It's weird, sittin' like this. There's somethin' there, something telling him not to get closer, but not to pull away, either. He wants to lean in, bump their shoulders together like he used to, and he doesn't want to, either. There's something pulling him in, something pushing him back. It seems like one of the types of forces all them science classes he'd never paid attention to probably tried to explain. Might be something Ford could explain, if Stan felt comfortable enough here to ask. If he could figure out the words.
"When did it happen?" Stan lets his hands sit in his lap not touchin' his brother at all, keepin' from making any gestures either, because then the two of them might touch accidentally. That feels dangerous now in a way it didn't before, with his hands twisted all into Ford's trainwreck of a shirt. Those old useless science classes might have an explanation for this, too, why he suddenly feels like there's something there. He doesn't have a clue what, but something, and there's no telling what'll happen to the two of them if Stan gets too close to it.
"Your uh, your-" And Stan is really trying here, he's trying, so he don't say 'weird shit' and he doesn't say 'tiny demons tellin' you to carve out your fucking brain, Ford, do you know what the back of your head even looks like', and he doesn't even say 'hallucinations'. What does that leave him?
"The stuff you see. The stuff you drew in your little book. When did that, uh, when did that happen?" How long has this been going on, Ford? How long since I coulda' come and saved you?
no subject
"When did it happen?" Stan lets his hands sit in his lap not touchin' his brother at all, keepin' from making any gestures either, because then the two of them might touch accidentally. That feels dangerous now in a way it didn't before, with his hands twisted all into Ford's trainwreck of a shirt. Those old useless science classes might have an explanation for this, too, why he suddenly feels like there's something there. He doesn't have a clue what, but something, and there's no telling what'll happen to the two of them if Stan gets too close to it.
"Your uh, your-" And Stan is really trying here, he's trying, so he don't say 'weird shit' and he doesn't say 'tiny demons tellin' you to carve out your fucking brain, Ford, do you know what the back of your head even looks like', and he doesn't even say 'hallucinations'. What does that leave him?
"The stuff you see. The stuff you drew in your little book. When did that, uh, when did that happen?" How long has this been going on, Ford? How long since I coulda' come and saved you?