"You don’t have to explain," Vernon says, leaning back against the couch, his expression unreadable. "I get it."

You hesitate, searching his face for any sign of emotion, but he’s as calm as ever. That annoys you. You expected him to be mad, to at least show that he cared. Instead, he just sits there, completely unbothered, or at least pretending to be.

"Do you?" you challenge, crossing your arms. "Because it doesn’t seem like you care that much."

His jaw tightens, just barely. It’s quick, almost unnoticeable, but you catch it.

"Would it make a difference if I did?" he asks, finally looking at you, eyes dark with something you can’t quite place. "Would you suddenly choose me if I got mad? If I begged? Because that’s not me, and you know it."

You hate how easily he calls you out, how he strips your defenses down like it’s nothing. You hate that he’s right.

"I never asked you to wait for me," you murmur, suddenly feeling small under his gaze.

"Yeah," he breathes out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "But you knew I would anyway."