[He knows. Just for a moment, he presses his hands together, fingertips to wrists, at his waist. It's an odd, irregular gesture, very nearly insectoid. The thumbnail of his right hand is bitten down.]
You know him better than I do. So I will need your help. There . . . was never time to grieve, for him. And I don't know if it's better to speak of this in that terms, or let him make his own way.
It isn't my choice, but he will need guidance. Yours first, mine second.
no subject
[He knows. Just for a moment, he presses his hands together, fingertips to wrists, at his waist. It's an odd, irregular gesture, very nearly insectoid. The thumbnail of his right hand is bitten down.]
You know him better than I do. So I will need your help. There . . . was never time to grieve, for him. And I don't know if it's better to speak of this in that terms, or let him make his own way.
It isn't my choice, but he will need guidance. Yours first, mine second.