[ graves knows he's made a terrible mistake when he sees the pain in credence's eyes, genuine and so very obvious before he closes himself off. this is worse than credence crying, when he shuts down and graves is very aware of the fact that he's hiding himself from him in turn.
he knows how it sounds, what he's said and what credence hears, and something in his chest twists. he loves him, more than anything else he's ever loved before, but he'd always assumed that giving him whatever he wants, whenever he wants it is enough.
no, he's asking more of him, something graves has consistently, constantly avoided. love is giving someone a gun and trusting them not to shoot you; it's giving them your heart and trusting that they won't, and here graves is, hurting his young lover all over again.
his heart sinks when he gives him the key and the card, and it's more than a slap in the face -- if he doesn't say it, one day he'll lose him, and the outcome will be the same. even so, something in him stops his words short.
no, if he says it now, there won't be any meaning in it, will there? he wordlessly takes the card and key, looking down at the address he'd written in neat little letters, and he swallows hard. ]
I don't care about the money. [ and he doesn't. what he cares about is credence, and the young man is walking out on him. ] ...You don't have to do this.
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he knows how it sounds, what he's said and what credence hears, and something in his chest twists. he loves him, more than anything else he's ever loved before, but he'd always assumed that giving him whatever he wants, whenever he wants it is enough.
no, he's asking more of him, something graves has consistently, constantly avoided. love is giving someone a gun and trusting them not to shoot you; it's giving them your heart and trusting that they won't, and here graves is, hurting his young lover all over again.
his heart sinks when he gives him the key and the card, and it's more than a slap in the face -- if he doesn't say it, one day he'll lose him, and the outcome will be the same. even so, something in him stops his words short.
no, if he says it now, there won't be any meaning in it, will there? he wordlessly takes the card and key, looking down at the address he'd written in neat little letters, and he swallows hard. ]
I don't care about the money. [ and he doesn't. what he cares about is credence, and the young man is walking out on him. ] ...You don't have to do this.