[It's . . . obvious, so obvious, that she's preparing to say something important to him. That she wants to share a secret. He's given her one, so maybe she feels like it's safe to give one back. Maybe she trusts him.]
[Maybe she trusts him more than she should.]
[He never even thought - he knew there was at least one, but that one doesn't keep it secret, that one doesn't pretend to be something she's not. Why would you keep it secret if you didn't--]
[She never actually said vampire. She didn't. But he's looking at her and there's something in her eyes, and maybe it's just because he is so desperately fixated, but he thinks of it and how the last thing he ever saw was cold judgmental eyes through the blood in his own, and he wonders how much power there is in this girl he gave a seashell to one day in the sand and the surf.]
[It occurs to him, as his fingers go cold, that he is afraid.]
[This probably shows. He's normally quite capable of maintaining a neutral-to-cold exterior, but he can feel his lip tremble just once and has to deliberately hook his thumbs into his pockets. Not by choice, she says, and he focuses on that, not by choice, and she hasn't hurt anyone. He would have found out.]
[All right. Okay. He's going to - do this. It'll be fine. He sighs sharply and nods, okay, okay, not by choice, but it happened.]
. . . I'm sorry. I'm - surprised. He - they killed my father.
[He doesn't know how to explain it better than that. He just doesn't know.]
You want this secret, yes? From . . . people like me.
no subject
[Maybe she trusts him more than she should.]
[He never even thought - he knew there was at least one, but that one doesn't keep it secret, that one doesn't pretend to be something she's not. Why would you keep it secret if you didn't--]
[She never actually said vampire. She didn't. But he's looking at her and there's something in her eyes, and maybe it's just because he is so desperately fixated, but he thinks of it and how the last thing he ever saw was cold judgmental eyes through the blood in his own, and he wonders how much power there is in this girl he gave a seashell to one day in the sand and the surf.]
[It occurs to him, as his fingers go cold, that he is afraid.]
[This probably shows. He's normally quite capable of maintaining a neutral-to-cold exterior, but he can feel his lip tremble just once and has to deliberately hook his thumbs into his pockets. Not by choice, she says, and he focuses on that, not by choice, and she hasn't hurt anyone. He would have found out.]
[All right. Okay. He's going to - do this. It'll be fine. He sighs sharply and nods, okay, okay, not by choice, but it happened.]
. . . I'm sorry. I'm - surprised. He - they killed my father.
[He doesn't know how to explain it better than that. He just doesn't know.]
You want this secret, yes? From . . . people like me.