His heart hurts and he can't think of anything else to say. The anger, the rage he feels at the thing in his arms is palpable. He wonders if it can feel that rage. It's pulling away from him in the tube and his eyes narrow. He draws in a shaky breath and then another. Dylan. Think of Dylan.
His son. His son with a broken arm from his father. How the kid liked pineapple on pizza (what the fuck?) and video games. And he drew. Apparently. And-
He did this. He did all of it. His features melt when they meet Anne's.
"Can I come in and sit down? Please? I..." He wobbles slightly, "I'm tired."
There's no We in his voice. No we indicative of a much deeper problem, of their bond, "...I met Dylan. and that-"
no subject
His heart hurts and he can't think of anything else to say. The anger, the rage he feels at the thing in his arms is palpable. He wonders if it can feel that rage. It's pulling away from him in the tube and his eyes narrow. He draws in a shaky breath and then another. Dylan. Think of Dylan.
His son. His son with a broken arm from his father. How the kid liked pineapple on pizza (what the fuck?) and video games. And he drew. Apparently. And-
He did this. He did all of it. His features melt when they meet Anne's.
"Can I come in and sit down? Please? I..." He wobbles slightly, "I'm tired."
There's no We in his voice. No we indicative of a much deeper problem, of their bond, "...I met Dylan. and that-"
No. What if he's wrong? Fuck it.
"We need to talk."