Ryan let out a soft sigh of relief when Mau gave up on her initial line of questioning, throwing back his beer and letting the bitter taste seep down his throat. He didn't even respond to her jab that he used to be fun. What was there to say? It was clear that whatever Mau had expected, he had failed to meet her hopes. She had wanted the exact same person, that teenager who had loved her and manipulated her and twisted her and who had gotten entangled into whatever they had back then. She wanted the boy who would have slapped her for insulting him, would have choked her against the wall and tore her clothing off in a hateful passion. She wanted the Ryan who laughed as she tore into some pitiful kid who tried to hit on her, wanted the Ryan who would tell her to shut the fuck up but go to town on anybody else who said the same. The guy who was involved in backstreet hookups, drunken and violent, her partner in crime and smoking and drinking and fighting and loving and life.<br/><br/>Her disappointment at not seeing that part of him was more than evident to see. The scoffs, the eye rolls, the sheer hesitancy in her actions.<br/><br/>It was better that way. Better she think that man had died at war, leaving the man that sat before her today. Better she give up her chase, before a crack appeared in Ryan's facade, the stone-cold stoicism that buried away everything fucked up about him. Before the memories flooded in and brushed aside his composure, like they threatened to do with every line that Mau said. Because once he began to crack, all the king's men wouldn't be able to put him back together. The drop would become a trickle would become a stream would become an explosive deluge that would destroy the wall he used to dam up his brokenness. No. Whether Ryan consciously knew it or not, he could not allow that to happen on his one night revisiting Southie. Mau wanted to crack him, but if she managed to do so she would find the boy she knew and so much more.<br/><br/>No. Better to bury his emotions deep into his psyche, because if he knew Mau, he knew that the moment he showed anything she would leap at the chance to dig deeply into him. But there was only one problem: the cracks were already forming. Coming to Southie, going to Sully's, agreeing to come home with Mau, they were all paths he knew could only lead one way. And try as he might, he had been unable to say no. He just had to come back, just had to visit just one more time. The cracks formed with every sentence he heard, every tormented expression that crossed Mau's face, every little aspect of Mau that littered her apartment that he remembered. He knew it was happening, but denied it to himself. He could still leave, if he wanted. Mau had accepted his new persona, and would cease her incessant attacks.<br/><br/>Even beyond his memories, Ryan's eyes betrayed him. Mau's body wasn't anything he hadn't seen hundreds of times before, but nonetheless it had been years since the last time she had stripped for him, on that vivid night he still remembered so well, that night that he had known would be their last night together. More than her words, seeing the physical action of Mau dragging her shirt over her head sent him straight back into memories of heat and passion and raw intimacy, and his eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than he should've.<br/><br/>The new shirt was deliberate, too. It was a shirt that he had given her, yet another vestige of his past life cropping up and thrown in his face. Showing off her shoulder, that pale skin that his lips had ghosted numerous times. In some ways, Mau was one of the craftiest people that he knew. And she was bringing all of her cunning to bear here, doing her absolute best to elicit reactions out of him. Every sentence she said in that oh so mournful way was a knife in his chest, a blade twisting and seeking purchase into him.<br/><br/>Why didn't she understand? He had missed her, but he would not, could not, get dragged back into this life. Not after an entire childhood here and five years of war. He would never return to this. He wanted to spend time with her, but if he showed her anything she would grab it and never let go. But no matter what, it was impossible for him to entirely hold back practically a lifetime of the two of them.<br/><br/>He knew Mau. He knew when she was faking her sadness, the sympathy card that she had used to trick so many other people beguiled by her beauty and innocence. She wasn't faking it here, and that dug into him in a way that her anger couldn't. It spoke to the part of him that had sheltered her and protected her and comforted her, the part that took pride in the fact that he was the one that she ran to. So his face softened almost inadvertently, his weariness showing clearly. "You're not unbearable, Mau. We had some great memories together, and they're always gonna be a part of me. But why can't you understand that I can't go back to that?" Another sigh. If Mau was drinking, he sure as hell was gonna drink too. He grabbed the Patron took a full pull, feeling the heat spread through his body.<br/><br/>"Going overseas was like going from a puddle into the ocean, Mau. Everything bigger. Like one of our turf fights, but on a massive scale and with insane consequences. Nothing happened to me, specifically. Never got injured badly, ended up killing a couple insurgents. But the entire thing just opened my eyes. I didn't know who I truly was until I went to war, but now that I do, I just don't know anymore. I don't know where I'm gonna do, but it sure as hell can't be going back to the same old thing." He shook his head. "I have to get out, Mau."<br/><br/>Escape what, he didn't say. Maybe the emotions, above all that burning rage that constantly struggled to seep out from him.