“Mm. Yeah. That sort of thing works too. I just hate to be wrangled, personally; I prefer when it’s something you choose to do yourself. But of course, that means being in a state where you’re able to make that choice— so for all the other times, it’s useful to have a Guilfoyle.
“And I believe you,” Stephen adds. “If there’s one thing I know about you, you care so much, Gwenaëlle. It was one of the first things I ever noticed about you. So I think this sort of thing is a slow process, simply trying and continuing until you wake up one morning and realise you don’t need those crutches anymore. Like a broken leg, healing.”
The press of his fingers against her knee, her hand. This is backtracking a little, but there’s still some connective tissue there: his last big fight with Christine had at least partially been about her managing him, his inability to let someone simply help and pull him out of his drowning spiral. He had picked that fight. Had lashed out and tried to hurt her for it.
And so he asks, reeling back to a few minutes ago, that ugly picture: “Who would you provoke?”
Because he finds himself pained but still wanting to paint in the rest of it, understanding the vulnerable whole of her. If it was her father, or a lover, or friends, or strangers in a bar— these details matter.
no subject
“And I believe you,” Stephen adds. “If there’s one thing I know about you, you care so much, Gwenaëlle. It was one of the first things I ever noticed about you. So I think this sort of thing is a slow process, simply trying and continuing until you wake up one morning and realise you don’t need those crutches anymore. Like a broken leg, healing.”
The press of his fingers against her knee, her hand. This is backtracking a little, but there’s still some connective tissue there: his last big fight with Christine had at least partially been about her managing him, his inability to let someone simply help and pull him out of his drowning spiral. He had picked that fight. Had lashed out and tried to hurt her for it.
And so he asks, reeling back to a few minutes ago, that ugly picture: “Who would you provoke?”
Because he finds himself pained but still wanting to paint in the rest of it, understanding the vulnerable whole of her. If it was her father, or a lover, or friends, or strangers in a bar— these details matter.