By the time that Irahl is mulling over his answer and considering voicing it out loud, the door opens and lunch surreptitiously arrives. So, it is further delayed as he straightens up and listlessly pulls the bags of food closer.
It's while he's busy with opening things up and divvying up their lunch that he finally replies. It's quiet, almost drowned out by the crinkle of weird paper. But for someone like Vincent, he can not only catch it but also hear the sort of weary, maybe resigned sound to it--similar to the tone of something finally admitted after a long argument.
"...No."
He can't pretend like he's ready to pick up and leave already, even if it's exactly the sort of thing that he would normally do. And the proverbial argument hadn't been with Vincent, it had been with himself.
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It's while he's busy with opening things up and divvying up their lunch that he finally replies. It's quiet, almost drowned out by the crinkle of weird paper. But for someone like Vincent, he can not only catch it but also hear the sort of weary, maybe resigned sound to it--similar to the tone of something finally admitted after a long argument.
"...No."
He can't pretend like he's ready to pick up and leave already, even if it's exactly the sort of thing that he would normally do. And the proverbial argument hadn't been with Vincent, it had been with himself.