Jon couldn't think of anything to say. Of course. Of course he couldn't.
Lulu should have known why that would be -- and she did, of course, because in the back of her mind there were warning bells pulling and screaming her rashness. A reasonable person would take a step back and think about all of this when they were calmer. They'd consider different perspectives, weigh the consequences of their actions, and try their best not to hurt Jon.
It hurt her too, though. Her chest even heaved a little, and she flinched at the look in his eyes: perhaps a bit afraid that he would say something. Maybe it would be something she didn't want to hear, something that would undermine the confidence she'd force into herself later -- convincing herself that this was the right thing to do, even with no knowledge of the reasons why.
There was a bit of a high, though, in acting on impulse. Hadn't these things been bothering her for weeks? Yes. It wasn't as though it were a surprise, that they were having trouble. Was all of this really all that impulsive, then?
"Yes," she muttered, shaking her head. "You would say nothing, wouldn't you? Maybe it's that energy, mm? Energy's not in it? What d'you think?"
"Reckon I'll be off, then," she added, before she had to look in his eyes for too long. My weakness. You. Stupid. Stupid. The longer she looked, the more likely she'd call him tomorrow and look like an indecisive fool.