Re: TWD, Cell: Shane and Clem (+ Graham) I don't want him to like me. He just does.
Shane fucking put a hand over his eyes to gather himself a moment after that display of peacockery that went so over his head, it was a fucking satellite. He understood being apologetic in who you were, in mincing no words with the world around you, telling it it could take you or leave you and that it made no difference to you, but he also knew it was fucking human to want people to like you. Maybe you didn't think about it, but the want was there, stuck somewhere inside. Shane dug his thumbs into the sockets of his eyes and pinched starbursts into his vision, ever the beleaguered older brother.
He didn't want to tell Graham's business to her, figuring the man would do it himself, if he could. But, then he remembered—he couldn't—Graham couldn't, because he didn't even fucking know half the time. Shane wiped his hands away from his face with a jerk.
"He is fucking crazy. Of course he's fucking crazy. He sees his goddamn dead wife." The man spoke in a hush, because Clementine wasn't fucking wrong. They all lived in close quarters and word? Word traveled fast here, if it traveled at all. Sometimes it just seemed like everyone knew goddamn everything somehow. "I'm only telling you so you can help me take care of him, yeah? Not so you can use it against him.—He sees Lorelei. Talks to her. And I know he thinks you're her sometimes because we've fucking talked about it. I don't want you to ignore him, but you don't need to be showing him your goddamn dress and heels. You're no fucking little girl, Clementine, and that kind of attention—that's not what he should be giving you. You want that shit, you fucking flounce to someone else, you hear?"
Shane didn't often lecture, not full out. He didn't like doling out the 'shoulds.' But when the time came, and the big brother's foot had to come down, he didn't hesitate.