He's very, very tempted to be petulant about it. To take a seat on their bed and force her hand, to figuratively stick out his tongue and say 'make me'.
She would, of course, bodily haul him from the bed, down the stairs, and out the door. Hell, she might not even bother with stairs and go for a window instead. So it's a losing choice for him. Everything has always been a losing choice when it comes to her.
Maybe if he gives her space, a couple hours, maybe until sun up, maybe a day, and she'll stop being such a godforsaken unholy bitch. Maybe he'll fucking wise up and watch his betraying tongue for once.
Maybe maybe maybe.
The safest choice, besides forcing his mouth to stay closed despite the pained rising rage boiling up, is to go grab his shit and go. It's more than he left D4 with, but once he puts the rest of his armor back on, it's still only enough to fit in a bag. He's steadfastly silent through the quick job of packing up, silent through resetting the pieces of armor he's left scattered, silent through picking up his shit and going.
She stands quietly by while he packs up. She could stop this at any moment, put a hand on his shoulder and tell him he can put his shit back. That it's not a big deal. Except it is. There's so little he seems to understand and whenever she thinks he gets it, his mouth spews out shit that proves her otherwise.
Space is needed among other things. All while he's packing her mind is racing with what she needs to do next. A change of locks is the best route to go, a sure-fire way to make sure he doesn't come barging in tomorrow because he thinks he owns the place. A place he has contributed very little to and hasn't shown appreciation for. She's worked her ass off since they got here to make sure they have enough, that he has enough and he throws it back in her face after barging in late at night.
So she let's him go. She doubts she'll be in the house for much longer, but she'll give him a good head start so he doesn't see her leaving.
no subject
She would, of course, bodily haul him from the bed, down the stairs, and out the door. Hell, she might not even bother with stairs and go for a window instead. So it's a losing choice for him. Everything has always been a losing choice when it comes to her.
Maybe if he gives her space, a couple hours, maybe until sun up, maybe a day, and she'll stop being such a godforsaken unholy bitch. Maybe he'll fucking wise up and watch his betraying tongue for once.
Maybe maybe maybe.
The safest choice, besides forcing his mouth to stay closed despite the pained rising rage boiling up, is to go grab his shit and go. It's more than he left D4 with, but once he puts the rest of his armor back on, it's still only enough to fit in a bag. He's steadfastly silent through the quick job of packing up, silent through resetting the pieces of armor he's left scattered, silent through picking up his shit and going.
And going.
And going.
no subject
Space is needed among other things. All while he's packing her mind is racing with what she needs to do next. A change of locks is the best route to go, a sure-fire way to make sure he doesn't come barging in tomorrow because he thinks he owns the place. A place he has contributed very little to and hasn't shown appreciation for. She's worked her ass off since they got here to make sure they have enough, that he has enough and he throws it back in her face after barging in late at night.
So she let's him go. She doubts she'll be in the house for much longer, but she'll give him a good head start so he doesn't see her leaving.