The pause drags on a second too long. Say something, Simon, you useless fool--
"No, I haven't--I didn't see much of anything; I wasn't looking really--" It's a boldfaced lie in every sense of the word, and this is not the kind of situation in which Simon can be a convincing liar. He's only making it all the worse. Or is he? He's never been very expert at reading anyone else's tone; Myr's wry and easy cheer before he'd realized where Simon was had made an impression, and his calm now is feigned skillfully enough to smooth over some of Simon's guilty doubt.
It doesn't have to mean anything. It isn't anything. It's nothing at all.
"I'll find it, though," he offers, leaping boldly into that silence before his mind can talk him out of it. "No need to worry. It can't have got far."
If you'd just-- Just what? Use his hands to cover his eyes, to make sure Simon doesn't have to see those gaping holes in the meantime? Shame sloshes through him like dirty lukewarm bathwater. Who is he to think of such a request? If he's such a delicate little infant that he can't bear to look at it, let it be incumbent on him to keep his eyes averted. Let him summon the willpower he'd never have if Myr were still safely blindfolded and still walking about naked as a jaybird.
(He still doesn't have that willpower. He glances upward anyway, lets his eyes travel as far as Myr's chest, and swallows.)
"I've got it," he says, after a moment. "It's a bit damp, though...more than a bit damp, I'm afraid."
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The pause drags on a second too long. Say something, Simon, you useless fool--
"No, I haven't--I didn't see much of anything; I wasn't looking really--" It's a boldfaced lie in every sense of the word, and this is not the kind of situation in which Simon can be a convincing liar. He's only making it all the worse. Or is he? He's never been very expert at reading anyone else's tone; Myr's wry and easy cheer before he'd realized where Simon was had made an impression, and his calm now is feigned skillfully enough to smooth over some of Simon's guilty doubt.
It doesn't have to mean anything. It isn't anything. It's nothing at all.
"I'll find it, though," he offers, leaping boldly into that silence before his mind can talk him out of it. "No need to worry. It can't have got far."
If you'd just-- Just what? Use his hands to cover his eyes, to make sure Simon doesn't have to see those gaping holes in the meantime? Shame sloshes through him like dirty lukewarm bathwater. Who is he to think of such a request? If he's such a delicate little infant that he can't bear to look at it, let it be incumbent on him to keep his eyes averted. Let him summon the willpower he'd never have if Myr were still safely blindfolded and still walking about naked as a jaybird.
(He still doesn't have that willpower. He glances upward anyway, lets his eyes travel as far as Myr's chest, and swallows.)
"I've got it," he says, after a moment. "It's a bit damp, though...more than a bit damp, I'm afraid."