[Gansey's noticed the accent, but it feels like one of those things he shouldn't talk about. Like if he does Adam will pull it away and try to school himself back into who he thinks he should be. He's also not sure he's ever hear Adam talk with his natural inflections so much at once, and it's nice. He likes the sound, soft at the edges of his consonants, all Henrietta sunshine.]
Uh- no. Not really. [There's a touch of a flush against his cheekbones, the way he pointedly doesn't look at the older boy, his adam's apple bobbing obvious in his throat as he swallows dryly. There is clear distress in the set of his shoulders, in the way his fingers twitch, but he tries not to acknowledge it.]
Can you just-- say that again, but explain it this time?
[He almost winces a little, but he wants information when it comes to things that upset him more, not less. But when Adam says that you get the hang of it, it's manageable he can't quite help the hollow sort of laugh that slips from his mouth, even if he wants to. It's been a long day with an endless number of pressures and indignities that still have shame burning in his veins. He stops walking for a moment, his jaw tight and his breathing coming far too fast.]
How do you say that? How do you talk about being drugged for days and locked in a room and sent to a place called the people zoo and talk like that's okay?
[His hazel eyes are as sharp as the tone of his words, but it's not really Adam he's upset with. It's this place, it's the idea that this place could do those sort of things to him, to Adam of all people. There's a terror in the things Adam implies without saying, and in this place Gansey is powerless and helpless and he doesn't mean anything.
He manages to catch himself, to more-or-less even out his breathing, to force a thin, brittle sort of smile as he shakes his head. The last thing he wants is to pick a fight here, to watch Adam's eyes turn stormy, and his expression tight, watch him walk away.
Not here; he doesn't think he could take it.]
Sorry. I'm sorry. It's just-- I don't know how you stand it.
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Uh- no. Not really. [There's a touch of a flush against his cheekbones, the way he pointedly doesn't look at the older boy, his adam's apple bobbing obvious in his throat as he swallows dryly. There is clear distress in the set of his shoulders, in the way his fingers twitch, but he tries not to acknowledge it.]
Can you just-- say that again, but explain it this time?
[He almost winces a little, but he wants information when it comes to things that upset him more, not less. But when Adam says that you get the hang of it, it's manageable he can't quite help the hollow sort of laugh that slips from his mouth, even if he wants to. It's been a long day with an endless number of pressures and indignities that still have shame burning in his veins. He stops walking for a moment, his jaw tight and his breathing coming far too fast.]
How do you say that? How do you talk about being drugged for days and locked in a room and sent to a place called the people zoo and talk like that's okay?
[His hazel eyes are as sharp as the tone of his words, but it's not really Adam he's upset with. It's this place, it's the idea that this place could do those sort of things to him, to Adam of all people. There's a terror in the things Adam implies without saying, and in this place Gansey is powerless and helpless and he doesn't mean anything.
He manages to catch himself, to more-or-less even out his breathing, to force a thin, brittle sort of smile as he shakes his head. The last thing he wants is to pick a fight here, to watch Adam's eyes turn stormy, and his expression tight, watch him walk away.
Not here; he doesn't think he could take it.]
Sorry. I'm sorry. It's just-- I don't know how you stand it.