[ This is where Clarke is going to tell him to get the fuck out. He's sure of it as he watches her tense at a warning that finally gets through, touching on a vulnerability he has access to from that one terrible night in the woods where he'd thought he'd done enough to keep both of them insulated from this.
She'll be polite about it. No reason to alienate him for nothing, however angry she is with him for his presumptions. That'd be a wasteful move, and she's not prone to making those. He wouldn't hold it against her either way; in fact, he might actually prefer it if she did go off on him, but that's as selfish as liking her was in the first place.
But he's the one underestimating her, this time. The flawed composure he'd been meeting her shifting expression with cracks again like she took that metaphorical shovel up to tap him between the eyes. He pulls back slightly in his surprise, uncertain of how he should take her - acceptance? Defiance? Whatever it is she means by the line she's drawing in the sand, and whoever it's about, between him and Tattletale.
So we're friends, now? is on the tip of his tongue, a little acid curl of skepticism that would reinforce the distance he'd expected they'd keep each other at, his personal failings aside.
That's not necessarily what she's saying. It's not really how he wants to answer her, either. It only feels safer because it'd be easier. But in foregoing the easier option, he's left with something worse, spilling out almost by mistake. ]
That's not the only reason I'm sorry.
[ He winces from his own honesty, holding his hands still so they don't fidget. ]
I'm not that great at being a friend. It's not just her, it's - a lot of things. [ One of which is so much of one that he doesn't know where he'd even start with it, so - the graspable and the mundane. ] I'm better at being an acquaintance. Less room to disappoint, or get you involved in all of my bullshit.
But I'm not going to leave you out to dry on this, either, all right? If that's what you're thinking. She was my problem first. So you do what you have to do, here, but if she starts anything else with you, you're not dealing with it alone. You don't deserve that.
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She'll be polite about it. No reason to alienate him for nothing, however angry she is with him for his presumptions. That'd be a wasteful move, and she's not prone to making those. He wouldn't hold it against her either way; in fact, he might actually prefer it if she did go off on him, but that's as selfish as liking her was in the first place.
But he's the one underestimating her, this time. The flawed composure he'd been meeting her shifting expression with cracks again like she took that metaphorical shovel up to tap him between the eyes. He pulls back slightly in his surprise, uncertain of how he should take her - acceptance? Defiance? Whatever it is she means by the line she's drawing in the sand, and whoever it's about, between him and Tattletale.
So we're friends, now? is on the tip of his tongue, a little acid curl of skepticism that would reinforce the distance he'd expected they'd keep each other at, his personal failings aside.
That's not necessarily what she's saying. It's not really how he wants to answer her, either. It only feels safer because it'd be easier. But in foregoing the easier option, he's left with something worse, spilling out almost by mistake. ]
That's not the only reason I'm sorry.
[ He winces from his own honesty, holding his hands still so they don't fidget. ]
I'm not that great at being a friend. It's not just her, it's - a lot of things. [ One of which is so much of one that he doesn't know where he'd even start with it, so - the graspable and the mundane. ] I'm better at being an acquaintance. Less room to disappoint, or get you involved in all of my bullshit.
But I'm not going to leave you out to dry on this, either, all right? If that's what you're thinking. She was my problem first. So you do what you have to do, here, but if she starts anything else with you, you're not dealing with it alone. You don't deserve that.