"Maybe there is something like it back home. Maybe."
He knows all about hiding things, about shutting things away where nobody else can see them. He may not have magic powers, may be normal by all reasonable definitions of the word, but he often doesn't feel normal, not in the more mundane sense. It's a rare day when he shares even a tiny fraction of what's going on in his head; the constantly rushing thoughts, the planning, the calculations he does almost without thinking about every little risk and eventuality. He's used to feeling different, too, but he has to admit, it's not for the same reasons, nor does it have the same potential consequences.
He takes the spoon and begins stirring the strawberries, glad to have something to keep his hands preoccupied. It's difficult to be without a cigarette for the nicotine fix it provides, certainly, but an almost as important part of his addiction revolves around the fact that he likes to have something to do with his hands. Stirring the strawberries keeps that craving down to a dull roar, rather than something that threatens to overpower him. "There may be a logical explanation, but I don't like not understanding things."
That's the most intimate thing he's said about himself all day, but he doesn't expect Ned to see it that way. It seems like an obvious statement -- after all, nobody likes to be left in the dark about something -- but for him, it's not just fear of embarrassment or the desire to be a know-it-all: information can be the difference between life and death, and in a place like this, he thinks it probably is.
no subject
He knows all about hiding things, about shutting things away where nobody else can see them. He may not have magic powers, may be normal by all reasonable definitions of the word, but he often doesn't feel normal, not in the more mundane sense. It's a rare day when he shares even a tiny fraction of what's going on in his head; the constantly rushing thoughts, the planning, the calculations he does almost without thinking about every little risk and eventuality. He's used to feeling different, too, but he has to admit, it's not for the same reasons, nor does it have the same potential consequences.
He takes the spoon and begins stirring the strawberries, glad to have something to keep his hands preoccupied. It's difficult to be without a cigarette for the nicotine fix it provides, certainly, but an almost as important part of his addiction revolves around the fact that he likes to have something to do with his hands. Stirring the strawberries keeps that craving down to a dull roar, rather than something that threatens to overpower him. "There may be a logical explanation, but I don't like not understanding things."
That's the most intimate thing he's said about himself all day, but he doesn't expect Ned to see it that way. It seems like an obvious statement -- after all, nobody likes to be left in the dark about something -- but for him, it's not just fear of embarrassment or the desire to be a know-it-all: information can be the difference between life and death, and in a place like this, he thinks it probably is.