the question wasn’t entirely unexpected, but it didn’t change the fact that he seemed to pull the material of t-shirt down a little bit quicker. there was a heavy amount of avoidance in the gesture alone, but she’d already given him too much. orla trusted him, not only with her secrets, but that he wasn’t keeping any of his own. back stayed to her, shame sagging shoulders just a bit as he shrugged, trying to alleviate the pain in the memory by pretending it wasn’t there at all. “she found the tap shoes in my football bag, and freaked the fuck out. i don’t think she meant to throw them at me.”  he pauses, which may have been where the lie found the audacity to sneak in. “i mean, she apologized a lot after, but those things can be pretty vicious, i guess.” the way he refuses to name his mother is telling, a coping mechanism that says that he’s trying to alienate the memory. it keeps him from having get choked up on the truth. 

“up.”  he gave an answer that was painfully optimistic, but mostly because he needed it to be better for his friends, better for her. orla was the keeper of quite a few of his heaviest secrets, and in turn he wanted the world for her, whatever this world was now. “seriously, o.”  he frowned, the expression dramatically pronounced when it was flashed in her direction, leaning broad shoulder against her. “things will get better, somehow. i’ll take care of you, okay? i’ll even teach you to drive, so when we get back you can take me to denny’s for a change.”