[ He doesn't doubt that Wynonna cares about him. It's been a strange revelation over time, and even now he can't quite understand some of it, but he knows she cares about his well-being (he would know even if she hadn't directly told him once that she gave a damn about him), and the well-being of others. She saved his life at enormous risk to herself, ran straight back into a burning building.
But it's been there in softer moments, too, soft and subtle but telling in their own way. He thinks Wynonna is a kind, selfless soul — layered in a rough, admittedly intimidating outer edge, but he's known others like that, and it isn't difficult to see what peeks out beneath. Not for him. She's very gentle, really; there's gentleness, a softness. She doesn't feel like anyone cold or abrasive to the touch, not to him. She's warm. She's safe. Perhaps one could argue that Edward Little, foolish and naïve and gullible, chooses to see the best in people, that it will always be his downfall.
But it isn't a choice. It's just... there. To him, it speaks for itself; he sees it. How could he not? He knows she struggles to be around people; he may not know the extent of it, but he sees that too, and yet.... He also sees how others brighten up around her, how her presence makes one feel at a certain ease in a crowded room. How wounded the softest parts of her eyes looked when she spoke about failing to protect others and how fiercely she does that now, how she didn't hesitate a beat when he came to her door for help, for someone to help him keep Kate safe. She stayed at his home for as long as he needed her to, she— she's always been there for him. No matter an acerbic tongue or so many irritated gestures, no matter the (often times flustering; it's so easy for her to speak obscenely.....) teases and provocations, no matter how sharply she may show her teeth, Wynonna Earp has always been a reliable presence to him here.
But he hadn't quite grasped how... much she might care for him, or how much she might become hurt by his distance. It does stun him, splits some strange piece within him wide open; he can't predict... any of this, and that's always been one of the scariest things, but each scary little thing seems to tighten a rope that he'd felt loosening, fortifying a thing he'd been afraid to lose (because he is afraid of that, just as much as he's afraid to have it); she takes the offered handkerchief, she tells him she doesn't want distance from him anymore, she insults his character and he might almost laugh with some strange flood of relief that this feels familiar and he's missed that—
—She's missed him, too.
Edward dares to let himself see that, to realise it there in her wet eyes and sniffling as she turns back to him. 'That fight was the most we'd said to each other in weeks. Do you realize that?']
....Yes. [ He almost whispers, eyes lowering to the wooden floorboards for a moment. That's it. Another truth. The 'distance' he thought was best to keep, came well before that argument in the Lakeside cabin. It was there, maybe easier to pretend like it wasn't, like he was simply very busy, occupied with everything going on, that it was normal there would be no time to spare to meet with her again and hold true conversation as they had that one night in the dark warmth, sitting on his sofa. He didn't... intentionally utilise the argument to drive a direct wedge between them, but perhaps it was easy to... let the repercussions of it fall into place. They argued, they shouldn't speak again for some time; it was justified.
And he spent the next month or so not having to look at her for too long, or share space, or worry that she might reach for his arm to get his attention, or laugh where he could hear it, or smile at him, meaning for him to see it. ]
I do..... apologise for that, as well. Things have been.... Much has happened.
[ (She really has noticed it, though? Noticed his absence, so much? His? As much as he doesn't doubt Wynonna cares for his well-being, he hadn't thought that his mere... company was worth lamenting the loss of. He still isn't sure if that's what she means, not entirely; maybe it's that he hadn't been around to keep watch over things, to check in with. Surely it's that. Surely it's nothing— nothing else.)
He inhales, slow and careful, fingers rubbing quietly against themselves. ]
...But I never meant to cause distress. I must confess that at times, the decisions I make... seem like the right ones, and then I realise—
[ He pauses, exhales with an underlying shudder. He's withholding things but simultaneously revealing things, and his stomach twists tighter, nervous, aching. He'd directly told Wynonna once, that he cared for her, but this is— it feels different. Almost too bold and at once not bold enough, some unnerving mixture of the two, and he swallows, hard. ]
THE ONLY MOOD
But it's been there in softer moments, too, soft and subtle but telling in their own way. He thinks Wynonna is a kind, selfless soul — layered in a rough, admittedly intimidating outer edge, but he's known others like that, and it isn't difficult to see what peeks out beneath. Not for him. She's very gentle, really; there's gentleness, a softness. She doesn't feel like anyone cold or abrasive to the touch, not to him. She's warm. She's safe. Perhaps one could argue that Edward Little, foolish and naïve and gullible, chooses to see the best in people, that it will always be his downfall.
But it isn't a choice. It's just... there. To him, it speaks for itself; he sees it. How could he not? He knows she struggles to be around people; he may not know the extent of it, but he sees that too, and yet.... He also sees how others brighten up around her, how her presence makes one feel at a certain ease in a crowded room. How wounded the softest parts of her eyes looked when she spoke about failing to protect others and how fiercely she does that now, how she didn't hesitate a beat when he came to her door for help, for someone to help him keep Kate safe. She stayed at his home for as long as he needed her to, she— she's always been there for him. No matter an acerbic tongue or so many irritated gestures, no matter the (often times flustering; it's so easy for her to speak obscenely.....) teases and provocations, no matter how sharply she may show her teeth, Wynonna Earp has always been a reliable presence to him here.
But he hadn't quite grasped how... much she might care for him, or how much she might become hurt by his distance. It does stun him, splits some strange piece within him wide open; he can't predict... any of this, and that's always been one of the scariest things, but each scary little thing seems to tighten a rope that he'd felt loosening, fortifying a thing he'd been afraid to lose (because he is afraid of that, just as much as he's afraid to have it); she takes the offered handkerchief, she tells him she doesn't want distance from him anymore, she insults his character and he might almost laugh with some strange flood of relief that this feels familiar and he's missed that—
—She's missed him, too.
Edward dares to let himself see that, to realise it there in her wet eyes and sniffling as she turns back to him. 'That fight was the most we'd said to each other in weeks. Do you realize that?' ]
....Yes. [ He almost whispers, eyes lowering to the wooden floorboards for a moment. That's it. Another truth. The 'distance' he thought was best to keep, came well before that argument in the Lakeside cabin. It was there, maybe easier to pretend like it wasn't, like he was simply very busy, occupied with everything going on, that it was normal there would be no time to spare to meet with her again and hold true conversation as they had that one night in the dark warmth, sitting on his sofa. He didn't... intentionally utilise the argument to drive a direct wedge between them, but perhaps it was easy to... let the repercussions of it fall into place. They argued, they shouldn't speak again for some time; it was justified.
And he spent the next month or so not having to look at her for too long, or share space, or worry that she might reach for his arm to get his attention, or laugh where he could hear it, or smile at him, meaning for him to see it. ]
I do..... apologise for that, as well. Things have been.... Much has happened.
[ (She really has noticed it, though? Noticed his absence, so much? His? As much as he doesn't doubt Wynonna cares for his well-being, he hadn't thought that his mere... company was worth lamenting the loss of. He still isn't sure if that's what she means, not entirely; maybe it's that he hadn't been around to keep watch over things, to check in with. Surely it's that. Surely it's nothing— nothing else.)
He inhales, slow and careful, fingers rubbing quietly against themselves. ]
...But I never meant to cause distress. I must confess that at times, the decisions I make... seem like the right ones, and then I realise—
[ He pauses, exhales with an underlying shudder. He's withholding things but simultaneously revealing things, and his stomach twists tighter, nervous, aching. He'd directly told Wynonna once, that he cared for her, but this is— it feels different. Almost too bold and at once not bold enough, some unnerving mixture of the two, and he swallows, hard. ]
—they have hurt those I care the most deeply for.