As Newt washes up, she picks up her mug and drifts over to the table in the corner, nudging a chair out with her foot and sitting down. There's an ache welling up inside her, something both different and the same as the ever-present hurt of her grief and loss, and she sits with it a moment, weighing it, before she finds a way to put it into words.
"Did it hurt this much for you and Kavinsky?" she asks softly, waiting until Newt's shut off the water before she speaks. "When Al was...when he left. I keep waiting for it to stop, and it doesn't."
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As Newt washes up, she picks up her mug and drifts over to the table in the corner, nudging a chair out with her foot and sitting down. There's an ache welling up inside her, something both different and the same as the ever-present hurt of her grief and loss, and she sits with it a moment, weighing it, before she finds a way to put it into words.
"Did it hurt this much for you and Kavinsky?" she asks softly, waiting until Newt's shut off the water before she speaks. "When Al was...when he left. I keep waiting for it to stop, and it doesn't."