There was a brief flash of eye contact, and Cash lowered his gaze again, a quick tug away — except that Greengrass was saying we're gonna be alright and Cash raised his eyes to meet Greengrass'. If Greengrass was going to be here, in this room, with the stale scent of cigarettes and with Cash on the edge of something dark, then he at least deserved eye contact. Cash nibbled on the inside of his lip.
His conviction lasted long enough for Greengrass to say dementor, and Cash turned to look at the mass of darkness, turning back to Greengrass only because the thought he told you not to do that flashed into his brain. He couldn't force eye contact again, though, instead looking at Greengrass' eyebrows.
Greengrass was being very reassuring but Cash was wrangling with the things he remembered about dementors from his N.E.W.T. DADA class, which was not much, except that they caused despair and mostly hung out in Azkaban, not in random people's bedrooms in London. He bit down again on the inside of his lip, hard.
"That can't be a dementor," Cash said, the only thing he thought he could get out.
That couldn't be a dementor. It couldn't be a dementor, because it had not been here before today, and today was not the first time Cash had ever felt like this. Maybe it was the first time he'd retreated to a room of a muggle inn to feel it, but it wasn't the first time he'd ever felt like this — a gnawing bone-deep sense of despair and of nothing.
And if that was a dementor — then there was probably something really fucking wrong with him.
His conviction lasted long enough for Greengrass to say dementor, and Cash turned to look at the mass of darkness, turning back to Greengrass only because the thought he told you not to do that flashed into his brain. He couldn't force eye contact again, though, instead looking at Greengrass' eyebrows.
Greengrass was being very reassuring but Cash was wrangling with the things he remembered about dementors from his N.E.W.T. DADA class, which was not much, except that they caused despair and mostly hung out in Azkaban, not in random people's bedrooms in London. He bit down again on the inside of his lip, hard.
"That can't be a dementor," Cash said, the only thing he thought he could get out.
That couldn't be a dementor. It couldn't be a dementor, because it had not been here before today, and today was not the first time Cash had ever felt like this. Maybe it was the first time he'd retreated to a room of a muggle inn to feel it, but it wasn't the first time he'd ever felt like this — a gnawing bone-deep sense of despair and of nothing.
And if that was a dementor — then there was probably something really fucking wrong with him.
MJ made this!