The shock was starting to fade away, and the trembling in his chest as he continued to look at her was slowly transmuting into a thick irritation, the sort that hung heavy in the air and steadied the lungs it filled rather than burning them up with searing flames. His gaze was becoming steadier, and stronger, and despite his simmering calmness the thought of shouldn't continued to shine brightly behind it.

He looked at her and felt old. Wiser, even. This wasn't what he wanted? Ha! When had it last been about that? When was the last time it had been about what he'd wanted?

This was about getting stronger, about getting better at something he could get better at. This was about making sure that none of... of what had happened... would ever happen again. This was about his mother and the smile on her face when he told her he'd decided to take up the family way again. This was about the money and the time and three drops of blood on the snow. This was about his future, this was about practicality, this was about not giving up, this was about not wasting, this was about... about...

He still hadn't said a word (it'd only been a few seconds, really) but it was already so, so obvious that even in his head his argument just wasn't enough. His gaze faltered in a way that might not have been obvious to anyone but those staring right into it, but in a way that represented a great loss to him, somehow. He didn't even know what was wrong with his reasons - they were laid out so nicely before him in words and images and chains of logic - but when it came to presenting them to a person like her, any real person really, it just felt like it didn't measure up.

So instead he dropped his eyes to the ground, curled his fingers around his thumbs in a pathetic imitations of a clench, and settled for half-baked truths.