He's smiling to himself as he dresses, listening to her humming in the kitchen while he pulls on his clothes. For a moment it's a perfectly blissful domestic moment.
And then he pulls on his shirt, and the stiff fabric is scratchy against his shoulder and reminds him of the blood stain that's there and now dried. Pulling the article off he frowns at it, feeling the rough spot out with the pad of his thumb.
It makes him wonder if this is even possible. What happens if he doesn't tell her everything? And what happens if he does?
There's nothing to do for it right now, and so he puts on the shirt, doing up the buttons and straightening out the wrinkles as best he can, and wearing it like it's fresh and there's nothing wrong.
The first thing he notices when he enters the kitchen is that her humming has stopped. Still he puts on a smile, lifting his nose in an exaggeration of smelling the air.
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And then he pulls on his shirt, and the stiff fabric is scratchy against his shoulder and reminds him of the blood stain that's there and now dried. Pulling the article off he frowns at it, feeling the rough spot out with the pad of his thumb.
It makes him wonder if this is even possible. What happens if he doesn't tell her everything? And what happens if he does?
There's nothing to do for it right now, and so he puts on the shirt, doing up the buttons and straightening out the wrinkles as best he can, and wearing it like it's fresh and there's nothing wrong.
The first thing he notices when he enters the kitchen is that her humming has stopped. Still he puts on a smile, lifting his nose in an exaggeration of smelling the air.
"Coffee?"