Re: log: blake and graham, thorne house
Blake didn't fare so well with silence. He couldn't settle in it, couldn't get comfortable. It made him nervous in ways he couldn't give thought to. There were too many opportunities to second guess when things got quiet and the conversation stopped, too many chances to think things through all the way.
It didn't occur to him that Graham might not look at the situation he'd been in and immediately see who he could have dropped to stay alive. That kind of desperation for survival brought back ugly memories. When Graham suggested some people could live with themselves, he smiled a little, with bite, then realized what had jumped to the surface and smoothed his expression. People did all kinds of things to make sure they didn't die. Desperate people might make animals of themselves, but in the end, the situation was often to blame. Or the people who had created it.
When Graham nearly choked on his whiskey Blake blanched, and very nearly changed the subject. But he was mesmerized by how badly this would inevitable go, dragged onward by a need he couldn't explain.
He took a long swallow of the whiskey, and he didn't choke a bit. His face was flushed and his fingers were warm, and this all seemed like a necessary conversation. Maybe he should have thought through going for the second drink, but they were already here now, and he wasn't doing things by halves anymore.
"I should have come to you here," he said eyes half-lidded. Was that all whiskey coloring his cheeks, or was there shame in it? Shame dogged him lately, after spending so long with that emotion firmly under his heel. "I shouldn't have just...made a big announcement on the journals. I mean, I shouldn't have said anything at all." He searched Graham's face with a sweep of his eyes, then lifted the mug again. "Should have kept my own fucking business to myself," he said, against the lip.