[He still feels a knee-jerk need to correct that apology, again, even with the explanation attached to it, too. Ben, of all people, has nothing to be sorry about. But he tamps it down and manages to keep it quiet and to himself. No need in going in useless circles for no reason, right?
He wouldn't expect him to call attention to his tears, but that expectation of avoidance doesn't make Diego any less grateful for the fact that he doesn't. He's staring at his hands again when Ben makes that suggestion. He knows he's right, he knows he is, but it's so much easier said than done. Easier, even, with Ben because there's still a yawning chasm of emotion stretching him so much thinner with Ben, because he is still not as used to him being here. Available to talk to. To see. To touch. To hug.
His eyes burn again and he swallows, hard. It's easier to be annoyed by, angry with the brother that's always existed on some kind of periphery, even in all those years of estrangement, than it is to hold that kind of fire against the one that's just be gone and dead for just as long.
He nods carefully at the idea, though. Because he's right. Ben had a nasty habit of being right, far more than Diego ever liked.
His head tips up at the movement from Ben-- suddenly looking so small and broken in his own right, curled in on himself, forehead against his knees, hands in his hair and running across his neck. Deigo's breath catches in his throat at the sight, realizing it's something he said that made this happen and he hates it.]
It's okay. [The words come flying out of his mouth, too quick, one tripping over the other in a race to get out of his mouth first.] You don't have to talk about it. [He sinks down next to his brother and puts a hand on his shoulder, the smallest effort of comfort he felt like he could try to give him.] We don't- we don't ever have to, it-- it's fine. [He almost said it doesn't matter, but that's a lie of the highest order that even Diego can't let run past his lips. It's fine seemed like the best substitute.]
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He wouldn't expect him to call attention to his tears, but that expectation of avoidance doesn't make Diego any less grateful for the fact that he doesn't. He's staring at his hands again when Ben makes that suggestion. He knows he's right, he knows he is, but it's so much easier said than done. Easier, even, with Ben because there's still a yawning chasm of emotion stretching him so much thinner with Ben, because he is still not as used to him being here. Available to talk to. To see. To touch. To hug.
His eyes burn again and he swallows, hard. It's easier to be annoyed by, angry with the brother that's always existed on some kind of periphery, even in all those years of estrangement, than it is to hold that kind of fire against the one that's just be gone and dead for just as long.
He nods carefully at the idea, though. Because he's right. Ben had a nasty habit of being right, far more than Diego ever liked.
His head tips up at the movement from Ben-- suddenly looking so small and broken in his own right, curled in on himself, forehead against his knees, hands in his hair and running across his neck. Deigo's breath catches in his throat at the sight, realizing it's something he said that made this happen and he hates it.]
It's okay. [The words come flying out of his mouth, too quick, one tripping over the other in a race to get out of his mouth first.] You don't have to talk about it. [He sinks down next to his brother and puts a hand on his shoulder, the smallest effort of comfort he felt like he could try to give him.] We don't- we don't ever have to, it-- it's fine. [He almost said it doesn't matter, but that's a lie of the highest order that even Diego can't let run past his lips. It's fine seemed like the best substitute.]