. crosshairs

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Her handling of his mother is almost enough to make him feel that this whole situation hasn't been an absolute clusterfuck. She's so polite and just open enough, it's actually a perfect tactic with Abigail because being too open would prompt her to lower the tone to unbearably uncomfortable levels, and being too quiet would prompt her to think of the young woman as stuck up. But from this brief encounter, he already knew that he would be pestered about proposing to Frida for the rest of his living days. If he ever wound up marrying someone else, this five minutes would still prompt Abbie to whisper her disappointment to him on his big day. Frida was all class, and class was an elusive and ever-impressive quality to his mother, since she absolutely lacked it. Now that she's disappeared into the guest room, Noah takes stock of the damage. They managed to avoid most of her favorite and his least favorite topics: his app, his high school years, and his ex wife. This was a small miracle. Her giggling would usually annoy him, but Frida being Frida, it feels mutual and he can't help laughing along with her. He nods when she says it could have been worse, pulling himself up and pulling himself together as he does it. "It really could have been a lot worse," he agrees, also noticing that she'd tidied his apartment in his absence. There's one good thing. Seeing her stretched out and sleepy on the couch prompts his paternal instincts, and he encourages her to lean against him, wrapping an arm around her waist.  A pause. He's already offered to get her beer but feels guilty that she's so tired, especially seeing as he's getting that way too. "I'm giving you two options. Either you let me pay for your cab ride home, or you save yourself some effort and crash here. Believe it or not I've only got three bedrooms, but I can bunk with Anya and you can have my room." He's bracing himself for reluctance on her end, insistence that she can pay for her own cab or worse, navigate public transport solo. That wasn't going to happen. "Your second set of options is to go ahead with option A or B now, or to postpone and watch a movie. I won't be offended either way. If you do stay for beer you're getting it in a sippy cup, it sounds like you have a serious problem with spillages." Notes:    short i am sorryyyy. Listening:  nothinggg.

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In his mother's absence, Frida finds that Noah relaxes. Finding herself in his arms like a sleepy child, his body is knotted with less tension than in the past. For a moment she wonders what it is about his mother that caused him to be so rigid, maybe it was her own remark. Her silly tendency to put her foot in the mouth, one that she has proven again and again to be a flaw in her character. The more she thinks about it, the more she allows the thought to be true, though in all honestly he was stiff prior to her remark. Still, a pang of nervous guilt hits her stomach, and her fingers run along his forearm apologetically, not wanting to mention it in fear of spoiling his current nature. Frida is busy within her own mind, churning the recent past over and over, her drunkenness blowing it slightly out of proportion. It's when he speaks that she perks her head up towards him. Catching a cast of his blue eyes, she's distracted by how blue they actually are. Not as stealy as she thought they were, but actually more like the ocean, from a birds eye view. Blue, but met with dark shadows of black. She shakes her focus from his eyes to what he's actually saying, her lips tense as she thinks about the questions laid out. To be honest, she hasn't given much thought to where she'd end up. In the spirit of whiskey, she hopped into the cab, adventure spurring in her head. And though she was finding herself heavy with exhaustion, her mind was still too full of thoughts of adventure to settle down. So she doesn't. The only thing is, I don't think I could stomach Lizzie Maguire right now, she says sadly, reaching for the remote sitting on the coffee table. And I don't think I can move either, so I think I'll stay here. Literally, right here, on the couch, her fingers press the power button, and are quick to also catch the volume, turning it down so it's just audible. At that she's pouncing through channels, finally getting bored and settling on one full of infomercials, as at this time in the morning you'd have a hard time finding much else. Have you ever bought one of these? she slides back against the warmth of his frame, setting the remote beside her. Tell me about the most superficial thing you've ever done. Notes:3 pages. 3 PAGES. Listening: silence.

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Though relaxed by the removal of his mother from the situation, Noah's not quite as loose as he had been before arriving home. Even if she hadn't been there, he thinks he'd feel this way - sort of strange, like he was doing something wrong. It wasn't like he didn't bring Tinder girls home all the time, but by the time they had seen the private elevator they were usually already itching to take their clothes off, and he'd never dream of letting them stay long enough to cross paths with Anya. So it feels like a big deal to offer her the opportunity to stay the night, though he knows the situation isn't exactly comparable to one of his dates. The most important difference is that he actually likes Frida, and is inwardly hoping that she doesn't decide to leave just yet. Not least because he's so comfortable. Having her upper body nestled into his chest is a serious upgrade from just her legs, and now he can smell the scent of her shampoo mingling with her perfume, as well as the distant smell of cosmopolitans. The temptation to get up and change is doused by her comfort, and he makes a mental note to change when getting the beer. If she even opted for that. Bottom lip caught between his teeth, he's trying (and failing) to seem nonchalant about the whole thing... when she says exactly what he wants to hear. Well, almost. "The couch was definitely not an option. I'll compromise on the movie, as much as it pains me to, but I can't compromise on the sleeping arrangement. Can't have my mom thinking we split up and I sent you out here." He tilts an eyebrow at the shopping channel that she's settled on, not bothering to mention that the TV is connected wirelessly to an expansive hard drive of movies. "Actually, my sister buys a lot of this shit. That's what being a housewife does to you, you start thinking you need a handheld steam cleaner for bathroom tiles. It's nearly all total shit, but she did give me these unspillable bowls, they're great." Tightening his hold on her ever so slightly as she settles in against him, he puts the idea of beer on hold to think about her question. "You mean other than setting up an app where you yay or nay people based solely on their physical appearance? Uh... bought a Ferrari. There's no way of driving in New York, so it spent two years outside my parents' house in Boston and I just instagrammed it every now and then. I sold it when Anya showed up though. How about you?" Notes:   oh my god you must hate me for this one. SUCKED. Listening:  busted.

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Unlike Noah, Frida hasn't thought ahead of the current moment. She's placid in her state, and taking in her scenery. Outside the sky runs clear and black, the cold air is still and cloudless. There is the yellow glow of occupied rooms, windows illuminated inside of the concrete anthills which carry on for miles. The actual penthouse is furnished beautifully, it has more class than she thought Noah had, and she's quick to assume he hired an interior decorator. There is so much to it, from the beautiful marble floors, to the crown moulding that clings to the wall and ceilings so elegantly. Though astonished by it, she's not impressed, finding herself to be awkward in comparison to such lavishness. The constant traveller that she is, Frida owns very little. Her apartment is made up of things she finds quite disposable, and easy to get rid of. The crown moulding and heated flooring are nonsense in her opinion, useless tactics that are there to awe. Whether he designed it or not, Frida makes the judgement that it's Noah's safety blanket. His distraction. However, Noah's next statement leads her into thinking about the morning. In all honesty she's comfortable curled on the couch, so stuck to it she feels as though she's been glued to it. She's forgotten about his mother, in fact she's even forgotten about his daughter. The thought of waking up to a full house rakes her anxiety, she feels this sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Oh, right, she speaks steadily, maintaining her composure, I'll set my alarm early enough, be out of your hair before you have to dig yourself into a bigger hole... tell your mum I've gone to a meeting. Her eyes are now fixtated on the television screen. The Slap Chop guy is on, and he has her grinning from ear to ear, her fingers fidgeting at her hair as she watches him. When he mentions loving his nuts and slap chopping them, she's laughing, her chest trembling as she tries to contain herself. I love that, her laughing has tapered off and she's focused on Noah once more. I slept under a snuggie when I was backpacking South America. At mentions of the classic red car, she looks up at him, a Ferrari, really? Were you trying to prove something? At the thought of superficial, her mind is blank. She's sure she's done many things that are considered superficial, but she can barely think of what they were. You're going to hate me.. but I can't really think of anything. I bought Ray Bans once, and when I was fifteen I subscribed to a gossip magazine. Wait, she has it, turning to face him, resting a hand gently on his stomach in both support and anticipation. When I was twelve my sister got a horse, and I wrote my parents a three page list on why she didn't deserve a horse.. I was actually only jealous, I don't know if that counts as superficial. Notes: ur gonna love my nuts Listening: andrew bird