He blinks and one teardrop escapes. It slips out unintentionally, skating lazily down his cheek when the world becomes bitterly clear to him.
She sits across from him on their couch, the love of his life. Her feet are practically in his lap and she shuffles papers in her hand, unaware of Tenzin's revelation. Her posture insinuates a comfort he knows to be false. She can never be truly relaxed when relaxing- the sedentary life never held much appeal. The energy around her is tense, an invisible force holding her in place as she pretends to be at peace with their decision to spend a quiet evening at home.
There is something inside Lin that can never rest. He will never know why or where or how it came to be. There was a time in his life in which he pondered the source of her motivation. He imagined that if he could find it, he could fix it. If such a thing required fixing at all. Is a person truly broken if ink and paper say otherwise?
The word for her condition is "ambitious." It is a quality admired by most everyone and yet it sneaks up on this happy couple and poisons them in the night like a Shakespearean villain. Her ambition twists like a dagger, spilling the blood of their union slowly so as not to draw attention to itself. It drains from them day by day, in small asides and late nights spent at work.
And yet, Tenzin holds strong with bandages in hand performing triage in silence. His preferred method of treatment is avoidance. He does not talk about his need for children and in a show of deference, Lin keeps her ambition to herself. These subjects go unspoken, but the weight of them push against the couple mercilessly and both kindly pretend not to notice when the other falters beneath the heavy burden of their love.
This is one of those moments.
Her eyes flutter up from the paper she holds and though it was just one solitary tear that lived and died in an instant on his cheek, she notices. Her lips part as if to speak, but instead she breathes out slowly, offers a weak smile, and returns to her papers.
He can't blame her, this is their dance. It is a carefully choreographed performance and they each do their part to move together in time without stepping on toes. This is the beat in which she turns her head. Tomorrow it will be his turn to look the other way.
They have had years of practice by now. Their routine was once anything but- it was a display of youth, and hope, and love unmarred by reality. But, their dance is becoming more melancholy each day and Tenzin fears that in his thirty-fifth year of life, their song may be ending.
He feels a small tap on his chest and his eyes fall to her bare feet, one of which thumps him rhythmically, until he gathers the will to look her in the eye. Her expression is sweet and vaguely sentimental as she watches him. His eyes dart briefly to the empty glass beside her and he wonders if that was her first or second drink.
"I love you, you know," she tells him softly, genuine. He does know, it is at once the best and worst thing in the world. The very sound of these words from her mouth cause his heart to swell inside his chest. These words matter when spoken in her voice only. It is happiness, but it is agony too.
"I love you too," he replies, wishing for the sake of his swelling heart that it wasn't so true. She smiles again, then returns to her papers.
This is the beat in which she turns her head.
Tonight, he will look the other way.
This is their dance and as long as Tenzin can stand, he will repeat these steps.
He does so for himself. He does so for Lin, the love of his life that sits across from him on their couch, feet practically in his lap.