[He does, finally, look back over his shoulder when he hears her emerge, though he doesn't let his gaze linger. He can hear the movement of the washing machine in the distance, and he gives a reserved nod in response to her declaration, noting that the word "no" is notably absent.]
Of course. I don't mean to distract you from your work.
[He proceeds to pull two plates down from the cupboard before retrieving two forks, though he only fills his own plate for the time being. He leaves the other on the counter beside the stove for her to help herself at her leisure, and once he's plated his own pasta, he goes to sit at the kitchen table while she works on the dishwasher. Waiting for her probably wound have put unnecessary pressure on the situation, but perhaps dinner can serve as something of a peace offering.]
[His reserved response and actions appear to help cool the metaphorical temperature in the room. While Amelia fiddles with the dishwasher's settings (it wasn't starting and she concludes it just needs a reset), her ears pick up the sound of Gale's movements as he takes out plates and utensils and moves to the kitchen table.
She unplugs the dishwasher's cord underneath the sink. By the time dinner is over, when plugged back in, it should work. That is, if she decides to have dinner.
...
Amelia stands up, dusting her jeans before turning to the stove and taking the plate left out for her. Her fork makes a clinking sound as she serves herself. She doesn't join Gale at the table, but pushes herself up to sit atop the counter.
It's an uncomfortable couple of minutes with the only sound between them is their own eating, utensils bumping against their plates, and the heavy rain drumming outside.
And then she speaks up.]
The dishwasher should be work in about half an hour. I'll test it out with our plates and forks.
[Implying that she'll do the dishes and not leave it up to Gale since he went through the trouble of making enough dinner for them both. It's... Something. Better than nothing? Whatever it is.]
[Speaking to him of her own volition? It's certainly something, and he notes that her temper seems to have cooled, if only slightly. Small progress, but progress nonetheless, and he's grateful for the break in the awkward silence.
Perhaps the friendship can be salvaged after all, though he fears he has damaged things irreparably with his carelessness.
He glances in her direction, his expression mild, guarded rather than disinterested. He should be frustrated, he reasons, and he is, but he's not angry. Some part of him feels he probably should be, but he can't make himself feel angry with her.]
Thank you. I hadn't realized you had a knack for these things.
[It sounds like horrible, weak small talk, and he resists the urge to wince as he says it, but it's better than nothing. Anything, to break the ice.]
[She may have reached a point where she's fed up with her own selfishness, tired after two weeks of trying to sever ties. Who knows? But a few weeks did give her a lot of room to think, even if half of it was spent arguing with herself that she was in the right (she wasn't and that voice couldn't be squashed).]
I taught myself. No use owning a house if you don't know how to fix what's in it.
[Frank helped too with his insight and input when Amelia asked questions, but that's neither here nor there. She stabs a tomato and twirls her fork for another mouthful of pasta.
[He gives a rueful little smile as his gaze returns to his own plate and he twirls pasta around his fork.]
Boundaries are important to you. I understand.
[He had certainly put a great deal of effort into respecting them, until things had gotten heated and he'd lost himself for a moment.]
It's an important life skill, but I also find cooking to be particularly relaxing. It's a science and art all at once— but more than that, I like to eat well. Saves a lot of trouble to be able to ensure I do so myself.
[When Gale talks, the majority of the time, it's animated and lively and it's always made Amelia focus and truly listen. It's a quality of his that flummoxes her in how much she likes it even if others could argue that he talks too much which she'd normally be inclined to agree, but-
Oh. Her plate is empty. She stares down at the leftover flecks of garlic and herbs, pushing it around with her fork.]
... If you haven't yet, check the freezer.
[Amelia pushes herself off of the counter to get a second helping of pasta.]
After you're done, I mean. We restock on complimentary ice pops.
[There's as much being said between the lines and by her stilted behavior as there is out loud— that for as awkward as things are between them, that after two weeks of his giving her space and her seemingly pretending that they had never known one another in the first place, she's making an effort to bridge the gap, to try to ease into talking.
Talking is something he's always been good at it. Even if he isn't quite as animated as he normally would be, he can help her with that— carefully, lest he say the wrong thing all over again.
For a brief moment, however, when her back is turned to fill her plate a second time, he feels a flicker of a true smile pull at the corner of his mouth. He would have liked to cook for her under different circumstances, but he's glad to see it meets with her approval.]
I haven't, no— thank you, that's very kind. I got in not too long ago, admittedly, and— had a bit too much on my mind to explore the place thoroughly.
[Their situation, of course, and his upcoming presentation. He's been distracted by both things through most of finals.
There's a long, heavy moment of silence before he finally ventures to break it with:]
... I'm sorry, again. I really had no idea this place belonged to your family, I would hate for you to think that I was trying to follow you or— force anything.
[Out of everything she's said so far, this sounds the least uncertain.]
You're not that kind of person.
[For better or for worse, Gale was the type to make his intentions clear. The coincidence of it all was what enflamed her more than the assumption of any lesser intentions.
It's become clearer, over the past two weeks, that she's let her faults get the best of her since their last meeting. Neither of them were entirely wrong during that exchange, but Amelia has conceded, that a different outcome wasn't impossible.
But she was childish and completely inexperienced with how to proceed after a big fight with a friend. Berna's usual strategy was to mostly act like nothing happened except with a precise and well-deserved chiding. Gale was being way too gracious right now for her comfort.
She twirls some more pasta onto her fork, finishing her second plate more slowly this time.]
[He exhales, and his relief is audible. However the rest of this may unfold, it was important to him that she hadn't misconstrued his intentions. Things were, indeed, a mess— but he had done his best to take Oren's advice and weather the icy chill coming from the younger professor as he went about his own business. Give her time. Time would tell whether or not they would be able to remain friends, but after what he'd said, what he knew could not be entirely unrequited—
Would that even be possible?]
Sunday. Before Tara had suddenly changed her plans, we had thought to spend tomorrow seeing some of Neverwinter in addition to my taking time to fine-tune my presentation.
[Tara. What had been her intention in booking this place? It was too great a coincidence, she must have known this house belonged to Amelia's family, but there would have been no way to know that Amelia herself would have to stop by to handle maintenance. Perhaps she'd wanted to take the opportunity to get him thinking of Amelia from a different angle, use someplace tied to her family to remind him that she'd had an entire life before they'd ever met, but he can't say for certain. Tara's mind was her own, but he doesn't doubt for a moment that she'd intended for something to happen.]
Suppose I'll be reviewing on my own. For the best, perhaps, given the storm. I doubt tomorrow will bring pleasant tourist weather.
[She takes a huge mouthful of food and manages to swallow it down without choking. Clearing her throat, she continues.]
I can look over notes, and such. I'm not astrophysicist but I'm sure a literature professor's input means something when it comes to compelling narrative.
[He looks up from his plate at last, startled, and allows himself to look directly at her for the first time since before she'd disappeared into the laundry room.]
I—
[Of course, he still valued her input as he always had, but the offer was a surprise nonetheless. Two weeks earlier, he wouldn't have questioned it, but now...
He sees it for what it is. An olive branch.]
Well, I can think of no one whose eye would be more keen. I— would hate to impose, however. There's nowhere else you need to be?
[He should have just accepted it, rather than looking a gift horse in the mouth, but he cannot help but wonder if things could be as simple as that, moving forward as though nothing had happened. His feelings, for one, haven't changed.]
[He hadn't expected she would make an appearance at the conference after things had gone silent between them; though he had hoped to see her there when he'd issued the invitation, things had changed dramatically since then.
He clears his throat softly after a moment of awkward silence as he processes, pushing his chair back and taking up his plate so that he can help himself to seconds, as well. While he wouldn't go so far as to say the source of his stress has been resolved, this is the most he's felt like eating in weeks.]
You're hardly in my way. If anything, it's your house.
[His gaze is fixed very firmly on the pan as he puts a bit more onto his plate, unsure if he can afford to risk meeting her own again.]
It's miserable weather for travel. He's right— better that you stay put. I imagine we can— coexist, for a night.
[There's a note of hesitance in his voice; it shouldn't be so hard, it never had been before, but he's painfully reminded of the stilted, awkward conversations back when she had decided it was best to pretend they had never met, that first day before the start of the semester. It feels much the same, only this time it's far worse, because she's far more than an intriguing stranger.
Rather than return to the table, he leans against the counter a few feet down from the spot she's chosen, digging into his dinner there and only briefly stealing a cautious sidelong glance when he thinks he can afford to.]
If you're staying to pass the storm, it's nice to know the shopping I did for two people's worth of meals needn't go to waste.
[It shouldn't be so hard, but it is. They're both people who centered their lives around their respective precious individuals and both ended with completely different, but no less damaging, results. In their professional academic lives, conflict and interconnected, transactional relationships, were the norm. What could two people who were excellent at their careers, but poor at handling vulnerability, hope to achieve?
Amelia finishes her second helping and lets out a puff of breath, still not looking directly at Gale even as he leans against the counter.]
I was going to help myself to the complimentary dry goods, but I also don't mind helping you finish the groceries.
[He finally manages a small but genuine half-smile, that puff of breath rather familiar to him by now.]
Think of it as a different kind of complimentary service. It will mean less I have to take with me come Monday.
[There's still a strange disconnect between them, that awkwardness hanging in the air, but anger, he notes, seems to have diffused— and while he cannot say how the rest of the weekend will pan out, he almost feels confident that one way or another, they'll manage to muddle through to the other side.
๐น๐๐ฎ
Despite the fact that they had both had seconds, there's still pasta left over when they're done, which Gale neatly puts away in the fridge while Amelia makes good on her intention to "test" the dishwasher using their dinner dishes. While they don't necessarily avoid one another for the hours that follow, there's a sort of awkward shuffling about one another as they both struggle to decide how to interact, how to proceed. After unpacking the things he'll be needing for the next few days, he does gather his notes and outline for his presentation; while he does have the entirety available to him on his tablet, of course he's kept a hard copy on hand, marked up with further notes and references to his digital files, including where certain visual aids will be shown.
He takes her up on her offer to review his work, though he finds he can't sit still while she does so— he's unable to focus on anything but the fact that this isn't an ordinary peer review and that after two weeks, he feels utterly at a loss for how he's meant to speak to her. It stands to reason that he should do exactly as he did before, pretend nothing has changed just as she seems content to, but anxiety wins out and he decides to leave her to read and review in peace. It had been a long drive and a long day beforehand; a shower seems an adequate distraction, in addition to giving him time to clear his head.
Sometime later, he re-emerges having done away with his day clothes and prepared to wind down for the night in a dark gray henley and plaid sleep pants with the intent to make himself tea, but pauses on his way through the living room to find Amelia looking out at the rain, falling harder than it had been even an hour beforehand. He considers continuing on his way, but follows the instinct that pulls him to pause and take a few steps towards her, instead, glancing at the notes she appears to have finished with.]
[As the dishwasher thrums in the background, they continue their waltz around the elephant in the room. Amelia has defaulted to her usual cool facade, the one she wears as a professor and colleague during their work hours. Her emotions have betrayed her enough for tonight, she believes. The way they behaved around each other as the evening went on almost feels like it was all water under the bridge, when the reality was far from it.
Some good old fashioned peer-review ought to distract her from overthinking their relationship.
Before accepting Gale's notes for his presentation, she preps herself for the night by showering, drying her hair, and dressing in a black, ankle-length night gown, covering herself with a lightweight, red-wine cardigan. There are other things she prepares as she settles in the living room with the notes. Some piping hot lemon-balm tea, and a platter of wrapped snacks, consisting of fruit gummies, cheese crackers, and chewy cookies. After some back and forth in her mind, she makes another platter with snacks for the guest.
The sound of heavy rain has become comfortable to the point where Amelia pulls the drapes of the wide windows aside so that she could glance up every now and enjoy the view. It helps her focus too; Gale's work is very thorough as expected, but with her red felt pen, she has plenty to note. Not so much the content (he's the expert in this field, not her), but there are underlines and arrows pointing to phrases that could be reworded and rearranged or additions to a passage that could make his concluding remarks stronger. Overall, the review process didn't take as long as expected. And there were no interruptions which she was grateful for.
When she's finally done, Amelia has the notes neatly stacked at the coffee table with her pen closed on top. She's staring out the window and letting the sound of rain lull her into a serene state until Gale walks in and she lifts her head to turn her attention towards him, brushing her hair behind one ear.]
Terrible, no.
[She rotates her body so she can reach down to pat the notes.]
Thorough brevity may be an oxymoron, but I've noted where it can be done. As for inaccessible... Well, I think I at least learned something even though it isn't my field of research.
[There's a beat and then she adds simple, but sincere praise.]
You did well. I knew it wasn't going to take the whole night, but I honestly had no input that would upturn your entire presentation.
[They've both done well in not broaching a certain topic directly, maneuvering their way around it in hopes that somehow it might just resolve itself, but Gale catches his own gaze lingering a bit too long as she tucks her hair behind her ear, and he knows that it's a vain hope. They can't avoid it forever.
For now, he smiles faintly and exhales a sigh of genuine relief— Amelia's offer to look over his notes had been a surprise, but a pleasant one.]
Thank you. I know your standards are quite high— I look forward to reviewing your notes. As an educator, if you learned something, that is truly the greatest thing I could hope for.
[Whether or not it was engaging on paper remained to be seen, but he hopes to give it some life of his own when the time comes to give his presentation. He moves towards the coffee table to retrieve his work, glance over her annotations, but pauses midway through picking it up when he notices there are two plates set out.
Another peace offering, perhaps?
He chuckles softly, gingerly picking up one of the packages of fruit gummies as he draws back up to his full height.]
I can't remember the last time I had these. I can't say they were terribly common in the Dekarios household growing up.
[(She notes that he smells fresh out of the showerโ)
None of that now. Amelia helps herself to a cookie and settles into her spot as she tear off the top.]
My mother made fruit snacks from scratch when it struck her fancy. She stopped when I grew older, but I suppose she'd tell me how to make them if I asked.
[She turns her gaze back to the rain while picking pieces of her cookie between her fingertips.]
I think even my mother might have approved of those. She wasn't much for store-bought anything. I think she's relaxed that policy a bit with age, but I've still taken care to tread lightly when bringing something for dinner.
[Little details on both their parts, he supposes, but he knows it means something that she's offered even that much— she's always been private, spoken little of her family until more recently. The frost of the last two weeks is continuing to thaw.
He considers for a moment as he follows her gaze towards the rain, idly opening the bag he'd helped himself to as he does so. Even with the rain as heavy as it is, the lights of the Neverwinter skyline can be seen in the distance, the rain itself hitting the roof in a rhythmic patter that could be considered soothing by those who were fortunate enough to be safe and warm indoors, like them.]
... I think I will.
[He answers her after a brief pause, then hesitates for but a moment longer before he gestures to the couch she's already seated herself on. There's plenty of room for two, but it seems best not to assume.]
[Amelia nods, still keeping her eyes on the rain.]
Yes. Go ahead.
[They've metaphorically ended up in a strange place with one another. Amelia is content to sit there in silence finishing her snack and letting the raindrops fill the air between them.
So much time has passed since they first met each other and it's safe to say she's a far cry from being just "Eva." Amelia is not as cool and collected as she sets herself up to be, she's slow to trust, and to be perfectly blunt, an emotional wreck. And yet, again and again, she can't escape Gale's gravity because fortune had a sense of humor and wanted to see her squirm. That must be it, she thinks.]
[Permission granted, he sinks into the empty seat next to hers, leaving a small but comfortable distance between them, turning his body to lean against the back of the sofa as he props one arm atop it and looks out into the rain. For a few moments, he's willing to let silence hang between them, to simply enjoy the rhythm of the storm.
He never would have imagined, back when they first met, that they would find themselves anywhere like this now— that they would even have had the chance to know one another well enough to have a falling out, even when he had given in to temptation and reached out to her after the fact. He'd been so certain, then, that any connection he might find would be brief, fleeting, that he had used up all of what he'd had to give and that after everything, the idea of trusting anyone seemed impossible.
He'd never once found himself worrying over trust with Amelia. It had surprised him when he'd first realized it, that all of the old injuries he was so certain would keep him from letting himself reach out to another again had barely even made it to the surface where she was concerned. To say that it was love at first sight would certainly be a bit of a stretch, but in retrospect— it hadn't taken long, had it?
For all his good intentions, he thinks that friendship had never really been on the table for them, not the way he had promised it. Even so, if she decided she couldn't accept what had been building between them these past months, he can't imagine surviving without it, difficult as it would be. She had fit too well into his life for him to let her slip out of it completely, if he could help it.
At last, the silence breaks. He only spares her a brief glance, uneasy and uncertain before turning his gaze back to the rain as he speaks.]
All manner of rebuffs and discouragement bubbles up in her mind, but unlike in her younger years, it doesn't manifest into spoken words. How could it when she's already reflected on what exactly went wrong between them? And now that Amelia was able to fight her usual instincts and fan away the angry fog in her mind towards Gale, there's only several paths left to traverse in regards to him.
And firstly...
She shifts so that she can wrap her arms around her legs and turns away from the window. Her chin rests on her knees, thinking instead of replying impulsively.]
I thought I was better off without talking with you.
[He shifts his attention to her in full, his gaze softening. This is likely harder for her than even he'd realized— but she's been hurt, just as he has. The circumstances were different, but there was no way to walk away from having one's life upended so dramatically without a few battle scars.
He lets out a soft noise of assent, his gaze dropping.]
I thought it best to give you space. I'm sorry that things got so out of hand.
[A simple visit had gone so awry so quickly. Maybe it had been ill-advised from the start.]
That... wasn't how I wanted any of this to go.
[If he had intended to tell her how he felt so plainly, it shouldn't have been like that. Not while arguing.]
[He glances at her from beneath lowered eyelashes, one corner of his mouth faintly twitching upwards. Apologies can be difficult, but that makes them that much more valuable.]
Entirely forgiven.
[Without a moment's hesitation. That had never been in question. He'd had to stop himself from reaching out to her more than once during the last two weeks, though feeling as injured as he had made it easier to stay his hand.]
I could hardly hold anyone's insecurities against them when I've plenty of my own, and I can admit that fumbled approach was— startling.
[To say the least. He clears his throat, looking back out at the rain for a moment, arm still propped up against the back of the sofa.]
I hadn't— planned that. I truly did just intend to look in on you.
[He's so, so very careful not to cite a certain word directly. It feels safest.]
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sunfloras2024-01-21 09:17 pm
no subject
Of course. I don't mean to distract you from your work.
[He proceeds to pull two plates down from the cupboard before retrieving two forks, though he only fills his own plate for the time being. He leaves the other on the counter beside the stove for her to help herself at her leisure, and once he's plated his own pasta, he goes to sit at the kitchen table while she works on the dishwasher. Waiting for her probably wound have put unnecessary pressure on the situation, but perhaps dinner can serve as something of a peace offering.]
no subject
She unplugs the dishwasher's cord underneath the sink. By the time dinner is over, when plugged back in, it should work. That is, if she decides to have dinner.
...
Amelia stands up, dusting her jeans before turning to the stove and taking the plate left out for her. Her fork makes a clinking sound as she serves herself. She doesn't join Gale at the table, but pushes herself up to sit atop the counter.
It's an uncomfortable couple of minutes with the only sound between them is their own eating, utensils bumping against their plates, and the heavy rain drumming outside.
And then she speaks up.]
The dishwasher should be work in about half an hour. I'll test it out with our plates and forks.
[Implying that she'll do the dishes and not leave it up to Gale since he went through the trouble of making enough dinner for them both. It's... Something. Better than nothing? Whatever it is.]
no subject
Perhaps the friendship can be salvaged after all, though he fears he has damaged things irreparably with his carelessness.
He glances in her direction, his expression mild, guarded rather than disinterested. He should be frustrated, he reasons, and he is, but he's not angry. Some part of him feels he probably should be, but he can't make himself feel angry with her.]
Thank you. I hadn't realized you had a knack for these things.
[It sounds like horrible, weak small talk, and he resists the urge to wince as he says it, but it's better than nothing. Anything, to break the ice.]
no subject
I taught myself. No use owning a house if you don't know how to fix what's in it.
[Frank helped too with his insight and input when Amelia asked questions, but that's neither here nor there. She stabs a tomato and twirls her fork for another mouthful of pasta.
It had to be delicious.]
I didn't know you could cook.
[There's a pause. She's chewing. Swallows.]
I didn't make an effort to find out more.
[There's a type of admittance in that.]
no subject
Boundaries are important to you. I understand.
[He had certainly put a great deal of effort into respecting them, until things had gotten heated and he'd lost himself for a moment.]
It's an important life skill, but I also find cooking to be particularly relaxing. It's a science and art all at once— but more than that, I like to eat well. Saves a lot of trouble to be able to ensure I do so myself.
no subject
[When Gale talks, the majority of the time, it's animated and lively and it's always made Amelia focus and truly listen. It's a quality of his that flummoxes her in how much she likes it even if others could argue that he talks too much which she'd normally be inclined to agree, but-
Oh. Her plate is empty. She stares down at the leftover flecks of garlic and herbs, pushing it around with her fork.]
... If you haven't yet, check the freezer.
[Amelia pushes herself off of the counter to get a second helping of pasta.]
After you're done, I mean. We restock on complimentary ice pops.
no subject
Talking is something he's always been good at it. Even if he isn't quite as animated as he normally would be, he can help her with that— carefully, lest he say the wrong thing all over again.
For a brief moment, however, when her back is turned to fill her plate a second time, he feels a flicker of a true smile pull at the corner of his mouth. He would have liked to cook for her under different circumstances, but he's glad to see it meets with her approval.]
I haven't, no— thank you, that's very kind. I got in not too long ago, admittedly, and— had a bit too much on my mind to explore the place thoroughly.
[Their situation, of course, and his upcoming presentation. He's been distracted by both things through most of finals.
There's a long, heavy moment of silence before he finally ventures to break it with:]
... I'm sorry, again. I really had no idea this place belonged to your family, I would hate for you to think that I was trying to follow you or— force anything.
no subject
[Out of everything she's said so far, this sounds the least uncertain.]
You're not that kind of person.
[For better or for worse, Gale was the type to make his intentions clear. The coincidence of it all was what enflamed her more than the assumption of any lesser intentions.
It's become clearer, over the past two weeks, that she's let her faults get the best of her since their last meeting. Neither of them were entirely wrong during that exchange, but Amelia has conceded, that a different outcome wasn't impossible.
But she was childish and completely inexperienced with how to proceed after a big fight with a friend. Berna's usual strategy was to mostly act like nothing happened except with a precise and well-deserved chiding. Gale was being way too gracious right now for her comfort.
She twirls some more pasta onto her fork, finishing her second plate more slowly this time.]
The conference. That isn't tomorrow, is it?
no subject
Would that even be possible?]
Sunday. Before Tara had suddenly changed her plans, we had thought to spend tomorrow seeing some of Neverwinter in addition to my taking time to fine-tune my presentation.
[Tara. What had been her intention in booking this place? It was too great a coincidence, she must have known this house belonged to Amelia's family, but there would have been no way to know that Amelia herself would have to stop by to handle maintenance. Perhaps she'd wanted to take the opportunity to get him thinking of Amelia from a different angle, use someplace tied to her family to remind him that she'd had an entire life before they'd ever met, but he can't say for certain. Tara's mind was her own, but he doesn't doubt for a moment that she'd intended for something to happen.]
Suppose I'll be reviewing on my own. For the best, perhaps, given the storm. I doubt tomorrow will bring pleasant tourist weather.
no subject
Would you like me to help? Review, I mean.
[She takes a huge mouthful of food and manages to swallow it down without choking. Clearing her throat, she continues.]
I can look over notes, and such. I'm not astrophysicist but I'm sure a literature professor's input means something when it comes to compelling narrative.
no subject
I—
[Of course, he still valued her input as he always had, but the offer was a surprise nonetheless. Two weeks earlier, he wouldn't have questioned it, but now...
He sees it for what it is. An olive branch.]
Well, I can think of no one whose eye would be more keen. I— would hate to impose, however. There's nowhere else you need to be?
[He should have just accepted it, rather than looking a gift horse in the mouth, but he cannot help but wonder if things could be as simple as that, moving forward as though nothing had happened. His feelings, for one, haven't changed.]
no subject
I don't have any other plans.
[Well, that was dumb. She just inadvertently revealed that she wasn't attending the conference and the realization makes her cheeks burn.]
And... Well, it's raining. Very hard. [Her arm gestures at the window towards the increasing intensity of the rainfall.]
Dad asked me to stay overnight, in the other bedroom so. I'm not going to be in your way after that.
no subject
He clears his throat softly after a moment of awkward silence as he processes, pushing his chair back and taking up his plate so that he can help himself to seconds, as well. While he wouldn't go so far as to say the source of his stress has been resolved, this is the most he's felt like eating in weeks.]
You're hardly in my way. If anything, it's your house.
[His gaze is fixed very firmly on the pan as he puts a bit more onto his plate, unsure if he can afford to risk meeting her own again.]
It's miserable weather for travel. He's right— better that you stay put. I imagine we can— coexist, for a night.
[There's a note of hesitance in his voice; it shouldn't be so hard, it never had been before, but he's painfully reminded of the stilted, awkward conversations back when she had decided it was best to pretend they had never met, that first day before the start of the semester. It feels much the same, only this time it's far worse, because she's far more than an intriguing stranger.
Rather than return to the table, he leans against the counter a few feet down from the spot she's chosen, digging into his dinner there and only briefly stealing a cautious sidelong glance when he thinks he can afford to.]
If you're staying to pass the storm, it's nice to know the shopping I did for two people's worth of meals needn't go to waste.
no subject
Amelia finishes her second helping and lets out a puff of breath, still not looking directly at Gale even as he leans against the counter.]
I was going to help myself to the complimentary dry goods, but I also don't mind helping you finish the groceries.
no subject
Think of it as a different kind of complimentary service. It will mean less I have to take with me come Monday.
[There's still a strange disconnect between them, that awkwardness hanging in the air, but anger, he notes, seems to have diffused— and while he cannot say how the rest of the weekend will pan out, he almost feels confident that one way or another, they'll manage to muddle through to the other side.
Despite the fact that they had both had seconds, there's still pasta left over when they're done, which Gale neatly puts away in the fridge while Amelia makes good on her intention to "test" the dishwasher using their dinner dishes. While they don't necessarily avoid one another for the hours that follow, there's a sort of awkward shuffling about one another as they both struggle to decide how to interact, how to proceed. After unpacking the things he'll be needing for the next few days, he does gather his notes and outline for his presentation; while he does have the entirety available to him on his tablet, of course he's kept a hard copy on hand, marked up with further notes and references to his digital files, including where certain visual aids will be shown.
He takes her up on her offer to review his work, though he finds he can't sit still while she does so— he's unable to focus on anything but the fact that this isn't an ordinary peer review and that after two weeks, he feels utterly at a loss for how he's meant to speak to her. It stands to reason that he should do exactly as he did before, pretend nothing has changed just as she seems content to, but anxiety wins out and he decides to leave her to read and review in peace. It had been a long drive and a long day beforehand; a shower seems an adequate distraction, in addition to giving him time to clear his head.
Sometime later, he re-emerges having done away with his day clothes and prepared to wind down for the night in a dark gray henley and plaid sleep pants with the intent to make himself tea, but pauses on his way through the living room to find Amelia looking out at the rain, falling harder than it had been even an hour beforehand. He considers continuing on his way, but follows the instinct that pulls him to pause and take a few steps towards her, instead, glancing at the notes she appears to have finished with.]
Tell me the truth— is it terrible? Inaccessible?
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Some good old fashioned peer-review ought to distract her from overthinking their relationship.
Before accepting Gale's notes for his presentation, she preps herself for the night by showering, drying her hair, and dressing in a black, ankle-length night gown, covering herself with a lightweight, red-wine cardigan. There are other things she prepares as she settles in the living room with the notes. Some piping hot lemon-balm tea, and a platter of wrapped snacks, consisting of fruit gummies, cheese crackers, and chewy cookies. After some back and forth in her mind, she makes another platter with snacks for the guest.
The sound of heavy rain has become comfortable to the point where Amelia pulls the drapes of the wide windows aside so that she could glance up every now and enjoy the view. It helps her focus too; Gale's work is very thorough as expected, but with her red felt pen, she has plenty to note. Not so much the content (he's the expert in this field, not her), but there are underlines and arrows pointing to phrases that could be reworded and rearranged or additions to a passage that could make his concluding remarks stronger. Overall, the review process didn't take as long as expected. And there were no interruptions which she was grateful for.
When she's finally done, Amelia has the notes neatly stacked at the coffee table with her pen closed on top. She's staring out the window and letting the sound of rain lull her into a serene state until Gale walks in and she lifts her head to turn her attention towards him, brushing her hair behind one ear.]
Terrible, no.
[She rotates her body so she can reach down to pat the notes.]
Thorough brevity may be an oxymoron, but I've noted where it can be done. As for inaccessible... Well, I think I at least learned something even though it isn't my field of research.
[There's a beat and then she adds simple, but sincere praise.]
You did well. I knew it wasn't going to take the whole night, but I honestly had no input that would upturn your entire presentation.
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For now, he smiles faintly and exhales a sigh of genuine relief— Amelia's offer to look over his notes had been a surprise, but a pleasant one.]
Thank you. I know your standards are quite high— I look forward to reviewing your notes. As an educator, if you learned something, that is truly the greatest thing I could hope for.
[Whether or not it was engaging on paper remained to be seen, but he hopes to give it some life of his own when the time comes to give his presentation. He moves towards the coffee table to retrieve his work, glance over her annotations, but pauses midway through picking it up when he notices there are two plates set out.
Another peace offering, perhaps?
He chuckles softly, gingerly picking up one of the packages of fruit gummies as he draws back up to his full height.]
I can't remember the last time I had these. I can't say they were terribly common in the Dekarios household growing up.
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None of that now. Amelia helps herself to a cookie and settles into her spot as she tear off the top.]
My mother made fruit snacks from scratch when it struck her fancy. She stopped when I grew older, but I suppose she'd tell me how to make them if I asked.
[She turns her gaze back to the rain while picking pieces of her cookie between her fingertips.]
Are you going to watch the rain?
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I think even my mother might have approved of those. She wasn't much for store-bought anything. I think she's relaxed that policy a bit with age, but I've still taken care to tread lightly when bringing something for dinner.
[Little details on both their parts, he supposes, but he knows it means something that she's offered even that much— she's always been private, spoken little of her family until more recently. The frost of the last two weeks is continuing to thaw.
He considers for a moment as he follows her gaze towards the rain, idly opening the bag he'd helped himself to as he does so. Even with the rain as heavy as it is, the lights of the Neverwinter skyline can be seen in the distance, the rain itself hitting the roof in a rhythmic patter that could be considered soothing by those who were fortunate enough to be safe and warm indoors, like them.]
... I think I will.
[He answers her after a brief pause, then hesitates for but a moment longer before he gestures to the couch she's already seated herself on. There's plenty of room for two, but it seems best not to assume.]
May I?
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Yes. Go ahead.
[They've metaphorically ended up in a strange place with one another. Amelia is content to sit there in silence finishing her snack and letting the raindrops fill the air between them.
So much time has passed since they first met each other and it's safe to say she's a far cry from being just "Eva." Amelia is not as cool and collected as she sets herself up to be, she's slow to trust, and to be perfectly blunt, an emotional wreck. And yet, again and again, she can't escape Gale's gravity because fortune had a sense of humor and wanted to see her squirm. That must be it, she thinks.]
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He never would have imagined, back when they first met, that they would find themselves anywhere like this now— that they would even have had the chance to know one another well enough to have a falling out, even when he had given in to temptation and reached out to her after the fact. He'd been so certain, then, that any connection he might find would be brief, fleeting, that he had used up all of what he'd had to give and that after everything, the idea of trusting anyone seemed impossible.
He'd never once found himself worrying over trust with Amelia. It had surprised him when he'd first realized it, that all of the old injuries he was so certain would keep him from letting himself reach out to another again had barely even made it to the surface where she was concerned. To say that it was love at first sight would certainly be a bit of a stretch, but in retrospect— it hadn't taken long, had it?
For all his good intentions, he thinks that friendship had never really been on the table for them, not the way he had promised it. Even so, if she decided she couldn't accept what had been building between them these past months, he can't imagine surviving without it, difficult as it would be. She had fit too well into his life for him to let her slip out of it completely, if he could help it.
At last, the silence breaks. He only spares her a brief glance, uneasy and uncertain before turning his gaze back to the rain as he speaks.]
I missed— talking with you, these last few weeks.
[He'd missed her.]
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"That's stupid of you after what happened."
"You should give up. I'm not worth the trouble."
All manner of rebuffs and discouragement bubbles up in her mind, but unlike in her younger years, it doesn't manifest into spoken words. How could it when she's already reflected on what exactly went wrong between them? And now that Amelia was able to fight her usual instincts and fan away the angry fog in her mind towards Gale, there's only several paths left to traverse in regards to him.
And firstly...
She shifts so that she can wrap her arms around her legs and turns away from the window. Her chin rests on her knees, thinking instead of replying impulsively.]
I thought I was better off without talking with you.
[Silence again. The rain continues to fall.]
But I was wrong.
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He lets out a soft noise of assent, his gaze dropping.]
I thought it best to give you space. I'm sorry that things got so out of hand.
[A simple visit had gone so awry so quickly. Maybe it had been ill-advised from the start.]
That... wasn't how I wanted any of this to go.
[If he had intended to tell her how he felt so plainly, it shouldn't have been like that. Not while arguing.]
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[Wait, that sounds too impersonal. She breathes in and out and tries again.]
What I mean to say... Is thank you for giving me space. And I'm sorry for pushing you away and for being overly insecure in the moment.
[Though she is straightforward, applying that to apologies sounds so droll and stale, but it's the best she can to do make it clear as possible.]
I panicked.
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Entirely forgiven.
[Without a moment's hesitation. That had never been in question. He'd had to stop himself from reaching out to her more than once during the last two weeks, though feeling as injured as he had made it easier to stay his hand.]
I could hardly hold anyone's insecurities against them when I've plenty of my own, and I can admit that fumbled approach was— startling.
[To say the least. He clears his throat, looking back out at the rain for a moment, arm still propped up against the back of the sofa.]
I hadn't— planned that. I truly did just intend to look in on you.
[He's so, so very careful not to cite a certain word directly. It feels safest.]
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๐