Fox's Glade My silent lips

It doesn’t matter anymore.

It didn’t? Did none of it matter? He drew in a shaky breath and held it, trying to settle himself, but it was of little use. He couldn’t drag back in what had been set free; the walls that once held it all back were no more, even the barest of foundations worn away into nothingness. But she was sorry, too. And he wanted to ask why and for what but he couldn’t form the words, couldn’t get them out. He never blamed her, nor Laurel, only ever himself; everything that had happened was due to his actions, his indecisiveness, his inability to do what needed to be done.

She had nothing to be sorry for.

It was simple enough to say but even those words wouldn’t leave his mouth—it wasn’t the time for them and this, surprisingly, he seemed to realise. There were other demons to fight and other stories to be told; it wasn’t the time for his to be shared, not when something was weighing her down. He owed it to her, to put someone other than himself first for once.

“What happened...?” he was finally able to ask, now watching her carefully. Would she share with him—did he deserve to sit with her and share woes? He wasn’t so sure but… he was willing to at least try.