Jude
Thread by thread, I come apart
If brokenness is a work of art, this must be my masterpiece
Her eyes are what he remembers most clearly, and as the door swings open his shoulders relax a fraction when they look exactly the same. He hasn't messed this up yet, clearly he's in the right spot. Though it's stranger than he could've anticipated to be taller than her and to have to tilt his chin down instead of up to meet her gaze. If brokenness is a work of art, this must be my masterpiece
His smile forms in absentminded mirroring of her own, little heart behind it. It falls apart all the faster for its insincerity when she takes him by surprise. "Oh. Um, sure. You don't have to though, I just...had a few questions. I don't have to stay." But he shuffles awkwardly inside if only so he doesn't force her to answer them while standing in her doorway.
Politely taking off his coat and shoes, Jude hovers by the coat rack and wipes his sweaty palms on his thighs. "It smells nice. What kind of tea?" Maeve had taught him the art of small talk as a child thank the gods, though he never learned how to make it seem natural.
