[ She does! She knows what he means, but somehow her expression doesn't change. She doesn't laugh along or smile companionably at this newest little slip. That barely-there edge of confusion stays in the crinkle between her brows. That feeling pushing up against the back of her, like she's supposed to be talking, that little desperate panic telling she's forgotten the next step in a dance, and she needs to course-correct fast before she offends Bruce.
Jean opens her mouth to say something, even if it's an apology (for what, she doesn't know), but Bruce beats her to the following words with that question. That. Question. It's like the tinkle of chimes, asking for a response. It's like a hammer hitting something so far away. It's more like she feels rather than hears the echo of the connection between the two. A shadow so far in the distance it looks like a line. But one so upright that Ozymandias would weep.
(And of course, she doesn't, right? Always a bridesmaid, never a bride, right? Friends with the best of sweepingly romantic stories of torrid passion and sweet content intertwined, right? Terrible building super's and weird roommates and awkward copy boys who ramble and spill coffee, but not ... someone, right? That's not how the stories go. Right?)
Her mouth opens again (there's only ever one right answer here, and from it unlocks all the doors in the hallways of the future), but all she can get to come out is. ]
no subject
Jean opens her mouth to say something, even if it's an apology (for what, she doesn't know), but Bruce beats her to the following words with that question. That. Question. It's like the tinkle of chimes, asking for a response. It's like a hammer hitting something so far away. It's more like she feels rather than hears the echo of the connection between the two. A shadow so far in the distance it looks like a line. But one so upright that Ozymandias would weep.
(And of course, she doesn't, right? Always a bridesmaid, never a bride, right? Friends with the best of sweepingly romantic stories of torrid passion and sweet content intertwined, right? Terrible building super's and weird roommates and awkward copy boys who ramble and spill coffee, but not ... someone, right? That's not how the stories go. Right?)
Her mouth opens again (there's only ever one right answer here, and from it unlocks all the doors in the hallways of the future), but all she can get to come out is. ]
I --