And suddenly she had the upper hand. He released a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding and sat up. He fixed himself so he was sitting regularly again on the couch, his feet firm on the the floor and one hand gripping the arm of the couch. It wasn't that he was dying to be friends with her—and if he was being honest, he wasn't after friendship, but they were in this scandal together, he was forbidden from telling anyone the truth, and not to mention that he had yet to fully process the actual incident. She didn't think it was a good idea to stay in touch, to talk, to anything, and he just didn't get it. He didn't think he ever would. It wasn't matter of daftness, but a difference in handling their problems, and he knew that now.

"Just—go then," he said, standing up. He left the tray in front of her. He knew he would regret telling her to go the first time someone mentioned the scandal and he had no one to talk to about it, but it was easier to send her away than to try and convince her to accept his acquaintanceship. It was less embarrassing and did not require a level of vulnerability that he was not prepared to show.

He still had his back turned to her when he spoke, because she'd seemed to take issue with his expression and he did not want her seeing the conflict in it now. "Go, and I won't talk to anyone about this. Your secret is safe with me."

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