[It's not a comfortable silence, exactly, as nothing between them is ever comfortable, but Jean doesn't realize the full extent of Harry's consternation, as Harry is always always consternating about one thing or another. He focuses on the food, but not too much, and the floor beneath his feet, and the persistent creaking and groaning of the old tenement. The whole thing probably ought to be condemned, but he wouldn't know. Harry hasn't mentioned it, so it's probably fine.
Jean is about to ask if Harry wants a smoke or to sit down or something hospitable like that when Harry beats him to the punch, albeit with something entirely different. Completely and totally different, really. In a million years, Harry could say a million different things, and none of them would ever be this polite, simple little admission, slipped in between small talk like a letter underneath a door. It's very assured: there's no I think or maybe to be found.
It makes sense, to some limited extent. Harry is Harry: there's always been something there, tangled between his love for Dora Ingerlund and scorn for womenkind, existing only in the realm of things Torson and the rest would call to Jean as he left the office every single day, something about life partners and less kind ways of putting it. But it's not like Harry ever was good about it. He was pretty bad, really. Maybe that's why Jean's first instinct is complete hostility instead of something a little more measured.
He sets the bowl down on the counter without any delicacy, openly staring at Harry.]
cw mentioned homophobia
Jean is about to ask if Harry wants a smoke or to sit down or something hospitable like that when Harry beats him to the punch, albeit with something entirely different. Completely and totally different, really. In a million years, Harry could say a million different things, and none of them would ever be this polite, simple little admission, slipped in between small talk like a letter underneath a door. It's very assured: there's no I think or maybe to be found.
It makes sense, to some limited extent. Harry is Harry: there's always been something there, tangled between his love for Dora Ingerlund and scorn for womenkind, existing only in the realm of things Torson and the rest would call to Jean as he left the office every single day, something about life partners and less kind ways of putting it. But it's not like Harry ever was good about it. He was pretty bad, really. Maybe that's why Jean's first instinct is complete hostility instead of something a little more measured.
He sets the bowl down on the counter without any delicacy, openly staring at Harry.]
You've got to be fucking kidding me.