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My belly does a slow roll as I try to stitch this information into what I know of his mum, which is merely that she passed

“Christmas before my mom died,” he says evenly

I inhale slowly “I’lad you won Who schooled you on your techniques?”

He lifts his brows,his forehead crease “I played with some friends from school”

I run a hand through ath

er it “Who was your dearest friend there? What was he like? Or she, I suppose” I feel that it’s safer to shift topic

As I’ color

“Never mind…”

His eyes fix onmoment He looks near robotic

“No It’s fine” The words are odd, though—slow and soft He looks at me for a moment—this look of concentration After that, his face softens a bit

“His nahtly slow, but sound near normal “He was the one I talked about, from Texas”

I can feel —in this case, regret for asking “I’m sorry,” I murmur

He inhales, a quiet but fortifying breath I can tell he’s working hard to appear unemotional

“Nothing to be sorry for” He stands stiffly “I’ll be right back, Siren”

He returns from what I suppose is the bathrooht as if it’s ordinary ti, and he seems to enjoy it Before bed, we don’t o to sleep, he’s wrapped around me, just as usual