As always in moments like these, he makes a study of her expression, looking for similarities to others and patterns to use with people later. It helps that he's met enough people by now to have more of a cross-comparison mental database to pull from.
"I... am too." He says it experimentally, trying to see if the words still feel true out loud. "I wasn't... nice about it. Maybe I'll feel bad about that part later, but... I really... I don't think I can be kind about any of it yet."
"So there's sports where you play as a team, but only one person is 'playing' at a time. When the first person feels like they're not up to dealing with something, or they need a break, or the opponent they're up against is getting the better of them, they can 'tag in' their partner to take over the competition."
She sips her coffee.
"In this case, we're both trying to make sure that Arthur realizes the problem with what he did, but that he does so in a constructive way. If you can't be constructive, you can tag me in to handle it until you're ready to tackle it."
There's a distinct and heavy relief from Edwin. He bunches his sweater cuff around his fingers so he can rub his face with something that feels nice instead of his hand again.
"I think I need to tag you in. Because--" He stares into his mocha, something lead and guilty sliding from his chest into the region of the stomach. "Because I'm angry, but I'm... also... scared."
A hug. A hug would be nice. Which is why he doesn't mention it as the movie gets picked and snacks get chosen.
He does scootch gradually closer whenever the TV gets loud enough to be, he thinks, sufficiently distracting. He does pull his arms inside his sweater and s l o w l y, with all the subtlety of a cat who is convinced they are invisible, rest his head on Saga's shoulder.
"Goof," she says before her arm will sneak around his shoulders and yes, reach up to ruffle his hair a little. She'll fix it before turning to give the top of his head a little kiss.
Edwin relaxes. Snuggles in. Senses that soft tug that means sleep could happen if he let it, and sleep sounds nice. Nicer than losing track of the movie every so often while he overthinks a piece of the mess.
He lets his eyes close, lets his body fully relax, and drifts off. Like fireflies coming out at night, colors and wispy half-formed images start to wink in and out of existence around him. The unborn dreams of a child god who mumbles in his sleep.
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"I... am too." He says it experimentally, trying to see if the words still feel true out loud. "I wasn't... nice about it. Maybe I'll feel bad about that part later, but... I really... I don't think I can be kind about any of it yet."
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"If you need to tag me in for this, this is part of my duties: as his warden and as your..." she grins a little "can I say 'your friend'?"
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Unequivocally.
Side note-- "Tag you in?"
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"So there's sports where you play as a team, but only one person is 'playing' at a time. When the first person feels like they're not up to dealing with something, or they need a break, or the opponent they're up against is getting the better of them, they can 'tag in' their partner to take over the competition."
She sips her coffee.
"In this case, we're both trying to make sure that Arthur realizes the problem with what he did, but that he does so in a constructive way. If you can't be constructive, you can tag me in to handle it until you're ready to tackle it."
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"I think I need to tag you in. Because--" He stares into his mocha, something lead and guilty sliding from his chest into the region of the stomach. "Because I'm angry, but I'm... also... scared."
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"I think I'm really tired of talking. At least about these things."
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"Then I propose couch and movies and if you want a hug, you can get that too."
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He does scootch gradually closer whenever the TV gets loud enough to be, he thinks, sufficiently distracting. He does pull his arms inside his sweater and s l o w l y, with all the subtlety of a cat who is convinced they are invisible, rest his head on Saga's shoulder.
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He lets his eyes close, lets his body fully relax, and drifts off. Like fireflies coming out at night, colors and wispy half-formed images start to wink in and out of existence around him. The unborn dreams of a child god who mumbles in his sleep.