(no subject)

It's been a miserable few days, as things go. He's given everyone but Laurence a wide berth and, even with Laurence, he's been an unbearable scrub. It's difficult to parse what he's actually feeling. It's not that he told her - that much he can live with. He meant it when he told Laurence that it wasn't anything to be ashamed of, and it wasn't something he wished that he could changed.

He was angry, more than anything, that she'd pried it out of him, as surely as if she'd used her nails.
And he's still angry. But he misses her.

He sighs, leaning his shoulder against the wall beside her curtain. No door to knock.

"Are you in there?" he asks, voice low. No reason to interrupt everyone's evening.