He looks at her a long moment, chewing his lower lip and clearly struggling with something unseen.
He doesn’t run, at least.
“Um,” he finally hedges, “I heard about something.” He glances around, his shoulders dropping— Abby will never forgive him— “that happened. And it’s good, I think it’s good, I’m. I’m happy. For you. Both.”
It takes a minute, but it finally dawns on Clarisse what he's saying. She opens her mouth to speak, then shuts it again just as quickly.
It's not like she told Abby not to tell anybody. Truthfully, it hadn't occurred to her that Abby might do that in the first place. Clarisse wrestles with that for a few seconds, then pushes it away to deal with later. There's more pressing shit to go over first.
"You don't know what you're talking about." Clearly.
For a long and tense moment, Benedict looks afraid again. But Clarisse’s reaction seems, in fact, to relieve him.
“You’re right,” he agrees, far too cheerfully, “I’m probably making it up for attention.” Anything, anything but the awful truth: that he fucked up.
“Byeee,” he concludes, hurrying away before she can protest. He’s got some damage control to do, or more realistically, spiraling: whichever comes first.
Edited (icon + clarity ) Date: 2024-11-23 07:09 am (UTC)
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2024-11-23 04:16 am (UTC)He doesn’t run, at least.
“Um,” he finally hedges, “I heard about something.” He glances around, his shoulders dropping— Abby will never forgive him— “that happened. And it’s good, I think it’s good, I’m. I’m happy. For you.
Both.”
Wince.
no subject
Date: 2024-11-23 04:47 am (UTC)It's not like she told Abby not to tell anybody. Truthfully, it hadn't occurred to her that Abby might do that in the first place. Clarisse wrestles with that for a few seconds, then pushes it away to deal with later. There's more pressing shit to go over first.
"You don't know what you're talking about." Clearly.
no subject
Date: 2024-11-23 05:52 am (UTC)“You’re right,” he agrees, far too cheerfully, “I’m probably making it up for attention.” Anything, anything but the awful truth: that he fucked up.
“Byeee,” he concludes, hurrying away before she can protest. He’s got some damage control to do, or more realistically, spiraling: whichever comes first.