"That's depressingly relatable," Ellie mutters, a thought she'd usually keep to herself, but she's been open already with him. He knows she's not a ball of sunshine.
"But crying is good, sometimes. Gotta let that shit out even if you don't know why."
"Yeah, that. Like that." That's weirdly relieving. It's not like he ought to have the same emotional reactions as a teenager (young woman, he really doesn't know exactly how old she is), or even a person in general, but it's still kind of comforting that someone else feels the same thing.
He runs through the melody he has so far once more, and now his fingers know it, so it flows easily, like hers did on the guitar. It's only a couple of measures, but it sounds nice. "It's hard to put the right name on something. Sometimes."
He's better, now, at knowing which notes are what. He has the key worked out, though he doesn't know the word for it. So it's easier to match this set with the notes on the piano, and he plays it near-perfectly after she does it. Repeats it once with a minor correction.
That gives him a little more brainpower left over for the statement. "If it doesn't need a name. Is that easier or harder to manage it." He'd rather not fuss about putting names to feelings. He has no context for things, no idea what angry versus afraid versus jealous versus annoyed are actually supposed to feel like. But then how does he untangle the punching-crying thing?
As soon as he catches on what she's doing, he starts playing along with her, matching his notes to hers, a little duet. "Godric said." He has to stop, not wanting to let his feelings get in the way of following along with the music, but when they reach the end of the part he's learned he continues, "Said knowing what exactly I was afraid of. Would help not being afraid of it. Or at least not smashing things that aren't actually the thing."
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"But crying is good, sometimes. Gotta let that shit out even if you don't know why."
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He runs through the melody he has so far once more, and now his fingers know it, so it flows easily, like hers did on the guitar. It's only a couple of measures, but it sounds nice. "It's hard to put the right name on something. Sometimes."
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"Not everything needs a name." Dina would try to make her talk. Talk about Joel, talk about how she feels, but she couldn't find the words.
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That gives him a little more brainpower left over for the statement. "If it doesn't need a name. Is that easier or harder to manage it." He'd rather not fuss about putting names to feelings. He has no context for things, no idea what angry versus afraid versus jealous versus annoyed are actually supposed to feel like. But then how does he untangle the punching-crying thing?
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"I don't think putting a name to it really helps," she says with a shrug. "And sometimes, you just... gotta cry. Get that shit out."
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