Oh. It was no better when Cash was looking at him, because the blank confusion on his face only made the rift between them wider. And Theo – Theo hadn’t thought there was one until now, some fault line he couldn’t cross or place he couldn’t reach. Cash had always seemed so... so different from his family, so separate from that kind of life. All of this had felt – good, easy, weirdly natural. For some reason, Theo had thought they understood each other.
But they didn’t ever talk, did they? Not really, not honestly. Maybe it was his own fault: it had always been too tempting not to push a conversation beyond the comfortable, simpler not to ask, better just to let things slide. And Theo knew he’d struggled to say what he meant sometimes too, important things, but... it was always going to be like this eventually, came Cash’s calm protest now. That could have been true. But how was Theo supposed to have guessed that, when he’d never said?
“Right,” he said faintly, shortly, moving back towards the desk to reach for his glass. Avoiding Cash’s gaze, he took a long, determined draught. The firewhiskey didn’t help the way he’d wanted it to: his throat was still dry and his face drained of colour, the frustration simmering, the weight of the problem pressing in on all sides. “So,” Theo said finally, trying desperately to keep his emotions in check, mostly so Cash would stop looking at him like that. He lifted his chin but couldn’t quite meet Cash’s eyes any more. “How long do you have?” Do we have, he might as well have said. He meant how long until the wedding. How long do we have until things change? But the worst part of wondering it aloud was the sinking feeling in Theo’s chest telling him that there was no time left – like it was too late, they already had.
But they didn’t ever talk, did they? Not really, not honestly. Maybe it was his own fault: it had always been too tempting not to push a conversation beyond the comfortable, simpler not to ask, better just to let things slide. And Theo knew he’d struggled to say what he meant sometimes too, important things, but... it was always going to be like this eventually, came Cash’s calm protest now. That could have been true. But how was Theo supposed to have guessed that, when he’d never said?
“Right,” he said faintly, shortly, moving back towards the desk to reach for his glass. Avoiding Cash’s gaze, he took a long, determined draught. The firewhiskey didn’t help the way he’d wanted it to: his throat was still dry and his face drained of colour, the frustration simmering, the weight of the problem pressing in on all sides. “So,” Theo said finally, trying desperately to keep his emotions in check, mostly so Cash would stop looking at him like that. He lifted his chin but couldn’t quite meet Cash’s eyes any more. “How long do you have?” Do we have, he might as well have said. He meant how long until the wedding. How long do we have until things change? But the worst part of wondering it aloud was the sinking feeling in Theo’s chest telling him that there was no time left – like it was too late, they already had.
