"Course."

Hesitation is more telling than anything Beckett might've said aloud.

Would it be considered an annoyance to pry? Perhaps previous questions were indulged only out of some sense of duty. Beckett trusted Gavin, but did he trust him completely? Enough to feel comfortable opening up?

Frustrated with himself, Gavin curbs the thought.

He flips the meat in the pan, steps over to the island and takes a cigarette of his own. The familiar motions provide some false sense of calm, at least.

[attr="class","beck"]he steps away the moment cillian approaches, circling around the island before continuing towards the couch. he sits, though finds no comfort from its softness.

there, he smokes, waiting for when breakfast is inevitably ready.

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

Avoidance, for Gavin, is the final straw.

He stews in his anxiety as he minds the stove, simmers with anger and hurt.

By the time breakfast is ready, and he calls Beckett over, there's the sharpness of steel in the amber of his eyes.

"You figured out what's going on in your head, or were you planning to avoid me until you do?"

It's more direct than he'd intended to be, but he lets it stand.

[attr="class","beck"]"what?"

it's not uncalled for, not by any means, but for some reason he had expected to go through breakfast uninterrupted. to be tugged away so violently leaves him defensive.

"can't we just eat?"

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

Truthfully, he's lost his appetite.

But he doesn't know how to put into words the cocktail of emotions that roil in his chest, settling somewhere between bitterness and hurt.

He sighs, and there's a slump to his shoulders.

"Okay."

[attr="class","beck"]the slump to cillian's shoulders goes ignored because doing anything but would be painful. his grip tightens over the metal utensils, fork jabbing into sausage, cutting it without the need for a knife. he brings it to his mounth, then follows it with eggs.

unlike cillian, his appetite holds steady.

"it's good."

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

With his own food untouched, Gavin watches Beckett eat with something approaching envy. He's always made it look so easy to shut down. It had never been easy for Gavin, not even in Kanto when feeling nothing was the only way to survive.

His lip twitches.

"Thanks."

But his mind attacks, demands: had this been a mistake?

[attr="class","beck"]he's about a third of the way through his plate when he finally notices an oddity. he peers up, pauses, then reaches for a napkin to dab at his lips.

"you're not eating."

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

Food cools on Gavin's plate as Beckett systematically clears his own. Alcremie's worried offer of a mint is met with a gentle shake of his head, and the empathetic fairy-type seems to understand that something's amiss when she backs off.

It takes longer for Beckett to catch on. That hurts, for some reason.

Yet when he finally points out the obvious, Gavin wishes he hadn't. He opens his mouth, seems to think better of whatever instinctual reply comes to mind. Closes it, with a press of his lips, then tries again.

"I don't have the stomach for it, right now."

[attr="class","beck"]still defensive, he thinks the cause of cillian's discomfort to be anything but himself. he raises an eyebrow, questioning in his gaze.

"why not?"

he clears his throat, reaches for the bottle of water as a distraction as he watches.

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

Had he not known Beckett for over a decade, he might've assumed the man was joking.

Instead, two realities present themselves: he is truly ignorant to the reason behind Gavin's shift in mood, or he's pretending to be. Neither option fills Gavin with the kind of confidence he needs to answer comfortably.

He hates it, this delicate dance around unspoken issues.

Gavin takes a breath, then breaks.

"You're acting weird and I don't know why. You seemed fine, and then you weren't, and fuck's sakes Theo I'm going through a lot of shit right now and I don't know if I can handle—"

He stops himself with a sharp intake of breath. He can't finish that thought.

His hands curl tight, defensive.

"Sorry," he says, soft. "It's — it's not on you."

[attr="class","beck"]"no, it's not."

but it's not all on cillian either. he breathes, exhaling frustrations.

"this is all new to me, cillian. i don't know how i feel about it."

he clicks his tongue, correcting himself.

"actually, i do. it makes me uncomfortable."

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

He's braced for it, but it still hurts more than he expects.

"Okay," and it's clear he's struggling as he shifts his jaw. "Okay."

He can't decide whether to shut down or break down, ends up frozen in between.

"Do you know why?"