“You’ve had a long day,” he said, pulling away from her and going back over to the table, stacking the books gently. “I’ll go return these.”
She inhaled sharply as she stood up to cross over to him, ignoring the pain in her back as she moved. "Ben, please talk to me. Please. I know you're upset but you're not talking to me about it.'
He looked over at her, taking her hands sternly and bringing her back to the bed. “Don’t stand up,” he instructed sternly, as if they were back in the library. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
His face was closed off and uncertain. He was avoiding her gaze. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said quietly after a moment, his wings folding against his back. “I’m going to go return those books.”
"Please talk to me," she asked desperately, her tone and expression shared a terrified hopelessness. "I want to know what you're thinking."
Her hands were shaking as she watched him anxiously. She didn't say anything before nodding slightly. "..Okay..."
He turned to leave. His ears were slumped and so were his wings, pressing against his back as if making him small. He opened the door with his foot, his head hunched as he headed out.
(Zoop!) He returned after about 15 minutes, the books gone from his arms. Instead, they were crossed defensively as he entered.
She would hear him walk over and sit on the couch, sighing a little as he rested his head back, looking up at the ceiling.
He didn’t look at her, obviously thinking she had fallen asleep. His head was back and he was staring at the ceiling, his brow furrowed. He had taken off the bandages over his eyes, and she was see a cut across his face. Surprisingly, it looked almost a week old; the Fae must have been employing advanced healing techniques.
