She hates that she's crying in front of him, in front of anyone. The memory is violating enough to have seen by other people, the memory of a moment where she realised she was truly, truly alone for the first time in her life and it was all her own fault—but crying, here and now, in front of York?
It's fucking mortifying, but she can't stop.
The last time she cried on someone's shoulder it was North, and the thought of that conversation sends her into a fresh wave of sobs because it had meant so much, she'd been open and honest about deep-seated insecurities she never thought she'd share with him, and he'd reassured her that she hadn't always been this, been the person who let her brother die to save her own skin. It had meant so. fucking. much.
Only to know, now, that it could all just be bullshit.
"H-He never fucking forgave me," she mumbles, quiet and muffled and her voice shaking. "He shouldn't. He shouldn't, but he— he let me think he did, and— and— fuck."
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She hates that she's crying in front of him, in front of anyone. The memory is violating enough to have seen by other people, the memory of a moment where she realised she was truly, truly alone for the first time in her life and it was all her own fault—but crying, here and now, in front of York?
It's fucking mortifying, but she can't stop.
The last time she cried on someone's shoulder it was North, and the thought of that conversation sends her into a fresh wave of sobs because it had meant so much, she'd been open and honest about deep-seated insecurities she never thought she'd share with him, and he'd reassured her that she hadn't always been this, been the person who let her brother die to save her own skin. It had meant so. fucking. much.
Only to know, now, that it could all just be bullshit.
"H-He never fucking forgave me," she mumbles, quiet and muffled and her voice shaking. "He shouldn't. He shouldn't, but he— he let me think he did, and— and— fuck."