You think I don't remember that? It isn't the reasoning I disagree with, Arthur. I know why.
But what in the hell was arguing with you about it going to accomplish?
[ Make him walk out quicker? Was that possible? Does he even want to know? How in the gell had they even ended up here over an idiotic jab at his drinking habits? ]
I don't see what difference it makes if I did or didn't move on anyway. You made a choice.
[ Granted, he hasn't really relented with the off-hand asides now that they've been thrust back into each other's consciousness. He's sure that contradicts every word out of his mouth...or fingers now, when he hadn't at all been content with it, but he had swallowed it. Would have continued to, too, if he hadn't been such an idiot, letting any of this slip in the first place.
[ To not be having this blasted conversation? He stares at the phone for what seems like an age. He wants to tell Arthur to fuck off and fuck him all at once. His own consideration hadn't mattered the first time, why does it matter now?
And why can't he just leave this alone when he knows better? That any answer, even a flippant one, is only going to make this worse?
But his fingers then seem to move of their own volition, and it's only upon reading that sent message that his heart sinks into his stomach. ]
[ It had mattered. It had always mattered, even when Arthur didn't even realize it. It had just all seemed that much easier to leave when he was certain he hadn't mattered to the other man. ]
I wish you had said that then.
[ Would it have stopped him? Probably not. But it would've made a difference in a lot of other ways. ]
[ It doesn't help the wave of nausea that rises where his heart has now settled in its new home. He's angry and upset and bolstered, all at the same time, and he doesn't know what in the fuck to do with any of it. It would have been so much easier to cut this all off. Protect himself.protect Arthur, just let the awkward highway neither of them cross remain between them.
Now, he's playing a game he barely understands the rules of, and he's fairly certain he's about to get smashed up by a freight truck. ]
What different does it make?
[ Because, at the end of the day, he trusts that Arthur will make the decision that's right for him. The hard ones no one else in their right mind would want to. A plea otherwise doesn't stay that move. ]
[ He hates this. Hates this conversation, hates the feelings he's experiencing during it. But, in the back of his mind, some part of him knew this would have to come up eventually. Better now than never. He knows that now. ]
Dom has to get back to the kids. And I have to get back to you.
[ God, now he really wants to throw up. Is this real? His totem is out, played between fingers that long ago memorized its edges and divets. This must be, but it sure doesn't feel it.
He doesn't ask if Arthur means it. Of course he means it. (He doubts more the fact that he's actually read this and isn't experiencing the worst bout of dyslexia known on-record. ]
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But what in the hell was arguing with you about it going to accomplish?
[ Make him walk out quicker? Was that possible? Does he even want to know? How in the gell had they even ended up here over an idiotic jab at his drinking habits? ]
I don't see what difference it makes if I did or didn't move on anyway. You made a choice.
[ Granted, he hasn't really relented with the off-hand asides now that they've been thrust back into each other's consciousness. He's sure that contradicts every word out of his mouth...or fingers now, when he hadn't at all been content with it, but he had swallowed it. Would have continued to, too, if he hadn't been such an idiot, letting any of this slip in the first place.
He frowns at the phone. ]
What I want doesn't really matter, does it?
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and fuck himall at once. His own consideration hadn't mattered the first time, why does it matter now?And why can't he just leave this alone when he knows better? That any answer, even a flippant one, is only going to make this worse?
But his fingers then seem to move of their own volition, and it's only upon reading that sent message that his heart sinks into his stomach. ]
You.
[ Well, shit. ]
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I wish you had said that then.
[ Would it have stopped him? Probably not. But it would've made a difference in a lot of other ways. ]
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Now, he's playing a game he barely understands the rules of, and he's fairly certain he's about to get smashed up by a freight truck. ]
What different does it make?
[ Because, at the end of the day, he trusts that Arthur will make the decision that's right for him. The hard ones no one else in their right mind would want to. A plea otherwise doesn't stay that move. ]
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[ He hates this. Hates this conversation, hates the feelings he's experiencing during it. But, in the back of his mind, some part of him knew this would have to come up eventually. Better now than never. He knows that now. ]
Dom has to get back to the kids. And I have to get back to you.
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He doesn't ask if Arthur means it. Of course he means it. (He doubts more the fact that he's actually read this and isn't experiencing the worst bout of dyslexia known on-record. ]
Here or the flat in Amsterdam?
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[ He actually manages something close to a smile at that. ]
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[ He's going to have to get a flight. C'est la vie. ]
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