Verbally she'd given something of a nonanswer, but her body language seemed clear enough. She'd pulled her hand away from his and shrunk back into the chair. Ben wasn't sure how to feel. When he'd asked the question he'd been anxious about her answer, about the prospect of trying to renew intimacy again, and in that light he supposed he ought to be feeling relieved that she apparently hadn't meant it that way. On the other hand, the way she'd withdrawn seemed so — final, definitive. It made him feel as small as she looked.

He put one elbow on the arm of his chair and leaned his forehead against his palm, staring fretfully towards Nora's bed, though he wasn't really looking at her. He ran his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

He wasn't happy, and here in this moment it was hard to separate how he felt now from how he felt about the situation in general. He had been happy, before the dragons, hadn't he? Or at least moving towards something like it? Getting better? Everything was fucked now — his job disappearing as suddenly as ground falling away beneath his feet, and Nora in this state, and him with little sleep and less consolation — but things had been different before, and he had been happier, and — and he should not feel so desperately lonely at the prospect of having to go to sleep with only himself in the room.

But the other side of the coin was that they were married, and even if they had separately permanently Ben still respected the titles they had. If it wasn't Melody in his arms, it was never going to be anyone. So it did feel desperately lonely, seeing her shrink back like that.

"I think I'm going to go," he said suddenly, not looking at her. "Get some. Coffee. Or something."

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