Endymion swallowed as his brother spoke again: his last ditch plea had obviously been one attempt too far. The fuse of patience had been lit and fizzling, and he’d stayed in the vicinity too long – he’d set Oz off like a stick of dynamite.
And now his face was blackened by ash and soot for his troubles – metaphorically, that was. In literal fact, there was a mortified flush of pink across his cheeks, and a frozen sort of flinch in the tensed set of his shoulders, because his brother’s whole tirade was making it very clear which of them was the stupid one here. Right. Oz was right, maybe: Endymion had neglected to think all this through. And if no one else in the family had raised the issue with him, it was because he was the only one idiot enough to try. On a whim. Without any forethought whatsoever. Oh, goodness, I never thought of that. Dymion scrunched up his face, shrinking in the doorway, any sense of self-righteousness he’d been holding onto shrivelling away to guilt and embarrassment and regret in the face of that high-pitched mockery. Every word of it seemed to strike him in the chest. Oz didn’t even need to try.
He’s going to remember I ruined his wedding day forever, Endymion considered, already winded enough by that point – but apparently Oz was only halfway through. He swallowed again, swaying a little where he stood to force himself to stick it through until his older brother was done, though his head was already bowed in defeat. It had been a lost cause from the start and maybe Endymion had been entirely wrong to get involved. It had been none of his business to begin with. I’m sorry that I cared, he might have snapped if he still had the energy left to protest, but any resolve he’d had about rescuing Oz from a bad decision had already withered to nothing. “Alright,” Endymion said, in a helpless tone of enough, I get it, you can stop already. He rather wished he could undo this whole conversation, go back in time and erase the idea from his mind before it could ever occur to him. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m happy for you, then. Just – forget I said anything.” He couldn’t think of what else to do – he’d have distracted Oz with something new and interesting if he could think of anything, but the day’s preparations were a blur now. All Dymion could do now was make a hasty retreat, turn tail and go, and just it wouldn’t mar the rest of the day. And if Oz was truly happy with his decision, then, well: Endymion would just have to witness it for the rest of his life, because although he’d asked him to forget this failed little intervention, he doubted Oz would ever let him live it down.
And now his face was blackened by ash and soot for his troubles – metaphorically, that was. In literal fact, there was a mortified flush of pink across his cheeks, and a frozen sort of flinch in the tensed set of his shoulders, because his brother’s whole tirade was making it very clear which of them was the stupid one here. Right. Oz was right, maybe: Endymion had neglected to think all this through. And if no one else in the family had raised the issue with him, it was because he was the only one idiot enough to try. On a whim. Without any forethought whatsoever. Oh, goodness, I never thought of that. Dymion scrunched up his face, shrinking in the doorway, any sense of self-righteousness he’d been holding onto shrivelling away to guilt and embarrassment and regret in the face of that high-pitched mockery. Every word of it seemed to strike him in the chest. Oz didn’t even need to try.
He’s going to remember I ruined his wedding day forever, Endymion considered, already winded enough by that point – but apparently Oz was only halfway through. He swallowed again, swaying a little where he stood to force himself to stick it through until his older brother was done, though his head was already bowed in defeat. It had been a lost cause from the start and maybe Endymion had been entirely wrong to get involved. It had been none of his business to begin with. I’m sorry that I cared, he might have snapped if he still had the energy left to protest, but any resolve he’d had about rescuing Oz from a bad decision had already withered to nothing. “Alright,” Endymion said, in a helpless tone of enough, I get it, you can stop already. He rather wished he could undo this whole conversation, go back in time and erase the idea from his mind before it could ever occur to him. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m happy for you, then. Just – forget I said anything.” He couldn’t think of what else to do – he’d have distracted Oz with something new and interesting if he could think of anything, but the day’s preparations were a blur now. All Dymion could do now was make a hasty retreat, turn tail and go, and just it wouldn’t mar the rest of the day. And if Oz was truly happy with his decision, then, well: Endymion would just have to witness it for the rest of his life, because although he’d asked him to forget this failed little intervention, he doubted Oz would ever let him live it down.
