Cynthia froze, staring at the hand that stopped her. "... Feeling<span style="font-style: italic">sucks</span>," she finally breathed, her shoulders dropping. Her hand curled into fist and she brought it back to herself, fingers twisting into her shirt. She had only meant to loosen herself, but as he spoke, she realized he was right. She was also trying to numb herself from a conversation she had been dreading for weeks, and running from for years. It was almost as if they were meeting each other for the first time, the real Cynthia and Tracy, who were vulnerable and afraid and unsure how to talk about real things. She was petrified. It was new ground, and what if Tracy didn't like what he discovered? It was hard to believe he would, and in that moment she sorely missed the old days, back when life when simple and her grandmother, not dead.<br/><br/><br/><br/>She looked at him, and in that moment, it became abundantly apparent that he was scared as well. He was bracing himself for loss, blaming himself. He was hurting, this was so much more than her own pain. "... Then let's... talk." It would be so hard, but the longer she watched the pain pinch in the corner of his eyes, the more motivated she became. She wrapped her arms around herself, leaning back into the couch. She didn't know where to start, she didn't think either of them did. "What do you.... want to know?"