His heart had already suffered its share of cracks over the last few months, but with each word it grew closer to shattering. She sounded so sad, and he'd always done his best to comfort her when she was sad, but this was... different. This wasn't about someone else. This wasn't something she was coming to him with for comfort. This was about him—or he suspected it was, since the tone of her voice didn't do anything to convince him otherwise. She was distracted and overwhelmed, and she wouldn't have been if not for their relationship, which had put their entire friend group in upheavel.
If he would have thought for one second that giving up quidditch would make her happy, he would have accepted it. "It's okay, I understand. Take care of yourself," he could hear himself saying, but to say that out loud? It wouldn't have been true. He didn't understand.
"Sloane, I - I don't care about quidditch," he said, desperately wishing she would look at him. He reached out and brushed his fingers against the back of her hand, but withdrew it just as quickly. It was one big metaphor, wasn't it? Wanting to reach out, to hold on, and not being able to figure out how to do it without being caught.
They weren't working, and - it broke his heart, because he wanted it to. He loved her. But she was miserable.
"I'll let you go," he finally said, and for a moment he wasn't sure what he was saying. His heart skipped a beat as he realized, oh... oh. "But - don't leave quidditch. I know it's your passion. Don't give it up. I can - help make it less overwhelming." Tears had pricked at the corners of his eyes, and now he found it difficult to look at her. His gaze settled somewhere on her shoulder, but he watched her face out of the corner of his eyes.
If he would have thought for one second that giving up quidditch would make her happy, he would have accepted it. "It's okay, I understand. Take care of yourself," he could hear himself saying, but to say that out loud? It wouldn't have been true. He didn't understand.
"Sloane, I - I don't care about quidditch," he said, desperately wishing she would look at him. He reached out and brushed his fingers against the back of her hand, but withdrew it just as quickly. It was one big metaphor, wasn't it? Wanting to reach out, to hold on, and not being able to figure out how to do it without being caught.
They weren't working, and - it broke his heart, because he wanted it to. He loved her. But she was miserable.
"I'll let you go," he finally said, and for a moment he wasn't sure what he was saying. His heart skipped a beat as he realized, oh... oh. "But - don't leave quidditch. I know it's your passion. Don't give it up. I can - help make it less overwhelming." Tears had pricked at the corners of his eyes, and now he found it difficult to look at her. His gaze settled somewhere on her shoulder, but he watched her face out of the corner of his eyes.
