“Don’t apologize,” he said plainly, a bit distantly. “You didn’t do anything to apologize for.” The Frenchman didn’t like to be like this, sorrowful and unsure and tense. But sometimes it was part of it, a treacherous road between two steady places. He smiled softly at him and shook his head. “I don’t want to go, not really. Not like this.” It was truthful, perhaps too much so. He didn’t have a lot of patience left for pretense and he didn’t really see the point.
“Well, I don’t think we really had plans,” he offered, “I was expecting to apologize, try to make things right. I had no idea how it was going to end,” he reminded. He shook his head. “Don’t worry so much,” he teased, “you’ll get wrinkles.” He held his gaze for a moment. “I already like being with you,” he said simply. “Maybe, with some time, I’ll grow on you,” he teased gently.
“This is true,” he replied, although his tone was a bit disappointed. “I don’t know if it’s the same for everyone, but with me -- when I know something, I just know,” he observed. “When you know, you’ll know.” He wanted to leave the topic because it pained him. Part of him half-expected Dean to leave in the night, when his resolve was strongest, send him an owl or leave a note behind. Maybe the two were more alike than they realized.
“A film? At the cinema?” he said, perking. He wasn’t back to his old self, not that easily, but he was closer. “I’ve never been, you know,” he reminded with a smile. “You’d have to be my tour guide,” he said, “but I’d like that very much. Who knows, maybe if we look hard enough there’ll be an old vintage house showing Indiana Jones,” he suggested with a grin. “We might have to do a bit of exploring,” he observed, his words trailing as he met his gaze.
“Wanna go on an adventure with me?”