[He's clean, and pressed, and there's no tell-tale red in his eyes or catch behind his breath to dismiss his coping as a facade. He looks good. Older, in the usual way and in something hard to pinpoint, a change that can be caught only out of the corner of the eye. More than that, he looks pleased to see her, and not in the same desperate way as before. If there's something vulnerable about the way he tucks his hands into his pockets as he takes up her invitation, it's leaps and bounds above the wreck that had showed up before.
There were times he didn't think he'd come through that. He can't imagine the impression he's given her.]
Thanks. [He nods to the door, closing it and standing outlined against its panels.] Thought I'd better drop by and prove I'm capable of walking in a straight line, this time.
[He shrugs his shoulders, hands tugging up from the set of his pockets.]
it seems that all my bridges have been burned, but you say that's exactly how this grace thing w
There were times he didn't think he'd come through that. He can't imagine the impression he's given her.]
Thanks. [He nods to the door, closing it and standing outlined against its panels.] Thought I'd better drop by and prove I'm capable of walking in a straight line, this time.
[He shrugs his shoulders, hands tugging up from the set of his pockets.]
How've you been?