[ He squints up his eyes and his face and lets his hands - they haven't been crossed since he started working again, but still - fall and rest on the edge of the table. He leans on it, which pushes his shoulders up a bit but relieves some of the tension in his lower back even while it emphasizes what's above that. Somewhere in there he also let his head fall forward, chin on his chest, while he took a deep breath in and out. It doesn't seem like he was prepared at all for her to keep asking clarifying questions, but in reality, it's what he half-expected. This is just venting, and not even at her. She's seen him vent like this before, and it's all physical, it's frustration, when something goes the way he thought it would and the way he thought it would go was frustrating, because he couldn't figure out why it wouldn't go the way he wanted instead.
He feels like he sort of at least understands why this conversation is going the way it is, and he's pleased that she's kept to her word about not letting him feel any of her own feelings about the subject. He's got enough of his own, and while he is now very curious, he's not going to ask her to share them. Not now that he's said so clearly he doesn't want them. Not when he's already got enough. Not when he knows that if she did for whatever reason relent and let him in, that he would simply become all that anger he didn't want her to have on his behalf instead. This is okay, this is good. This is just information she was already going to be able to find anyway. He supposes it's better to come from him and be the truth rather than be read elsewhere and then leave her to try and confirm it herself, through whatever means she found.
So he takes the breath in and then he lets it back out, and with it goes a sizable percentage of the ten square tons of pressure previously visible in his spinal column. Still isn't an immediate answer, but he is remarkably calm and detached in tone when he replies again. ] Three. Boarding school started just a month or so after I turned eight.
no subject
He feels like he sort of at least understands why this conversation is going the way it is, and he's pleased that she's kept to her word about not letting him feel any of her own feelings about the subject. He's got enough of his own, and while he is now very curious, he's not going to ask her to share them. Not now that he's said so clearly he doesn't want them. Not when he's already got enough. Not when he knows that if she did for whatever reason relent and let him in, that he would simply become all that anger he didn't want her to have on his behalf instead. This is okay, this is good. This is just information she was already going to be able to find anyway. He supposes it's better to come from him and be the truth rather than be read elsewhere and then leave her to try and confirm it herself, through whatever means she found.
So he takes the breath in and then he lets it back out, and with it goes a sizable percentage of the ten square tons of pressure previously visible in his spinal column. Still isn't an immediate answer, but he is remarkably calm and detached in tone when he replies again. ] Three. Boarding school started just a month or so after I turned eight.