[ The air expands with the sweltering heat. He's half-expecting her to pull away or to glimpse that flicker in people's faces he's seen too often. They don't always need to say something. He can always tell.
There's none of that. If anything, she seems to exhale, releasing a breath neither of them realize she was holding. Logan blinks once, waiting to see where this is going. It's a weird position to be in, to be telling somebody. He's never bothered. They either already know or they don't need to know. Ever since he landed on this planet, he's realized how many people have no idea about mutants. They're not plastered all over the news. They're not being debated on the streets and in Congress. They're not being hunted. It should be a good thing, but...fuck, he doesn't know. Mostly, it throws him off. He's operated by instinct for most of his life, and when things aren't quite right, aren't what he's accustomed to, it's as if his instincts aren't working, leading him astray, making him hesitate.
Or maybe he's having trouble admitting Karen's the one throwing him off. That it isn't this place, it's her. It's that he keeps...that he cares too damn much what happens next. He cares what she might tell him or how she might look at him. It shouldn't matter, he doesn't want it to matter, but it does. It does because like her, he's been asking himself if he's a goddamn idiot, if he was wrong, to think that he could maybeā€”for once in his too long lifeā€”let himself trust someone again without solid proof in front of his eyes that they can be trusted.
That's the thing, right? He's cautious 'til he isn't. And more often than not, he regrets it. (Somehow, he never learns.)
Still, she relaxes further, and despite himself, some of the tension leeches out of him, too. He expects questions. What he is. How long he's been like this. What happened to him. If there are others like him. But those questions don't come.
Instead, she reaches for his hand. The room's quiet. Real damn quiet, so quiet he can hear her heart as clear as drum. It's not steady. It's not beating fast out of fear. It's something else. (He knows what it is.)
He doesn't invite her closer. Doesn't move toward her. But he doesn't pull away, either. Maybe she can see his continued silence for what it is: a sort of careful allowance of whatever she might be asking to do. ]
no subject
There's none of that. If anything, she seems to exhale, releasing a breath neither of them realize she was holding. Logan blinks once, waiting to see where this is going. It's a weird position to be in, to be telling somebody. He's never bothered. They either already know or they don't need to know. Ever since he landed on this planet, he's realized how many people have no idea about mutants. They're not plastered all over the news. They're not being debated on the streets and in Congress. They're not being hunted. It should be a good thing, but...fuck, he doesn't know. Mostly, it throws him off. He's operated by instinct for most of his life, and when things aren't quite right, aren't what he's accustomed to, it's as if his instincts aren't working, leading him astray, making him hesitate.
Or maybe he's having trouble admitting Karen's the one throwing him off. That it isn't this place, it's her. It's that he keeps...that he cares too damn much what happens next. He cares what she might tell him or how she might look at him. It shouldn't matter, he doesn't want it to matter, but it does. It does because like her, he's been asking himself if he's a goddamn idiot, if he was wrong, to think that he could maybeā€”for once in his too long lifeā€”let himself trust someone again without solid proof in front of his eyes that they can be trusted.
That's the thing, right? He's cautious 'til he isn't. And more often than not, he regrets it. (Somehow, he never learns.)
Still, she relaxes further, and despite himself, some of the tension leeches out of him, too. He expects questions. What he is. How long he's been like this. What happened to him. If there are others like him. But those questions don't come.
Instead, she reaches for his hand. The room's quiet. Real damn quiet, so quiet he can hear her heart as clear as drum. It's not steady. It's not beating fast out of fear. It's something else. (He knows what it is.)
He doesn't invite her closer. Doesn't move toward her. But he doesn't pull away, either. Maybe she can see his continued silence for what it is: a sort of careful allowance of whatever she might be asking to do. ]