“I don’t think anyone has ever described anxiety as charming before.”
“Most people confuse feeling something with failing.”
“And you?” The question slipped out before I could stop it. “I mean—do you?—”
“React?” The corner of his mouth lifted. “Of course.”
Oh.
If that was human on him, then whatever I was doing barely counted.
Henry sat. “My emotions aren’t absent, Archibald. They’re just well managed.”
“Doesn’t that get lonely?”
His lips pressed together. “Loneliness is preferable to losing control.”
“Is it, though?”
Because it wasn’t theoretical. It wasn’t some abstract trade-off you could weigh neatly in your head. I’d seen what loneliness did when it stayed too long—how it carved everything down until there was nothing left but routine and walls and rules that kept shrinking.
“I don’t think control actually saves you from it,” I said. “From loneliness or fear.”
Something shifted behind his eyes. “You’re arguing with me.”
Oh.
…Oh, shit.
“I mean—you asked,” I muttered, heat creeping up the back of my neck.
His mouth curved then. “Some might say that’s a dangerous opinion.”
“You still answered.”
He let out a quiet breath, the edge of a laugh catching in it.
“There it is,” he murmured.
“There’s… what?”
“You freeze when you’re unsure. But when you decide to move…” He looked at me then, head cocked and mouth thin, “…you bite.”
Heat pulled low in my stomach.
“Rabbit.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Skittish. Alert. Ready to bolt.” His fingers tapped once against his desk. “Until you’re not.”
I didn’t know whether to be offended or flattered.
Which was probably the point.
And I… didn’t hate it.
Ihatedthat I didn’t hate it. There was a difference.Technically.
