Except, the thing about it is, right now? Distance is the last thing he needs. Which is probably obvious in the way he's already shifting and moving to fit into the space Mick has made at his side before the words even finish coming out of his mouth.
He doesn't say anything, because words don't feel like the right thing yet, but as the comfort offered from the only person he's ever really found it in sinks in, a soft sob escapes him. He hates it, and he feels weak for it, but he's carried this thing on his own for nearly eight years and it's such a relief to have someone help him shoulder it that he can't stop it. This isn't the hysterical breakdown of reliving something he'd rather forget, just the quiet release--and relief--of something he's held onto too tightly for too long on his own.
He stays curled against Mick's side, quiet and tense, but in a way that's more comfortable than not, for a long time. Even with his head not quite in the right place against him, he can still hear the soft, rhythmic thud of Mick's heartbeat and it helps; it keeps him out of his head, trying instead, to count seconds between the sounds of the beats.
It's a long time until he speaks again, but he's calmer, if not really relaxed. He licks his lips, preparing to say something for the first time in a silence that has gone too long. "I guess..." His voice is a little hoarse, between not talking and the crying earlier, and he clears his throat. "it gives you...some perspective, at least, now." And that has to be a good thing, right? He wanted to understand, didn't he? And he doesn't seem to be going anywhere because of it, or looking at him like he's a thing to be pitied now.
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He doesn't say anything, because words don't feel like the right thing yet, but as the comfort offered from the only person he's ever really found it in sinks in, a soft sob escapes him. He hates it, and he feels weak for it, but he's carried this thing on his own for nearly eight years and it's such a relief to have someone help him shoulder it that he can't stop it. This isn't the hysterical breakdown of reliving something he'd rather forget, just the quiet release--and relief--of something he's held onto too tightly for too long on his own.
He stays curled against Mick's side, quiet and tense, but in a way that's more comfortable than not, for a long time. Even with his head not quite in the right place against him, he can still hear the soft, rhythmic thud of Mick's heartbeat and it helps; it keeps him out of his head, trying instead, to count seconds between the sounds of the beats.
It's a long time until he speaks again, but he's calmer, if not really relaxed. He licks his lips, preparing to say something for the first time in a silence that has gone too long. "I guess..." His voice is a little hoarse, between not talking and the crying earlier, and he clears his throat. "it gives you...some perspective, at least, now." And that has to be a good thing, right? He wanted to understand, didn't he? And he doesn't seem to be going anywhere because of it, or looking at him like he's a thing to be pitied now.