Re: hannah and david: woods
David felt he lingered edgewise, sideways, catcorner to the Mars family - in but not quite. He hadn't been as diligent as perhaps he ought have been, keeping up with them and their dealings, worrying for them when he should. Si's admonition not to wrap Hannah in his business had been a part of that. He hadn't separated, but he had taken a step back. His work was in the making again, and he wouldn't pull them into it. They had problems of their own, dire as death in their own way.
"Collapse," he repeated. Quite the world for a relationship. "Like the floorboards caving in." It was what it made him think of. "That's a shame." He hardly knew Hugh at all except by mention. "Why did it?" He looked at their feet, stepping together, and when she asked him about loneliness he threw his head back to look at the stars, huffed out a long breath at them. "Oh, yes. I'm sorry." He bumped her, close as they were, shoulder to shoulder. His hands in his pockets, he gave her a nudge. "Anyplace that makes you feel alone, you leave." He shrugged, and smiled at her. Not groundbreaking, but it was as cogent a piece of advice as he'd given anyone in a while.
He wheeled with her toward the trees. It was a beautiful night, as edgy as he felt inside. He could quiet those feelings a little by staying with what she was saying, counting their steps. There was a meditative thing to counting - it was part of what made rosaries such a comfort. "Why do we only find each other at or near a party?" he asked. They weren't close to the streetlamps, but the dark was light enough tonight. The moon was out and round. "I've been," he said. "And I was busy." He canted his head to the side. "More interested in you. How and where you've been, where you are right now. I feel as if you've been all over."