidditch for a career – it would have been years before Theo was scared of this.
And he’d been grasping at days, had been grateful for weeks and months of having him; he had never dared to let himself think about years. So the shock of it was hard and dizzying – he felt dazed like he’d taken a bludger to the back of his skull, felt caught here, staring numbly at Cash and trying to swallow the thought. Cash didn’t want to get married – of course he didn’t – so it was his father’s fault, and his father didn’t care, but still, surely –
“But can’t you say no?” Theo tried, face still creased. “Can’t you say – something?” (He didn’t know what excuse there might be to make, but Cash would know how to appeal to his father better than he did. There had to be some way out.)
No. Theo tried to stay still and calm in spite of it, but every next second made the situation sound worse and worse. He wants me to marry was not the same, not nearly as bad as he’s arranging a wedding. (Not a meeting with some girl, not a courtship, not an engagement, somehow he had leapt straight to wedding?) And arranging a wedding still wasn’t as damning as Cash’s last appeal, like the news had worn stale in a breath – like his words already spelled desperation.
His hand fell away from Cash slowly, his throat too tight to answer. He didn’t know what to say, anyway. This had not occurred to him as something of which to be afraid: marriage as an entire concept felt distant to him, some other stage of life, too faint on the horizon to even feel inevitable. Cash wasn’t that much older than him, and he was a second son, and besides, he was still playing quidditch for a career – it would have been years before Theo was scared of this.
And he’d been grasping at days, had been grateful for weeks and months of having him; he had never dared to let himself think about years. So the shock of it was hard and dizzying – he felt dazed like he’d taken a bludger to the back of his skull, felt caught here, staring numbly at Cash and trying to swallow the thought. Cash didn’t want to get married – of course he didn’t – so it was his father’s fault, and his father didn’t care, but still, surely –
“But can’t you say no?” Theo tried, face still creased. “Can’t you say – something?” (He didn’t know what excuse there might be to make, but Cash would know how to appeal to his father better than he did. There had to be some way out.)
