Zelda's half-begun sentence stuck in his mind, because he had no guess as to how she was going to finish it. She'd thought — what?
Alfred was struck by the conviction that she couldn't possibly have thought anything, because she had to know what had really happened, and she had to know that he was lying (or at least telling a very muted, watered down version of the truth) now. She knew that he was besotted with her; he'd dragged himself through the miserable spectacle of asking to court her in front of her entire family to prove it. He'd offered to run away with her twice. He'd written her that lengthy and very heartfelt letter. She knew how he felt, and she knew why he'd kissed her — and she knew that he was lying when he said he hadn't wanted to be alone, because while that might have been true to some minor extent, his real motivation was that he had wanted to be with her. Not with just anyone; with her. And if she hadn't already known it a week ago, if she hadn't known it when he'd kissed her, then the way he'd clutched her hand when they got to the hospital would have told her.
Maybe that was what she'd started to say, just then. She'd thought that it was because it was her standing there, not just because of the moment. And of course she was right. Obviously. If she had even a moment of doubt on that point, Alfred was a much better liar than he had ever given himself credit for.
"I'm sorry I ruined everything," he blurted out, before he could think better of it. "Between us. I just..."
He just couldn't wait forever, or at least so he had thought in November. Now, in hindsight, he wasn't sure trying to move on had actually been any better, since it had just landed him cursed and in a hospital bed, and his forever might now be significantly shorter than he'd anticipated. He just couldn't be patient, though, and keep trying to work towards whatever standards Brannon Fisk had for people who were allowed to court his daughter. Maybe that was the heart of the issue, really: he just couldn't measure up, no matter how long he tried to, because he was not appropriate enough or established enough or polite enough. Maybe they'd been ruined from the start.
"I'm sorry," he said again, leaving it at that.
MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER
Alfred was struck by the conviction that she couldn't possibly have thought anything, because she had to know what had really happened, and she had to know that he was lying (or at least telling a very muted, watered down version of the truth) now. She knew that he was besotted with her; he'd dragged himself through the miserable spectacle of asking to court her in front of her entire family to prove it. He'd offered to run away with her twice. He'd written her that lengthy and very heartfelt letter. She knew how he felt, and she knew why he'd kissed her — and she knew that he was lying when he said he hadn't wanted to be alone, because while that might have been true to some minor extent, his real motivation was that he had wanted to be with her. Not with just anyone; with her. And if she hadn't already known it a week ago, if she hadn't known it when he'd kissed her, then the way he'd clutched her hand when they got to the hospital would have told her.
Maybe that was what she'd started to say, just then. She'd thought that it was because it was her standing there, not just because of the moment. And of course she was right. Obviously. If she had even a moment of doubt on that point, Alfred was a much better liar than he had ever given himself credit for.
"I'm sorry I ruined everything," he blurted out, before he could think better of it. "Between us. I just..."
He just couldn't wait forever, or at least so he had thought in November. Now, in hindsight, he wasn't sure trying to move on had actually been any better, since it had just landed him cursed and in a hospital bed, and his forever might now be significantly shorter than he'd anticipated. He just couldn't be patient, though, and keep trying to work towards whatever standards Brannon Fisk had for people who were allowed to court his daughter. Maybe that was the heart of the issue, really: he just couldn't measure up, no matter how long he tried to, because he was not appropriate enough or established enough or polite enough. Maybe they'd been ruined from the start.
"I'm sorry," he said again, leaving it at that.
MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER