"Oh, no, I definitely vote for out here." Hand lifting, to point at the ground, embarrassed color still fighting to flood into his face. Okay. So he's an asshole. But he's an asshole who would like to mitigate this damage, if at all possible.
Outside is nowhere near Catherine. Outside is far away from the vertigo-inducing door. Outside is fine. Outside is great. And it's not like he's scared of Catherine, but, really, he is a little scared of Catherine. "Or, better yet, how about I go home and let you finish your evening in peace, because I clearly do not have my head on straight."
Jumping to conclusions, no matter how justified they might be, isn't a good look. Bolting from Steve's living room in front of Catherine definitely isn't a good look, and the annoyance in Steve's tone isn't convincing him things will exactly be copacetic. What would that even be like? Are he and Catherine going to sit there and make small talk for an hour or so before someone leaves or they are all crushed under a flaming meteor of awkwardness? Or she might be actively angry at him. Them. The situation.
No. There is no good ending to this scenario, so it's better to cut his losses and drag his sorry ass back to the empty apartment, where he can sit down and have a long hard talk with himself about this reaction. That is so much more than a reaction. That still has him feeling flattened and aching. When just the thought that he'd lost Steve, and this, without being there, without being able to put up any kind of fight, was so breathtakingly painful it was like staying conscious through being hit by a car and falling off a roof.
He doesn't want to think about it, which is exactly why he needs to, because if he's going to fall apart over this, he needs to know what he's getting into. Too late to try and pull away, but this is insanity, this is crazy, that felt like dying, like being shot, and he doesn't think there's any coming back from breaking open a third time.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2013-02-06 10:37 pm (UTC)Outside is nowhere near Catherine. Outside is far away from the vertigo-inducing door. Outside is fine. Outside is great. And it's not like he's scared of Catherine, but, really, he is a little scared of Catherine. "Or, better yet, how about I go home and let you finish your evening in peace, because I clearly do not have my head on straight."
Jumping to conclusions, no matter how justified they might be, isn't a good look. Bolting from Steve's living room in front of Catherine definitely isn't a good look, and the annoyance in Steve's tone isn't convincing him things will exactly be copacetic. What would that even be like? Are he and Catherine going to sit there and make small talk for an hour or so before someone leaves or they are all crushed under a flaming meteor of awkwardness? Or she might be actively angry at him. Them. The situation.
No. There is no good ending to this scenario, so it's better to cut his losses and drag his sorry ass back to the empty apartment, where he can sit down and have a long hard talk with himself about this reaction. That is so much more than a reaction. That still has him feeling flattened and aching. When just the thought that he'd lost Steve, and this, without being there, without being able to put up any kind of fight, was so breathtakingly painful it was like staying conscious through being hit by a car and falling off a roof.
He doesn't want to think about it, which is exactly why he needs to, because if he's going to fall apart over this, he needs to know what he's getting into. Too late to try and pull away, but this is insanity, this is crazy, that felt like dying, like being shot, and he doesn't think there's any coming back from breaking open a third time.