They have gone past any point where he could amicably ignore this strangeness. Cullen rises to his feet as the other man does, towering over him-- towering over him as much as any man can tower over somebody roughly their own size. He exhales to counter--
...and lets out little more than a sharp breath. How is he supposed to argue against this? He is not wrong- just as the other man's frustration is clearly that of a man who thinks he is not wrong either. Cullen falters at the thought. Piece by piece he's been told, small impressions of a person he doesn't recognise in himself, and the more he hears, the more he fears himself mistaken - the more he needs to know that he is not.
He takes another breath, so that he can speak this calmly:
"If I let you try- whatever it is you think you need to try-- If I let you try it, and it doesn't work, will you accept that this is where I belong?"
no subject
...and lets out little more than a sharp breath. How is he supposed to argue against this? He is not wrong- just as the other man's frustration is clearly that of a man who thinks he is not wrong either. Cullen falters at the thought. Piece by piece he's been told, small impressions of a person he doesn't recognise in himself, and the more he hears, the more he fears himself mistaken - the more he needs to know that he is not.
He takes another breath, so that he can speak this calmly:
"If I let you try- whatever it is you think you need to try-- If I let you try it, and it doesn't work, will you accept that this is where I belong?"