Cynthia wouldn't look at him. That was the hardest part about it, he decided; the fact that neither of them could stand to look at each other right now. Tracy had never pictured that a day would come where he didn't want Cynthia to look at him or vice versa, but he was quietly thankful that she was looking away from him so he could watch the flurry of emotions that passed over her without needing to meet her gaze. He was thankful for it, and it kind of made him sick.<br/><br/>If he hadn't been nauseous enough at his own actions, then Cynthia's story fixed that. The weight of her words bore down on his shoulders so suddenly that he almost felt the need to physical push back against them. She had kept her family from him<span style="font-style: italic">because</span>of him. That part hurt to hear, but she was totally right. She generally was when it came to him. He would have never pushed her about it, except he<span style="font-style: italic">did</span>and that's why they were having this conversation. But Tracy wasn't going to take the entire blame for that. They were together and he wanted to be the guy she could share everything with, and do it so that Cynthia would never have to feel like he would ever look at her differently because of it.<br/><br/>"Cynthia...," he started after a fashion, turning his head to look at the ceiling again. "You don't suck." Eloquent Tracy, perfect. Why he'd never become an orator was beyond him. Donning a newfound bravado, Tracy sat up straight again and looked at her, gently taking both of her shoulders in his hands and forcing her to turn and look at him as well. "You don't suck," he repeated, craning his neck down a bit to make sure they were making eye contact. "I do, okay? I should never have put you in a position where you were afraid to tell me something because you thought I would look at you differently. I'll never, ever do that, and I want you to understand that. I just.." Okay, deep breath. This was going to be the hard part.<br/><br/>"When I first saw you, I wanted to know every single thing about you. What you like, what you don't like, who your friends and family and pets are, what I could do to get you to go to a movie with me," he breathed in an airy laugh, briefly reminiscing on the first time he'd asked her out. "And I never lost that feeling. I want to know every single thing that made you who you are, because I love who you are. But to do that, we need to be open with each other. No more secrets, no more crying." As if to further accentuate his point, he brought the sleeve of his shirt around his hand and brushed away a renegade tear. "Just you and me."<br/><br/>A lot of things made sense the more the thought and the more he spoke. She had<span style="font-style: italic">hated</span>that shop on the strip, but Des knew who she was. He didn't know her, he<span style="font-style: italic">recognized</span>her. If her family was easy enough to Google, then her face had probably been in the paper as a kid.<span style="font-style: italic">Local family dies in weird Pagan ritual</span>is a headline that he knew<span style="font-style: italic">he</span>would remember, so it wouldn't have been out of the question for Des to recognize her face. Tracy felt like a fucking idiot to put it lightly.