[Admitting it made the feeling real, and of course it had to be to Héctor, the guy that would understand more than anyone else. Cliff holds his breath, not trusting himself to do anything else without some shaky almost-sob or sniffle, but question breaks the resolve there.]
Shit.
[Damn it. Even if he's not alone, it sucks. He hates this. He can't even go anywhere, not really -- it's his house. Suppressing even more curses by deciding to not answer, he turns to walk over to the couch. Cliff takes the moment he's turned away to rub the heel of his palm against an eye. He wants to go home. He's sick of this place, he wants to go home. He just wants to go home. He settles into the corner between the arm and the couch's back and draws his legs up.]
no subject
Shit.
[Damn it. Even if he's not alone, it sucks. He hates this. He can't even go anywhere, not really -- it's his house. Suppressing even more curses by deciding to not answer, he turns to walk over to the couch. Cliff takes the moment he's turned away to rub the heel of his palm against an eye. He wants to go home. He's sick of this place, he wants to go home. He just wants to go home. He settles into the corner between the arm and the couch's back and draws his legs up.]