*takes his belongings from your hands and sticks them in pockets, oddly glad that he got around to crashing on your couch one of these days (and that it hasn't even fazed you)*
'It's private, Erestor' 'shut up, lieutenant'
*knows you can probably read the pain in his eyes now, but can hardly find it within him to care (and he doesn't drop your gaze)* *doesn't so much smile as force the corners of his mouth to twitch* It's private and it isn't. (Not much about us is private anymore.) But mostly—mostly, Erestor—it just hurts too damned much.