[He'd ended up startling her but they could both get over it. There's the quick look, then the look away, the comment on his appearance... He pauses, glancing down at the soaked, nondescript jumpsuit he was wearing.]
I always look like this.
[He was used to looking like a wreck. It was the little details, the tightness around his eyes, the tenseness in how he stood, that were the real signs of trouble. He'd feel like a wreck, if he gave himself proper time to feel, and that was unacceptable to him. His eyes flicker over to what she's working on. Each nail was put in with a certain precision to it, a purpose.]
Rather than talking about me, [since he's blunt enough to say outright that he doesn't want to talk about it,] What are you working on?
"this is healthy coping"
I always look like this.
[He was used to looking like a wreck. It was the little details, the tightness around his eyes, the tenseness in how he stood, that were the real signs of trouble. He'd feel like a wreck, if he gave himself proper time to feel, and that was unacceptable to him. His eyes flicker over to what she's working on. Each nail was put in with a certain precision to it, a purpose.]
Rather than talking about me, [since he's blunt enough to say outright that he doesn't want to talk about it,] What are you working on?