She catches her name on Spencer's lips, but that's all she makes out. As much as she appreciates that he's speaking slowly to give her the chance to read his lips, she can't manage it; she's never had to try. It'd be akin to standing an infant on their feet and then expecting them to run when you let go of their hands for the first time. No, she's going to be falling on her first several attempts. Honestly, she's hoping that this doesn't last long enough for her to learn to excel at it.
But in spite of the fact that she can't make out what Spencer is saying, the reassuring gesture is not lost on her. Usually, he likes to keep his own physical space, so when he proactively places her hand on his heart; proactively violates his own personal bubble, Lydia's attention is focused wholly on him. She understands he's trying to help.
Her lips press together and she's trying very hard not to sob because she won't be able to hear it and know whether it's choked back or humiliatingly loud, and she's not good at reading lips, but within the context of the gesture, she picks up what he's asking. Lydia nods, lifting her chin in an effort to fool herself into thinking her pride can conquer her fear. Her eyes are steady on Spencer's face and she wets her lips, nodding again. The idea of talking is unappealing if she can avoid it, because she can't gauge the sound of her voice. Instead, she just looks him in the eye significantly as if to communicate it silently: yes, she can feel that.
It doesn't calm her down much right away, but after a short moment, she can feel her focus shifting away from the lack of hearing and toward the additional tactile sensation beneath her fingertips and palm. Lydia takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, her eyes closing in a slow blink, in an effort to further calm herself. Nobody can help her if she's too busy panicking to let them, after all.
no subject
But in spite of the fact that she can't make out what Spencer is saying, the reassuring gesture is not lost on her. Usually, he likes to keep his own physical space, so when he proactively places her hand on his heart; proactively violates his own personal bubble, Lydia's attention is focused wholly on him. She understands he's trying to help.
Her lips press together and she's trying very hard not to sob because she won't be able to hear it and know whether it's choked back or humiliatingly loud, and she's not good at reading lips, but within the context of the gesture, she picks up what he's asking. Lydia nods, lifting her chin in an effort to fool herself into thinking her pride can conquer her fear. Her eyes are steady on Spencer's face and she wets her lips, nodding again. The idea of talking is unappealing if she can avoid it, because she can't gauge the sound of her voice. Instead, she just looks him in the eye significantly as if to communicate it silently: yes, she can feel that.
It doesn't calm her down much right away, but after a short moment, she can feel her focus shifting away from the lack of hearing and toward the additional tactile sensation beneath her fingertips and palm. Lydia takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, her eyes closing in a slow blink, in an effort to further calm herself. Nobody can help her if she's too busy panicking to let them, after all.