Fifteen minutes.
That was no time at all. Fifteen minutes, and they had no idea what might trigger it. They didn't even really know what the effects would be, but Zelda had said he could die, and if Zelda was saying that, Alfred could almost certainly die. If there was a better version of this to tell him, she would have chosen that, wouldn't she? She cared, at least a little — she cared, though he didn't know why, anymore — and all she could give him was fifteen minutes.
He felt as though the world had stopped as she'd spoken, but really it was just two things: his breath had hitched in his chest, and she'd left her hands on his. The breath made sense, because he was in shock — he knew enough about this to know, in a sort of abstract, distant way, that he was in shock — but why were her hands still there? A comforting gesture, maybe — some version of pity. A nod to the intimacy they'd had, once, and wouldn't ever have again. Fifteen minutes.
"Oh," he said, and that was all. What else could he say? He regretted ever having touched the chest, but that, he supposed, went without saying — and he still didn't know, looking back on it, what he could have done differently, given the scenario as it had presented itself at the time. He could have not been on the ship at all, but that was the only thing that could have changed his fate in any significant way. He could have not been heading to India, but that — tracing that train of thought lead right back to her, because he'd decided to go to India after she hadn't returned his letter.
That was what he could have said, when all was said and done. He could have said I'm sorry I scared you off with that stupid letter; I'm sorry I was pushing for something more when there wasn't anything else you could give. If he'd just been content to do things properly, to keep his head down and save up and try again in another few months, none of this would have happened. He wouldn't have ruined things with Zelda, and he wouldn't have had to go to India to forget about how he'd ruined things with Zelda, and consequently he would not be cursed and possibly dying at any point within the next fifteen minutes.
But he didn't know where to start, and he didn't know what the point would be, now that it didn't much matter one way or another what had happened in November, so he didn't voice any of the sudden rush of thoughts and emotions overwhelming him. Instead, he left it at oh.
MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER
That was no time at all. Fifteen minutes, and they had no idea what might trigger it. They didn't even really know what the effects would be, but Zelda had said he could die, and if Zelda was saying that, Alfred could almost certainly die. If there was a better version of this to tell him, she would have chosen that, wouldn't she? She cared, at least a little — she cared, though he didn't know why, anymore — and all she could give him was fifteen minutes.
He felt as though the world had stopped as she'd spoken, but really it was just two things: his breath had hitched in his chest, and she'd left her hands on his. The breath made sense, because he was in shock — he knew enough about this to know, in a sort of abstract, distant way, that he was in shock — but why were her hands still there? A comforting gesture, maybe — some version of pity. A nod to the intimacy they'd had, once, and wouldn't ever have again. Fifteen minutes.
"Oh," he said, and that was all. What else could he say? He regretted ever having touched the chest, but that, he supposed, went without saying — and he still didn't know, looking back on it, what he could have done differently, given the scenario as it had presented itself at the time. He could have not been on the ship at all, but that was the only thing that could have changed his fate in any significant way. He could have not been heading to India, but that — tracing that train of thought lead right back to her, because he'd decided to go to India after she hadn't returned his letter.
That was what he could have said, when all was said and done. He could have said I'm sorry I scared you off with that stupid letter; I'm sorry I was pushing for something more when there wasn't anything else you could give. If he'd just been content to do things properly, to keep his head down and save up and try again in another few months, none of this would have happened. He wouldn't have ruined things with Zelda, and he wouldn't have had to go to India to forget about how he'd ruined things with Zelda, and consequently he would not be cursed and possibly dying at any point within the next fifteen minutes.
But he didn't know where to start, and he didn't know what the point would be, now that it didn't much matter one way or another what had happened in November, so he didn't voice any of the sudden rush of thoughts and emotions overwhelming him. Instead, he left it at oh.
MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER