[In fact, he's not put off in the least— all in one day, he was touched that she trusted him enough to be vulnerable in front of him, to share those difficult feelings, and what had followed that evening had been...
Well, he would have been lying if he said he didn't find it endearing. He's starting to wonder if there was anything she could do that might sway his opinion— the more time he's spent with her, the more he's learned, each bit of it has only made him like her more, pushed him to a point where he had no choice but to be honest with himself about certain matters.]
Belligerence was a good color on you, actually. It was charming.
[There's a brief hitch in his voice, but only because he remembers exactly how flustered he'd been the night before as she'd been leaning against him, burying her face against his shoulder, not to mention her parting words—
He clears his throat softly.]
We did. Berna wanted you to enlighten regarding your ideal man— she had quite a bit of fun at your expense, I think, and mine.
[It's almost certain at this point that she hadn't gotten his message— which gives him pause. She's likely to see it when they're done talking, and for as much as she had shared with him the day before and as open as that soju had prompted her to be, the concern that she'll find it to be far too much is very, very real.
He pauses for a moment, thoughtfully chewing over what to say next. So much of the time, being with her is so easy, but now, when he doesn't quite know where he stands, he cannot help but second-guess himself.]
I had a feeling you would be nursing a headache at the very least. I thought I might ask you to meet for coffee while I have a few errands to run, but I imagine you're not feeling up to going anywhere, and you've already stated that today is strictly green juice. [Props to her; he can't stand the stuff.] I could— drop by, if it wouldn't be a bother?
[He doesn't question her needing time to prepare— he can't imagine she's feeling up to company right this minute— but even so, he finds himself feeling nervous, as well.
There had once been a time in his life where he had been so confident that if he had interest in someone, he could tell them so with a smile and without a moment's hesitation— why is it so much more nerve-wracking now, when he's almost certain it's mutual? His disastrous and painful romantic history aside, he supposes it must be at least in part because this is far more than interest, more than asking someone to dinner and hoping for a pleasant evening.
Right. She'd asked him for a time.]
All things considered, it would be kindest to give you time to enjoy your hangover remedy of choice and wait until you've had the chance to feel a bit more human, I think. Would— two o'clock be alright?
[Roughly two hours from now. Time enough, he thinks, to pull himself together a bit more and make a couple of important stops on his way there. Maybe time enough to figure out what he intends to say. All he knows for sure is that whatever comes next, it's something they should discuss face-to-face.]
[Amelia has an inkling of what all of "this" is, but yesterday is still fresh in her mind (except for the last parts of the evening, that remains fuzzy) and whatever "this" was is starting to create butterflies in her stomach and no, it's not the spicy noodles.]
Um, yeah. I mean, yes. Yes, two o'clock is perfectly alright. Don't rush yourself.
[Uh, she's totally not ready for guests, but there's two hours to prep. Her and Berna usually don't bring over friends of any kind so it feels like she's implicitly breaking a roommate rule, but hey it's not written in stone.
But this is weird, right? Right?? Or is it just them.]
I'll... I'll be finishing breakfast. I mean, lunch. Brunch. Yeah. That.
. . .
See you later.
[And then she hangs up, yeah nailed it, it wasn't weird at all.]
[He sounds less hesitant and stilted than she does, but only just. They hang up, and he feels that fluttering from before move into his chest. Two hours was plenty of time to sort out how he wanted to break the ice, or so he thought.
As it turns out, two hours goes rather quickly, and while Gale is usually quite punctual, he allows himself to fall behind a few minutes in order to give Amelia a bit of leeway with regards to time— and, perhaps, to keep himself from looking a little too over-eager. There's also the worry that she'll have seen last night's message by now and think there's an ulterior motive to this visit, with how much she remembers of the evening still left unknown, and that is also enough to give him pause for another few minutes as he battles his own nerves.
It's not quite quarter after two when he does finally knock at her door, dressed neatly without leaning quite as far into his usual academic look, the handles of a paper bag hanging over his arm as he balances a lidded cup in one hand and holds a small but colorful bundle of flowers— roses, specifically— by his side in the other.]
[During those two hours and not quite quarter after two, Amelia did in fact finally read his last text. And she tried not to make a big deal out of it. She probably said something weird while drunk (Oren had mentioned that she was a lot more forward when inebriated) and Gale was showing concern. Yes. That's it. He did tell her to some effect to let him know if she made it home safely.
Yes.
It's no big deal.
But then it sits with her while she showers. It shadows her while she cleanses her face, and dries her hair. It haunts her while she tries to choose her clothes and fails to totally focus.
WHAT DID I DO?????
And so, by the time Gale arrives and knocks on the door, Amelia has given up on clothes and has chosen to wear an extra-large red shirt with the Coca-Cola logo and some faded jeans. The door cracks open and the edge of her glasses peeks out before she opens it fully.]
Gale. Hello. It's a little late, but welcome in-...
[She pauses at the sight of the bouquet.]
Oh... Are those for...?
[Amelia points at herself incredulously. Cause really???]
[It's easily the most casual attire he's ever had the opportunity to see her wear, and it makes little difference— his voice sticks in his throat for just a moment as he realizes that he would think she looked perfectly lovely no matter what her state of dress might be.
He clears his throat softly, offering a careful, boyish smile as he holds the flowers out to her in offering.]
Good to see you up and about. I thought the weekend might be taking its toll and you could use a bit of cheer.
[The hangover she had landed herself with was difficult enough on its own, but there was also the challenge and emotional exhaustion of what she had come face-to-face with during the art show, the impact that seeing all of those works and seeing Briar's family must have left.]
In addition to flowers, I come bearing hangover bagels as well as a chocolate shake from a diner that have seen me through many a challenging morning after a night of too much drinking, which while likely in conflict with the green juice ethos, I promise have never failed me.
[Here he is, just being helpful. Certainly not considering how close to the line between friend and boyfriend he's already stumbled.]
[Her mouth opens and closes as she tries to find her words. Hangover bagels AND a chocoalte shake??
This is. A lot.]
I... Well. Alright.
[What even. Is Gale trying to get some type of extra credit? Amelia looks baffled as she accepts the flowers, but is able to step aside and gesture to him to go inside the house.]
C'mon in. We'll chat. I suppose. In the kitchen.
[Yeah. She walks past Gale and she can only be grateful that she's let her hair down because she's quite certain the tips of her ears are red and the hangover can't be to blame.]
[He hesitates for a brief moment— he hadn't really considered the fact that naturally, dropping by meant he would actually be going in at some point. Neither of them has ever been in the other place of residence, barring their initial encounter, and even that hardly seemed to count. As themselves, as friends, they had only ever met on campus or out in public, and he feels another surge of nerves threaten to overtake him.
Ridiculous, as though he's back in secondary school all over again.
He settles for offering her a faltering but warm smile as she ushers him in, hanging back a moment once he's crossed the threshold so that he can follow her.]
Thank you. I won't impose upon you for long, I only— wanted to see you. That is, I wanted to see how you were feeling.
[Very suave. He's finding he misses the liquid courage that soju had offered him the night before.]
It's been a challenging weekend at best, and you were in... quite a state last night.
[The home that Berna shares with Amelia is picturesque in a modern interior sort of way. The furniture is sleek and neutral, but there are splashes of the two roommates personalities in the form of plants, colorful and comfy afghans and pillows, receipts, novels, and magazines littering the wooden coffee table, and Berna's iconic paintings and ceramic pieces as decoration.
Amelia leads him to the kitchen counter where she sets aside the flowers and rummages through their recycle bin to pull out a used wine bottle to rinse and reuse.]
Take a seat at the counter. We can split the chocolate shake after I arrange these flowers.
[Gale does as he's instructed, setting the bag of bagels on the counter before taking his seat and folding his hands neatly in front of him, making note of some of the details of the decor. Though he's only known Berna a short time, he thinks he can tell which touches belong to her and which ones represent Amelia's influence. The variety of plants, the afghan perfect for curling up to read a classic novel with— it's easy for him to see Amelia at home here.
He turns his attention to watching Amelia as she sets about arranging the flowers, considering for a moment before venturing to ask, ever so carefully:]
[Oof. Amelia has her back turned as she cleans the bottle and fills it up with fresh water. She speaks over the running faucet.]
I remember enough. I understand I was, uh, unbalanced?
[She takes the flowers and arranges them in the bottle, trimming a stem or taking off a leaf or two until it looks suitable and does a good job at brightening up the kitchen.]
I'm sorry for invading your personal space while I was drunk. That wasn't very considerate of me.
[He chuckles softly, giving a brief shake of his head, his earring catching the light in the process.]
You have nothing to apologize for. Honestly, I found it— endearing. You have very strong opinions when under the influence, though I suppose that shouldn't surprise me.
[She often has very strong opinions, but when inebriated, she had reached levels of belligerent that he had found to be comically charming in addition to leaving him flustered.]
More than that, you were among friends. No need to worry about propriety. It did get me thinking, though.
[There's a brief pause as he takes in a breath and steels himself, his fingers interlaced with one another as he rests his hands against the counter, watching her trim that last leaf.]
[She fumbles with her scissors and it clatters on the counter. They're swept into the sink and when Amelia replies, her voice manages to stay under control, but she sure is gripping that bottle vase tightly.]
Didn't we just have dinner yesterday night?
[In this instance she isn't oblivious as she was yesterday when they were with company and in a loud restaurant. Which is a big problem right now because none of those factors are present to distract her.]
The semester is marching on as we speak so it's going to be harder to pin down a later time and...
[He feels his heart sink a bit as she evades, the fumble as good as giving away that she knew very well what he meant. That note of uncertainty is mildly disheartening, but he reminds himself of what she's been through— what they've both been through.
If you don't give anyone a chance, they can't let you down. They can't hurt you. They can't leave you.
He withholds a sigh, instead turning bodily in his seat to face her. It feels wrong to just sit here with all that's going through his head, but he also feels that if he were to take even a step closer, it might be too much.]
I meant just us.
[They see one another alone all the time, one might reason, but always in very public places, always with something of a show of keeping it friendly.
He doesn't think either of them would put in so much effort to do so if they didn't feel tempted otherwise.]
The semester is nearly over. Surely you can spare an evening, Amelia.
[When Amelia turns to look at him, she's struck by how he gazes at her and how his eyes rarely hide anything from her. The truth behind them only makes the complexity within her own self tangle up even further.
She swallows and pushes the flowers to the side where they catch the pale sunlight.
This is too much. She's opened the door too wide and Gale Dekarios has become a fixture that's made her forlorn world that much warmer, but the instinctive fear of being burnt terrifies her, especially after she's acknowledged that she's made a mess of things with him in the first place.
But then again, Gale has never held that over her head. He made that much clear last night.]
I... Well.
[Amelia leans her backside against the counter, her side facing Gale as she purses her lips.]
It wouldn't be... Impossible.
[Her mind wanders to an image of the girl she was only a few years ago, imagining herself dressed in white and crowned in flowers, glaring at her with the same resentful gaze.
"Moving on now, are you? Figures."
Now she's faced with that inner voice or this man who's been giving her all the grace; one of these would be the death of her.]
Gale... Your last text message...
[Amelia finally glances at him, her cheeks starting to redden without her being able to control it.]
Did that...? I mean was that...
[At Waterdeep University, Professor Amelia Eva Steinbeck can hold engaging lectures, craft solid arguments, and analyze ancient texts to grasp their meaning and bring understanding to them in the modern age.
Here, in the cozy kitchen of her own home, Amelia can't find the damn words or will to bring this to life.]
[It's enough of a concession for now— in truth, perhaps a talk like this was long overdue, but they had both done their part to insist it wasn't necessary, that there was no alternate path for them to consider. Regardless, Gale had spent more nights than he could count wondering what if.
What if the timing had been different? Their circumstances slightly altered? How might they have proceeded then? Would they have decided to encourage that spark that had lit between them during their first meeting, or if they hadn't had the university to throw them into one another's paths, would they have been good to their word and gone their separate ways for good?
Despite his best efforts, it had weighed on him all this time, because some part of him knew that they both felt something real.]
That...
[He averts his gaze, but only for a moment, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth as his own face flushes to match hers.]
Sending it may have been a lapse in judgement. When we said goodbye at the restaurant, you had— words. Needless to say, they stuck with me.
[He shouldn't have responded to something she had let slip when she was so drunk, he knows, but the temptation to let her know he was feeling the same way had been too great. After a few glasses of soju, propriety and willpower lost some of their hold on him.]
I was drunk. Of course I had a plethora of words and apparently foolish ones that's giving you ideasโ!
[Her reply comes out as a rush and she has to put a hard stop to it by covering her very red face with one palm (that damn bashful smile in the corner of his mouth is not helping, not when he's colored in the face like her too).]
I don't... I mean to say that I'm not... Gale, if you're implying what I think you are, isn't this tooโ?
[Too much? Too soon? Too bold? A part of her is intrigued at this dawning possibility, seeing as how he only shows further interest even after she's shown what a mess she is with her emotional baggage that hasn't been fully cast off. That's the thing though; she's a mess and in rush she's absolutely sure she'd also ruin another good thing because Amelia only knows how to be overwhelmed and sink into the ocean of feelings until she realizes too late that she can't breathe.
Thanks a LOT, Gale Dekarios, Amelia is going to drown if this goes any further.]
Are you saying that you don't want to be friends anymore?
[He gets to his feet to defend himself; while it's certainly true that their parting had been enough to prod him towards thinking she might want him to say something and be more honest about how he was feeling, he would hate for her to think he was so shallow as to only care about that particular suggestion.]
It wasn't just that! Of course I realize you weren't entirely yourself, but—
[He sighs, his brow furrowed as he drops back into his seat. Is it too much? Too forward? Her next question completely sidelines any further thoughts he might have on that particular matter, because the way she phrases it, the idea of not being friends—
He would like to be more than that, thinks they are already more than that if they were to be honest with themselves, but the fear of her responding to this poorly and their not being friends at all is suddenly very real.]
I— we're not friends, are we? [The look he gives her is questioning, plaintive.] On paper, perhaps, and I know we agreed— I've made every effort to respect your boundaries, but— Amelia, you must know I care about you.
[The stupid emotional part of herself wishes that it was just physical attraction. That sort of thing was easy to scoff at and dismiss away, but Gale wasn't someone she wanted to do that to. God, she hated how sincere he was sometimes and how it felt like she couldn't live up to what he saw in her, whatever it was. His kindness made her want to open it and it did and now look where it's gotten them.
As they spent their time with one another at the university, the rhythm of and routine kept her from second guessing that this was anything more than friendship. And yet, when they're engrossed in their work, mentally straining themselves to reach newer heights of knowledge and scholarly vigor, at the end of the day, she appreciated and anticipated those smaller moments of rest they found with each other. It almost made her mind wander to "what if" until she immediately stamped out the idea.
Amelia didn't allow herself to think about "what if" with him because Gale was good, too good to her after everything.
She wraps her arms around herself and moves to the doorway that leads to the living room.]
I don't want to deal with whatever this is, not after you saw me like that.
[It keeps happening; she says she regrets hurting the people she cares for, but she's doing it right now. Obstinate, contradictory, stubbornโ]
I'm sorry, but I don't have an answer to whatever you're askingโ
[He makes an effort to veil the injury he feels at her response. He doesn't know that he had expected her to make any sort of decision; really, he hadn't even planned on having this conversation, but stumbled his way into it because he had been too damn eager to see her.
It was too much. He's always too much— and yet somehow, never enough. If he'd been more confident, more charming, more romantic, it might have worked out differently, but instead he's bumbled his way through something that demanded a great deal more care and thought than he had given it, all because he could not leave well enough alone.
To not know, to need time to think— that would have been one thing.
"I don't want to deal with whatever this is."
That, on the other hand, speaks quite plainly.]
I apologize. [The words are solemn, subdued as his own walls go up in a desperate attempt to shield himself from whatever might follow. He grips the counter, white-knuckled for a moment as he gets back to his feet with purpose this time, then pushes the chair he'd been occupying back into it's rightful place.] I must have misread things.
[He doesn't believe that for a moment. Even to him, saying it aloud rings hollow.]
I shouldn't have come— but it has been exhausting, to constantly pretend and try to convince myself that I'm not in love with you.
She freezes, her back turned to Gale and then whipping around, eyes wide with shock, and her voice nearly subdued from any kind of reply. All she can ask herself is "Why is he doing this to me now of all times?"
When Briar left the world, a significant part of her heart went with him, leaving it a shell. Attempts were made to fill in the gaps by being with other people and seeing if they could inspire some deeper level of passion.
But no one could be Briar.
Gale is not Briar.
But he's done the one thing that has her frightened beyond reasonable comprehension and that was making her realize how much space he's taken up in her mind and heart and making it feel full like it was in her early youth. Only Gale Dekarios, after all these years, would dare. Thorns, thorns, it's like thorns and it's making her heart bleed, and when it bleeds, it hurts, and when it hurts, she's uselessโ]
...
[Her fingers grip the sides of her arms and she bites her lower lip.]
Then maybe you should have pretended a little longerโ
[For being such a tall man, Oren has the most silent of strides that stops short of the entryway. He interrupts Amelia's sentence by shifting himself until half of him, holding four pizza boxes, is visible. Amelia blinks, suddenly aware of his presence and turns to stare at him, gobsmacked and somehow brought back down to earth.
Oren let's another painful thirsty seconds pass before he speaks up.]
Can I put these away?
[Amelia mumbles something and swiftly moves past him, disappearing into the hallway and into her bedroom where the door slams shut. Gale is left with silence, pizza, and a very stoic Oren.]
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sunfloras2024-01-21 09:17 pm
no subject
Well, he would have been lying if he said he didn't find it endearing. He's starting to wonder if there was anything she could do that might sway his opinion— the more time he's spent with her, the more he's learned, each bit of it has only made him like her more, pushed him to a point where he had no choice but to be honest with himself about certain matters.]
Belligerence was a good color on you, actually. It was charming.
[There's a brief hitch in his voice, but only because he remembers exactly how flustered he'd been the night before as she'd been leaning against him, burying her face against his shoulder, not to mention her parting words—
He clears his throat softly.]
We did. Berna wanted you to enlighten regarding your ideal man— she had quite a bit of fun at your expense, I think, and mine.
no subject
[A sigh.]
Anyway... I have the rest of Sunday to get over this hangover. And I'm glad you're checking up on me. It's appreciated.
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[It's almost certain at this point that she hadn't gotten his message— which gives him pause. She's likely to see it when they're done talking, and for as much as she had shared with him the day before and as open as that soju had prompted her to be, the concern that she'll find it to be far too much is very, very real.
He pauses for a moment, thoughtfully chewing over what to say next. So much of the time, being with her is so easy, but now, when he doesn't quite know where he stands, he cannot help but second-guess himself.]
I had a feeling you would be nursing a headache at the very least. I thought I might ask you to meet for coffee while I have a few errands to run, but I imagine you're not feeling up to going anywhere, and you've already stated that today is strictly green juice. [Props to her; he can't stand the stuff.] I could— drop by, if it wouldn't be a bother?
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That would be... I wouldn't mind.
[Why does she feel nervous? Lord, she hopes her voice sounds normal enough to not express it.]
An estimated time of arrival would help me prepare.
[for what]
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There had once been a time in his life where he had been so confident that if he had interest in someone, he could tell them so with a smile and without a moment's hesitation— why is it so much more nerve-wracking now, when he's almost certain it's mutual? His disastrous and painful romantic history aside, he supposes it must be at least in part because this is far more than interest, more than asking someone to dinner and hoping for a pleasant evening.
Right. She'd asked him for a time.]
All things considered, it would be kindest to give you time to enjoy your hangover remedy of choice and wait until you've had the chance to feel a bit more human, I think. Would— two o'clock be alright?
[Roughly two hours from now. Time enough, he thinks, to pull himself together a bit more and make a couple of important stops on his way there. Maybe time enough to figure out what he intends to say. All he knows for sure is that whatever comes next, it's something they should discuss face-to-face.]
no subject
Um, yeah. I mean, yes. Yes, two o'clock is perfectly alright. Don't rush yourself.
[Uh, she's totally not ready for guests, but there's two hours to prep. Her and Berna usually don't bring over friends of any kind so it feels like she's implicitly breaking a roommate rule, but hey it's not written in stone.
But this is weird, right? Right?? Or is it just them.]
I'll... I'll be finishing breakfast. I mean, lunch. Brunch. Yeah. That.
. . .
See you later.
[And then she hangs up, yeah nailed it, it wasn't weird at all.]
no subject
[He sounds less hesitant and stilted than she does, but only just. They hang up, and he feels that fluttering from before move into his chest. Two hours was plenty of time to sort out how he wanted to break the ice, or so he thought.
As it turns out, two hours goes rather quickly, and while Gale is usually quite punctual, he allows himself to fall behind a few minutes in order to give Amelia a bit of leeway with regards to time— and, perhaps, to keep himself from looking a little too over-eager. There's also the worry that she'll have seen last night's message by now and think there's an ulterior motive to this visit, with how much she remembers of the evening still left unknown, and that is also enough to give him pause for another few minutes as he battles his own nerves.
It's not quite quarter after two when he does finally knock at her door, dressed neatly without leaning quite as far into his usual academic look, the handles of a paper bag hanging over his arm as he balances a lidded cup in one hand and holds a small but colorful bundle of flowers— roses, specifically— by his side in the other.]
no subject
Yes.
It's no big deal.
But then it sits with her while she showers. It shadows her while she cleanses her face, and dries her hair. It haunts her while she tries to choose her clothes and fails to totally focus.
WHAT DID I DO?????
And so, by the time Gale arrives and knocks on the door, Amelia has given up on clothes and has chosen to wear an extra-large red shirt with the Coca-Cola logo and some faded jeans. The door cracks open and the edge of her glasses peeks out before she opens it fully.]
Gale. Hello. It's a little late, but welcome in-...
[She pauses at the sight of the bouquet.]
Oh... Are those for...?
[Amelia points at herself incredulously. Cause really???]
no subject
He clears his throat softly, offering a careful, boyish smile as he holds the flowers out to her in offering.]
Good to see you up and about. I thought the weekend might be taking its toll and you could use a bit of cheer.
[The hangover she had landed herself with was difficult enough on its own, but there was also the challenge and emotional exhaustion of what she had come face-to-face with during the art show, the impact that seeing all of those works and seeing Briar's family must have left.]
In addition to flowers, I come bearing hangover bagels as well as a chocolate shake from a diner that have seen me through many a challenging morning after a night of too much drinking, which while likely in conflict with the green juice ethos, I promise have never failed me.
[Here he is, just being helpful. Certainly not considering how close to the line between friend and boyfriend he's already stumbled.]
no subject
This is. A lot.]
I... Well. Alright.
[What even. Is Gale trying to get some type of extra credit? Amelia looks baffled as she accepts the flowers, but is able to step aside and gesture to him to go inside the house.]
C'mon in. We'll chat. I suppose. In the kitchen.
[Yeah. She walks past Gale and she can only be grateful that she's let her hair down because she's quite certain the tips of her ears are red and the hangover can't be to blame.]
no subject
Ridiculous, as though he's back in secondary school all over again.
He settles for offering her a faltering but warm smile as she ushers him in, hanging back a moment once he's crossed the threshold so that he can follow her.]
Thank you. I won't impose upon you for long, I only— wanted to see you. That is, I wanted to see how you were feeling.
[Very suave. He's finding he misses the liquid courage that soju had offered him the night before.]
It's been a challenging weekend at best, and you were in... quite a state last night.
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[The home that Berna shares with Amelia is picturesque in a modern interior sort of way. The furniture is sleek and neutral, but there are splashes of the two roommates personalities in the form of plants, colorful and comfy afghans and pillows, receipts, novels, and magazines littering the wooden coffee table, and Berna's iconic paintings and ceramic pieces as decoration.
Amelia leads him to the kitchen counter where she sets aside the flowers and rummages through their recycle bin to pull out a used wine bottle to rinse and reuse.]
Take a seat at the counter. We can split the chocolate shake after I arrange these flowers.
no subject
He turns his attention to watching Amelia as she sets about arranging the flowers, considering for a moment before venturing to ask, ever so carefully:]
May I ask you... how much of dinner you remember?
no subject
I remember enough. I understand I was, uh, unbalanced?
[She takes the flowers and arranges them in the bottle, trimming a stem or taking off a leaf or two until it looks suitable and does a good job at brightening up the kitchen.]
I'm sorry for invading your personal space while I was drunk. That wasn't very considerate of me.
no subject
You have nothing to apologize for. Honestly, I found it— endearing. You have very strong opinions when under the influence, though I suppose that shouldn't surprise me.
[She often has very strong opinions, but when inebriated, she had reached levels of belligerent that he had found to be comically charming in addition to leaving him flustered.]
More than that, you were among friends. No need to worry about propriety. It did get me thinking, though.
[There's a brief pause as he takes in a breath and steels himself, his fingers interlaced with one another as he rests his hands against the counter, watching her trim that last leaf.]
I think we should have dinner.
no subject
Didn't we just have dinner yesterday night?
[In this instance she isn't oblivious as she was yesterday when they were with company and in a loud restaurant. Which is a big problem right now because none of those factors are present to distract her.]
The semester is marching on as we speak so it's going to be harder to pin down a later time and...
[She doesn't sound so certain.]
no subject
[He feels his heart sink a bit as she evades, the fumble as good as giving away that she knew very well what he meant. That note of uncertainty is mildly disheartening, but he reminds himself of what she's been through— what they've both been through.
If you don't give anyone a chance, they can't let you down. They can't hurt you. They can't leave you.
He withholds a sigh, instead turning bodily in his seat to face her. It feels wrong to just sit here with all that's going through his head, but he also feels that if he were to take even a step closer, it might be too much.]
I meant just us.
[They see one another alone all the time, one might reason, but always in very public places, always with something of a show of keeping it friendly.
He doesn't think either of them would put in so much effort to do so if they didn't feel tempted otherwise.]
The semester is nearly over. Surely you can spare an evening, Amelia.
no subject
She swallows and pushes the flowers to the side where they catch the pale sunlight.
This is too much. She's opened the door too wide and Gale Dekarios has become a fixture that's made her forlorn world that much warmer, but the instinctive fear of being burnt terrifies her, especially after she's acknowledged that she's made a mess of things with him in the first place.
But then again, Gale has never held that over her head. He made that much clear last night.]
I... Well.
[Amelia leans her backside against the counter, her side facing Gale as she purses her lips.]
It wouldn't be... Impossible.
[Her mind wanders to an image of the girl she was only a few years ago, imagining herself dressed in white and crowned in flowers, glaring at her with the same resentful gaze.
"Moving on now, are you? Figures."
Now she's faced with that inner voice or this man who's been giving her all the grace; one of these would be the death of her.]
Gale... Your last text message...
[Amelia finally glances at him, her cheeks starting to redden without her being able to control it.]
Did that...? I mean was that...
[At Waterdeep University, Professor Amelia Eva Steinbeck can hold engaging lectures, craft solid arguments, and analyze ancient texts to grasp their meaning and bring understanding to them in the modern age.
Here, in the cozy kitchen of her own home, Amelia can't find the damn words or will to bring this to life.]
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What if the timing had been different? Their circumstances slightly altered? How might they have proceeded then? Would they have decided to encourage that spark that had lit between them during their first meeting, or if they hadn't had the university to throw them into one another's paths, would they have been good to their word and gone their separate ways for good?
Despite his best efforts, it had weighed on him all this time, because some part of him knew that they both felt something real.]
That...
[He averts his gaze, but only for a moment, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth as his own face flushes to match hers.]
Sending it may have been a lapse in judgement. When we said goodbye at the restaurant, you had— words. Needless to say, they stuck with me.
[He shouldn't have responded to something she had let slip when she was so drunk, he knows, but the temptation to let her know he was feeling the same way had been too great. After a few glasses of soju, propriety and willpower lost some of their hold on him.]
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[Her reply comes out as a rush and she has to put a hard stop to it by covering her very red face with one palm (that damn bashful smile in the corner of his mouth is not helping, not when he's colored in the face like her too).]
I don't... I mean to say that I'm not... Gale, if you're implying what I think you are, isn't this tooโ?
[Too much? Too soon? Too bold? A part of her is intrigued at this dawning possibility, seeing as how he only shows further interest even after she's shown what a mess she is with her emotional baggage that hasn't been fully cast off. That's the thing though; she's a mess and in rush she's absolutely sure she'd also ruin another good thing because Amelia only knows how to be overwhelmed and sink into the ocean of feelings until she realizes too late that she can't breathe.
Thanks a LOT, Gale Dekarios, Amelia is going to drown if this goes any further.]
Are you saying that you don't want to be friends anymore?
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It wasn't just that! Of course I realize you weren't entirely yourself, but—
[He sighs, his brow furrowed as he drops back into his seat. Is it too much? Too forward? Her next question completely sidelines any further thoughts he might have on that particular matter, because the way she phrases it, the idea of not being friends—
He would like to be more than that, thinks they are already more than that if they were to be honest with themselves, but the fear of her responding to this poorly and their not being friends at all is suddenly very real.]
I— we're not friends, are we? [The look he gives her is questioning, plaintive.] On paper, perhaps, and I know we agreed— I've made every effort to respect your boundaries, but— Amelia, you must know I care about you.
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[The stupid emotional part of herself wishes that it was just physical attraction. That sort of thing was easy to scoff at and dismiss away, but Gale wasn't someone she wanted to do that to. God, she hated how sincere he was sometimes and how it felt like she couldn't live up to what he saw in her, whatever it was. His kindness made her want to open it and it did and now look where it's gotten them.
As they spent their time with one another at the university, the rhythm of and routine kept her from second guessing that this was anything more than friendship. And yet, when they're engrossed in their work, mentally straining themselves to reach newer heights of knowledge and scholarly vigor, at the end of the day, she appreciated and anticipated those smaller moments of rest they found with each other. It almost made her mind wander to "what if" until she immediately stamped out the idea.
Amelia didn't allow herself to think about "what if" with him because Gale was good, too good to her after everything.
She wraps her arms around herself and moves to the doorway that leads to the living room.]
I don't want to deal with whatever this is, not after you saw me like that.
[It keeps happening; she says she regrets hurting the people she cares for, but she's doing it right now. Obstinate, contradictory, stubbornโ]
I'm sorry, but I don't have an answer to whatever you're askingโ
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It was too much. He's always too much— and yet somehow, never enough. If he'd been more confident, more charming, more romantic, it might have worked out differently, but instead he's bumbled his way through something that demanded a great deal more care and thought than he had given it, all because he could not leave well enough alone.
To not know, to need time to think— that would have been one thing.
"I don't want to deal with whatever this is."
That, on the other hand, speaks quite plainly.]
I apologize. [The words are solemn, subdued as his own walls go up in a desperate attempt to shield himself from whatever might follow. He grips the counter, white-knuckled for a moment as he gets back to his feet with purpose this time, then pushes the chair he'd been occupying back into it's rightful place.] I must have misread things.
[He doesn't believe that for a moment. Even to him, saying it aloud rings hollow.]
I shouldn't have come— but it has been exhausting, to constantly pretend and try to convince myself that I'm not in love with you.
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She freezes, her back turned to Gale and then whipping around, eyes wide with shock, and her voice nearly subdued from any kind of reply. All she can ask herself is "Why is he doing this to me now of all times?"
When Briar left the world, a significant part of her heart went with him, leaving it a shell. Attempts were made to fill in the gaps by being with other people and seeing if they could inspire some deeper level of passion.
But no one could be Briar.
Gale is not Briar.
But he's done the one thing that has her frightened beyond reasonable comprehension and that was making her realize how much space he's taken up in her mind and heart and making it feel full like it was in her early youth. Only Gale Dekarios, after all these years, would dare. Thorns, thorns, it's like thorns and it's making her heart bleed, and when it bleeds, it hurts, and when it hurts, she's uselessโ]
...
[Her fingers grip the sides of her arms and she bites her lower lip.]
Then maybe you should have pretended a little longerโ
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. . .
. . .
[For being such a tall man, Oren has the most silent of strides that stops short of the entryway. He interrupts Amelia's sentence by shifting himself until half of him, holding four pizza boxes, is visible. Amelia blinks, suddenly aware of his presence and turns to stare at him, gobsmacked and somehow brought back down to earth.
Oren let's another painful thirsty seconds pass before he speaks up.]
Can I put these away?
[Amelia mumbles something and swiftly moves past him, disappearing into the hallway and into her bedroom where the door slams shut. Gale is left with silence, pizza, and a very stoic Oren.]
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