Because this place isn't a museum to him. It's not a tomb, it's not a grave, it's not a monument to the dead. To him, this is a living, breathing place that deserves life, and growth, and change. It deserves to be what it was, what it is, and it deserves to keep on becoming. They have a different relationship with these walls, the two of them. Hers runs deeper, longer, more foundational.
His is an idea. Potential, what if, what could have been, what he could never have — but somehow, inexplicably, has.
"I got no idea," he admits bluntly, shrugging, palms slightly out. "I don't know how this crap works. Not really. I'm just wingin' it like the rest of us sorry sons of bitches. I can tell you that you can make whatever you want to here. Sky's the limit. You want sixteen rodeo clowns to pop out of a closet, I'm not gonna kink shame."
A beat, and then more seriously, "Do you, uh... You want some time? I can leave you to it, if you need a minute."
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Because this place isn't a museum to him. It's not a tomb, it's not a grave, it's not a monument to the dead. To him, this is a living, breathing place that deserves life, and growth, and change. It deserves to be what it was, what it is, and it deserves to keep on becoming. They have a different relationship with these walls, the two of them. Hers runs deeper, longer, more foundational.
His is an idea. Potential, what if, what could have been, what he could never have — but somehow, inexplicably, has.
"I got no idea," he admits bluntly, shrugging, palms slightly out. "I don't know how this crap works. Not really. I'm just wingin' it like the rest of us sorry sons of bitches. I can tell you that you can make whatever you want to here. Sky's the limit. You want sixteen rodeo clowns to pop out of a closet, I'm not gonna kink shame."
A beat, and then more seriously, "Do you, uh... You want some time? I can leave you to it, if you need a minute."