Martin’s cheeks flushed. For all he so obviously tried not to draw attention to himself, every thought and feeling he had were plain to see for anyone who bothered to look. Seb would have to show him how to lock that down.
“What you do isn’t censorship. We could argue about it being disrespectful, though.”
“Disrespectful?” Seb had heard that word a lot in his life. Almost every time he spoke to his dad, he was reminded how little respect he had for his father’s achievements. But Philip had never cared for anything Seb had ever accomplished either, so they were basically even.
“Books are important.” Martin’s determination pushed itself a little further forward.
“You’re such an academic.” Seb couldn’t help it. He’d heard it all before. The respect the written word required, the sanctity of the knowledge contained between covers. The same old bullshit.
It was the wrong thing to say now, though. The light in Martin’s eyes faded, and he scraped his chair back to stand.
“Not anymore,” he said. “Thanks for letting me hang out today. I should get going.”
Seb went to protest. He hadn’t meant anything by his remark. It was a reflex to old hurts more than anything Martin had said, but Martin slunk to the door and disappeared down the stairs without another word.
Too late for apologies.
Again.
