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Bruce Wainright has (onerule) wrote in rooms,

Maybe it would have done them both some good, to share their thoughts and realize that they both feared similar things. He was worried about inevitably hurting her, as she was worried about inevitably hurting him, but both clung to maybes, to the hope that it could be different this time. Bruce thought that if he was aware of his tendency to hurt those around him then he could prevent it with Iris, take steps to keep it from happening, but even so he wondered if he was just making excuses. If, like everyone else, she deserved better. He knew it wasn't healthy to think such things, and he was trying to move away from that, to heal himself of that self-deprication, but it was a long, hard road he had to travel ahead of him. No one else, or very few, seemed to understand that.

He smiled when she laughed, and the warmth there, her amusement, was such a welcome change from what he was used to. Maybe it was selfish, but didn't everyone want to spend time with those who wanted to be in their presence, those who didn't resent or demand but were simply there? "It does," he countered. "From nothing, you can only get better." And he nodded when she said that she could understand more than she could speak; that was normal, certainly so. "It is. But with practice, speaking it will improve. You'll be having conversations in no time." Not necessarily true, perhaps an exaggeration, but a little encouragement never hurt.

The interest sparked when he mentioned the city just made him want to show it to her even more. "I can teach you," he assured her, in response to her concern that she didn't know how to ride. "You won't be the first woman to ride a horse, Iris. We'll find proper clothing, and it isn't too much to ask at all. I'd like to show you."