She took her time answering, and he let her – she looked away first and he tried to do the same, so that she wouldn’t feel any pressure from his looking at her. House windows, then, and loose cobblestones on the street, the odd cloud drifting across the sky; his gaze slid off those and the other passers-by while he waited. He’d guessed right, though: she wasn’t herself at all.
“Because of the –?” Elias said, hushed, not quite knowing how to finish the sentence. The death in the Park; he knew she’d been a witness to it, though he couldn’t fathom what precisely she had seen, and he wasn’t about to ask her to describe it. “That’s understandable, you know,” he added gently, instead: he was sure that whatever was going on in her mind, she was berating herself for it, and badly. “I wouldn’t blame you.” Most anyone, he imagined, would be the same. Seeing something like that had to take a toll.
And if it was affecting her in the daylight, in the street and at night at home, then she really wasn’t getting past it, or taking care of herself.
So – when they reached her flat, nestled between Cobbler’s Corner and Pendle Road, Elias thought better of leaving her alone. Someone probably ought to look after her, at least for a little while. Not knowing how to propose this to her, though, when Elias fell to a halt he let go of her arm but not her basket of paint supplies. With his free hand, he scratched at the back of his neck, trying to sound casual about it and not as though she were suddenly a hopeless invalid. “Can I come in?” he suggested loosely, searching for a likely excuse. He’d ask to see how she was getting on with her work, but if she hadn’t been sleeping he doubted her painting had been going well. He shot her a hopeful expression instead. “I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea.”
(Or, rather, he could make her one.)
“Because of the –?” Elias said, hushed, not quite knowing how to finish the sentence. The death in the Park; he knew she’d been a witness to it, though he couldn’t fathom what precisely she had seen, and he wasn’t about to ask her to describe it. “That’s understandable, you know,” he added gently, instead: he was sure that whatever was going on in her mind, she was berating herself for it, and badly. “I wouldn’t blame you.” Most anyone, he imagined, would be the same. Seeing something like that had to take a toll.
And if it was affecting her in the daylight, in the street and at night at home, then she really wasn’t getting past it, or taking care of herself.
So – when they reached her flat, nestled between Cobbler’s Corner and Pendle Road, Elias thought better of leaving her alone. Someone probably ought to look after her, at least for a little while. Not knowing how to propose this to her, though, when Elias fell to a halt he let go of her arm but not her basket of paint supplies. With his free hand, he scratched at the back of his neck, trying to sound casual about it and not as though she were suddenly a hopeless invalid. “Can I come in?” he suggested loosely, searching for a likely excuse. He’d ask to see how she was getting on with her work, but if she hadn’t been sleeping he doubted her painting had been going well. He shot her a hopeful expression instead. “I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea.”
(Or, rather, he could make her one.)
look ANOTHER beautiful bee!set <3