Some businesses in Hightown, she knows, will allow someone to extend credit for another — she, too, thinks of Tony for entirely different reasons, remembering how she'd made him an appointment with a tailor for a number of items adding up to his not dressing like a depressed ragman any more. Maybe she's about to say something about it (wouldn't it be nice if Tony came back, actually, Cosima would probably be relieved, too—) but the slide of his fingertips and the question,
one soothes more than the other. Gwenaëlle slips her wrist beneath his hand enough that she can press their palms together. Probably he can see the moment where she nearly says of course I'm fine, not because she's thought it through but because she hasn't. He warrants the extra effort, the moment of pause. An answer she's actually given some weight to.
“I was when he was still here,” she says, feeling her way to the edges of how off-balanced she's found herself. “It'd be easier if it were just my ex-husband, you know, and not... I keep reaching for these fragile things,” with a wet laugh, struck by it, tilting her head up half not to let tears surprise her and half not to look at him and find she can't avoid them. “I was so much smaller a part of his life than he was of mine. I was the wife that could be forgotten. The thing I was so fucking afraid of, here it is. And that keeps happening, I have to stop finding new things to be afraid of, I think I just become fearless or something. I think that's—”
She presses her eyes shut, and then her forehead against his shoulder. “And I don't wish I was living a different life. It just, I want this to be real to you.”
no subject
one soothes more than the other. Gwenaëlle slips her wrist beneath his hand enough that she can press their palms together. Probably he can see the moment where she nearly says of course I'm fine, not because she's thought it through but because she hasn't. He warrants the extra effort, the moment of pause. An answer she's actually given some weight to.
“I was when he was still here,” she says, feeling her way to the edges of how off-balanced she's found herself. “It'd be easier if it were just my ex-husband, you know, and not... I keep reaching for these fragile things,” with a wet laugh, struck by it, tilting her head up half not to let tears surprise her and half not to look at him and find she can't avoid them. “I was so much smaller a part of his life than he was of mine. I was the wife that could be forgotten. The thing I was so fucking afraid of, here it is. And that keeps happening, I have to stop finding new things to be afraid of, I think I just become fearless or something. I think that's—”
She presses her eyes shut, and then her forehead against his shoulder. “And I don't wish I was living a different life. It just, I want this to be real to you.”
Thedas, her. It is so fragile.