[ Bastien watches Byerly until he speaks, half afraid he'll cry, or get up and walk out, or both, and Bastien won't have the willpower to do anything except go after him and tell him that he's sorry and Byerly is wonderful and everyone else in the entire world can go fuck themselves. The other half expects an argument. Quibbles on the minor points, if not the entire premise.
It almost feels worse, not to have one. But worse in a way that still makes him relax, within the rigid outline of his fake-relaxed, slouchy, feet-on-desk posture, in barely perceptible ways.
He checks Benedict's face. If he'd found a smirk there he might have thrown him out of the room. But he doesn't. The kid can stay.
Bastien nods, adjusts to the reality that they might be closer to on the same page, and pronounces, with great dignity: ]
no subject
It almost feels worse, not to have one. But worse in a way that still makes him relax, within the rigid outline of his fake-relaxed, slouchy, feet-on-desk posture, in barely perceptible ways.
He checks Benedict's face. If he'd found a smirk there he might have thrown him out of the room. But he doesn't. The kid can stay.
Bastien nods, adjusts to the reality that they might be closer to on the same page, and pronounces, with great dignity: ]
I don't know.