Another grilling, probably. Benedict settles in, not seeming especially pleased by the notion that he’s caused any fuss at all, despite knowing better. “I didn’t try,” he says in a grumble, “I meant to come back.” Fidgeting, he looks down at his hands. “That’s just not what happened.”
no subject
“I didn’t try,” he says in a grumble, “I meant to come back.” Fidgeting, he looks down at his hands.
“That’s just not what happened.”