. down in flames

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IT was exactly the kind of welcome she would expect from a fellow Pegram girl; a night out with plenty of drinks and flirting and men. at first, a little guilt gnawed at her when she had left the diamond solitaire sitting on her bathroom basin. she hadn't wanted to advertise her engagement, the one she was beginning to doubt in her heart of hearts. Claire Van Buren didn't want to have to explain an impulsive engagement and a divorce upon her first night out with an old friend. ALL week, or at least since her chance encounter with Freddie, she had been thinking back on their youth and all the decisions that had led them to where they were now. she was of two minds about postponing her study - both proud of herself for stepping out of her Yale bubble and seeing the world, yet disappointed that she was stepping away from her dreams. she wasn't of two minds about Freddie's choice though. she was disappointed whole heartedly that Savannah had gotten her claws into him, that she had led him into a one sided marriage where he worked to keep her in a she felt she deserved. but both of their choices were a far cry from Harper though. HARPER had taken everything the world had thrown at her in her stride when she left Pegram. she had climbed the ranks, worked hard, and now she was in the editorial assistant within a indsutry she loved. it was certainly a more prominent title then the one that she had been arrogantly tossing around. not that she could even lay claim to it anymore. that was just another secret she had up her sleeve, all of them wrapped up in Cedric and his promises for their future together. not for the first, and certainly not for the last time in her life, the usually level headed girl was entirely irresponsible and irrational when it came to love. The proposal should have been enough, so soon after her separation, so soon after she had met him but the fact that it came with strings attached, including moving to New York and time away from Yale, Claire should have thought before rushing in, but she was far too love struck to see anything beyond him. SEVERAL hours and copious amounts of liquor later you would think the girl never left college. giggling and slurring she tumbled into the first cab Harper could find and the two slumped against the hard seats. long, slender legs on show as the tight little green dress Harper had lent her, crept up her thighs and she wiggled to pull it down. "Oh God," Claire bemoaned clutching her stomach "I would die for something to eat," the words ran together in her drunken state, but weren't completely unintelligible. Harper wasn't in such bad shape as the New York newbie and merely grinned at her hometown friend "i know just the place" she laughed with a wink and the taxi turned at her request. CHECKING her phone, there was no messages or calls demanding her attention. a quick scroll through Instagram showed a host of drunken selfies and Claire knew that Cedric was far too preoccupied in LA to worry about the whereabouts of his future wife. she let her alcohol addled mind wander to the fact that he was flaunting around the city with some of the most beautiful women in the world. she tried, usually fruitlessly, to rein in her jealousy on a daily basis because she knew that any concerns or complaints made to Ced would fall on deaf ears. it wasn't his job that bothered her as much as the time outside of work he devoted to them. it wasn't a 9-5 job, there was always fittings and industry parties, after work drinks or after parties, it was the skipping out on dinner early to met them at the club, it was the publicity and the shots in the tabloids the next week. he loved his job and Claire loved him for that, she didn't love how often the job came before her, and with so little thought or hesitation... BLEARY eyes watched the lights flash by and suddenly the taxi slowed to a stop and Claire's attempted to focus to her new surroundings. there was something familiar yet still hard for her to place, but Harper wasn't waiting for her to get her bearings, she was already dragging her out into the cool night air. Claire stumbled a step in her tall heels before catching herself, Harper surged ahead through the doors. "Looks closed..." Claire mused, mostly to herself because Harper was already barreling inside. "WE'RE closed" a loud voice came from within the depths of the kitchen as Harper sat up to the counter without hesitation, legs crossed at the ankles and back straight like she was sitting up to tea with the Queen. "That's no way to treat a customer, Freddie" she teased as his handsome face appeared and Claire's heart leapt to her throat. She wasn't prepared to see him just yet, not after her tantrum last she had spoken to him. still reeling from her separation from Rhys and her hurried engagement to Cedric, it was hard not to have clung to that night they had spent together in Pegram after his father's funeral. foolishly, she had rushed in, mistaking his grief for affection, mistaking a search for solace as a chance to reconnect, and now she had shown her hand too quickly. she was still nursing wounds from her marriage, and it was hard not to run into the arms of her first love and demand to pick up where they left off. SHE slid into the seat beside Harper quietly, feeling out of place although she had known Freddie better and more intimately then Harper could ever hope to. they chatted easily, Harper teasing Freddie and he bit back just as quickly. Claire's head swam as she tried to sober herself up, trying not to sit there like a fool who couldn't manage to hold a conversation. she straightened in her chair, concentrating hard to join in but before she could Harper was already standing. like the city that never stopped and never slowed down she seemed insatiable and completely unaffected. "Sober her up will you and make sure she gets home safe. I have to be in Germany tomorrow." she said flippantly tossing her locks over her shoulder as she motioned to Claire. "Harper, where are you going?" Claire called as her friend bounded out the door ""to Germany!"" she replied before the door closed behind her and she disappeared into a cab. CLAIRE sat at the counter, sure that her jaw had dropped to the floor at the quick departure of her friend. the realization she was alone with Freddie washed over her and she slumped at the bar. she cast her eyes over to him with a weak smile. his eyes were a startling combination of dark and brooding and bright with mischief at the same time. "you're closing up" Claire mumbled, words still stringing together "I'll just grab a cab" she reassured him with a smile, standing up from the counter she tripped over the stool and stumbled before catching herself again. "sorrryy," she murmured leaning heavily on the counter.  NOTES, freddie beaumont

hero

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THE phone rings and it gets ignored. It rings again and the young waitress' brows furrow as she drops the bottles of ketchup she was attempting to re-fill in an effort to answer the persistent customer's call. Her fingers are around the receiver when he steps up, a weary grin on his face, and swats her hand away. It's playful, but the gesture hardly makes the action any better. He knows who's calling -- she calls every night. "Don't worry about it, hun, I'll get it," And he actually considers it, but he picks up the receiver and hangs up instantly, not bothering to confirm his expectations. Because there's only one person who would bother calling the diner when they were supposed to be closing up.       HIS chest rises and falls in a sigh, standing by the phone for nearly a minute, waiting for it to ring a third time. He was a shit husband. He should call her, or take her calls, even text her, something other than avoid the woman. She was harmless, if a bit overbearing, and he hated when he did this to her -- distanced himself, closed himself off, second-guessed the foundation of their entire life together. Their failures were his fault, he knew it and the guilt weighed him down every time he spoke to her, which only amplified his need for space. Not that he expressed this to her. He would rather bear the burden of his unhappiness in solitude if he could meet Savannah's expectations. Something he was failing a lot in lately.      THERE it is. Not the call, but a text. His phone chimes from the counter where he had spent the last three hours going over reports and projections for the extension of the establishment. It was probably going to stretch the budget, really put a dent in his credit, but it would kill two birds with one stone. He would make enough money to support the wife that desperately sought a golden goose and he would do something that made him somewhat happy too. Work was pretty much the only thing that managed to do that these days. He was never going to be a New Yorker, no matter how hard he tried to make it work.  [ from ; van ] you're not at the diner? [ from ; van ] are you on your way home? [ from ; van ] can you bring home dinner? [ from ; van ] can we drink wine and pizza and watch a movie?      HE hated wine. He hated wine. There wasn't a liquor he hated more than fucking wine. He shouldn't have focused so much on that single text -- the messages entirely were harmless, sweet, a wife attempting to connect with her husband that simply wasn't giving shit back, but he couldn't stop himself. Fingers tighten over the mobile device and he has to mull over his choice of words carefully before typing anything out. So he downs half a mug of coffee -- black, no sugar, bold -- and types out a quick response.  [ to ; van ] of course      THOSE two words defined their marriage. She asked something of him and he simply muttered 'Of course.' His personality, he loves, his life, he wants, his needs, his everything -- it all shrank beneath her wants and needs and he couldn't stop it. He didn't know how. When they dated, he thought their lives could be perfect. She was the runner up, the secondary choice after his high school sweetheart, but he thought she was the next best thing. She was charming and beautiful and every time she looked at him, his heart swelled. He loved her, but he was beginning to wonder if that love was enough to make it last. If that love was even enough to have warranted getting married. When he pictured his life, there was a vast expanse of nothingness beside the role of 'wife' and that should've concerned him more than it did. It should have concerned him that he had never pictured her in the role of 'forever,' even on their wedding day.       BY the time bells chime to alert him to his waitresses departure, he's ready to follow suit, pack everything away for the night and force himself to endure the life he chose. It's when the door opens a second time and there's a sudden stampede -- he may have been feeling a bit dramatic when his inner monologue chose that word -- of heels and chirping women. He knew those voices, but it didn't stop him from barking a quick "We're closed!" instead of doing his damn job. His name being called is what dragged him out of his hiding place, an expression that blatantly said, well, Oh Shit instead of the polite one he had attempted to conjure.      DESPITE this initial discomfort, he manages to make small talk with Harper, to smile at them both and step into the shoes of a welcoming host. Even with his rough history with Claire, he had no determination to hurt her. He wanted what was best for her, even if he wasn't exactly good at showing her he cared. Even now, he was feeling the weight of the guilt at snapping at her, at lying to her about his happiness and love. Not that he could admit that to her. He couldn't admit that to anyone, let alone himself -- definitely not out loud, anyway. It was easier to get through the day when he didn't have to admit the way he felt around either of the blondes. It helped that Harper was there to act as a buffer, even if she didn't know it.      WHEN  she abandons them, he feels horrified, out of place, unsure of himself and how to act. That was the difference between Claire and Savannah. He had a very defined outline of who he was with Savannah, he was an adult, he was a man who was floating by; With Claire, she turned him into the fumbling teenager he was when they were together. He behaved like they were still sixteen and he was desperate to impress her, to make her love him, to do everything possible to make sure she was happy and loved. He wasn't sure if his obsession with the past was healthy, but he couldn't stop it. The second Harper was gone, he's drinking in the blonde and trying to find where the witty Freddie had disappeared to.       FINGERS tap against the counter, watching her with a half-smile on his lips, it's only when she nearly face-plants that his body jerks, his fist clenches. It's not like he can reach her in time to catch her anyway, but he moves to nonetheless. "Shit, Claire-" He may or may not be laughing right then, amused by just how intoxicated she was. "How about we get you sobered up and then you can hop your ass in a cab?" He's back to tapping on the counter, but his expression is looser and there's a smug quirk to his lips. "I'll make whatever you want." There's no more worry lines around the curve of his lips, the set of his shoulders is no longer tense, but he's still holding back, trying to keep his distance from the woman. "Sound good?" NOTES, this is major poo sdfsdfds

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SHE felt fifteen again, both withering and flourishing under those intense blue eyes. she felt nervous but excited, like all the times they had snuck out after dark to steal feverish kisses, barely fifteen and consumed by a puppy love that they couldn't deny. she felt her heart in the throat like the first time he'd whispered 'i love you' and she had whispered it back, laying on the hood of his truck as they watched the stars and let their fingers intertwine. her pulse raced like the first time he had touched her, his hands a combination of desperate and tender, his eyes on hers, blue on blue, his face earnest and tender and she couldn't help but love him desperately and completely and want him to be her everything. BUT he wasn't that boy anymore. he'd grown into a man, his shoulders broader, his eyes more weary, his posture had a defeated slouch that she chose to ignore. it had seemed like a lifetime had passed since their senior year. weddings, divorces, he had told her straight that any flame she held for him was pointless, there was no second chances, no hope for change. claire was still coming to terms with the fact that she chose the wrong man, but it seemed that freddie wasn't a quitter, she should have known that, should she have chosen to remember back to the day that he had given her up. like everything he had ever done it was for her, they both knew it, it was only now that claire was choosing to look back and ignore all the signs she had given him, the cold shoulers, the cancelled plans, she hadn't appreciated everything she had so now savannah was. not that she had any right to him either, claire thought so bitterly that she surprised even herself. SHE expected a cold shoulder in return, a payback for the way she had once treated him when he wanted nothing more then to love her and make her happy, but she was surprised by his warmth. her face flushed, her cheeks bright with humility as her drunken bambi legs betrayed her. that all too familiar half smile graces his lips and she thinks back to kissing them, how many times she had taken it for granted. she would give everything she had to have those kisses back. to have a tender touch, after years of rough and hard. but the small smile would have to do, it was more then she could have hoped, it was much more then the cold reception she was expecting from him. she was so tempted to run but she couldn't refuse his kind offer. her stomach growled with hunger and her wobbly knees needed a moment to rest and sober up. WHEN he offered her anything, she couldn't say no. that smile was too tempting, too familiar. "grilled cheese?" she asked with a small grin and a questioning eyebrow raised. she wasn't sure if she was crossing lines, she wasn't sure where the lines even were anymore between them, but there a part of him that already knew what she wanted and she knew that. another memory, a lifetime ago where he used to fry up a grilled cheese sandwiches to sober up his lightweight girlfriend before sneaking her back into her parents house. once upon a time she had teased a seventeen year old freddie that they would grow old and fat together once they were married, living on nothing but grilled cheese sandwiches that he made. OF COURSE back then he hadn't owned a diner and they were the only things he could make. she was sure it was a skill he hadn't lost. she let her gaze drop, feeling guilty for being so forward, for throwing their past in his face when she had promised to let it go and let them just be friends. to live in the now. she ran a hand through her hair nervously and chuckled. "a boy i once knew used to make me grilled cheese sandwiches to sober me up before he had to send me home to my daddy" she joked, awkwardly trying to make light of the situation. "now his grilled cheese were the best thing i'd ever eaten in my life, do you think you can rival that?" she teased, the nerves gone out of her words and her drunken teasing taking over. NOTES, obsessed but sleep deprived

o

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DARK and silent, that was the environment he thrived in. This, interacting with someone he thought he knew so intimately, didn't work for him. He knew how to put on a good front, he knew how to convince people that he was witty and charming and friendly and all those things which the face of a diner needed to be, but that wasn't him. That would never be him. Claire -- she was so different. She flourished around her friends, she thrived on the intimacies that he had always desperately sought to provide, but never came naturally. Even now, after so many years of learning everything he could about the blonde, he found himself stumbling over his words. Tongue brushing over his lips as a hand comes up to scratch his jaw. He was searching for something to say instead of gawk.      CLEARING his throat didn't help the frog dislodge, it didn't fill the stifling silence he typically loved. Eyes dart to the door, a silent prayer that Harper would come stumbling back, drunk and teasing, telling them she was only kidding about abandoning them. She wouldn't really ditch them, no way. But, as with most wishes, it wasn't going to come true simply by standing there, now gripping the edge of the counter. It was almost a reminder that the counter separated them, something he was grateful for. He didn't have the best control around her and he needed to. Grief could excuse his behavior before -- right? -- but now, there would be no excuse and if the guilt didn't destroy him before, it would now. Yes, the counter was good, safe, he would just stand there until he found something better to do.      AS if she could read his mind -- or maybe grant that wish of his -- she's making her request and breaking up some of the tension. His half-grin is more solid now. Even in the most uncomfortable of circumstances, Claire managed to make him loosen up, even if it's just a fraction. "Grilled cheese?" he repeats the request, rather lamely. A shoulder raises slowly in a shrug, his eyes flickering from her to a space just over her shoulder. It's easier that way. He can pretend she's just another customer, one he shares no history with. "That sounds simple enough." Even if he wants to hate her for making the request, for reminding him that it had a significance to their relationship. He did say he would make her anything.      TAKING the opportunity to turn away without being a complete ass, he does exactly that. He makes his way to the kitchen, enjoying the distance he was putting between them while regretting it in equal measure. It would certainly be nice if he could manage to sort his own damn feelings out. How could he want to be near someone so badly, yet be so so desperate to put as much space between them as possible? Sometimes he wondered if it was the contrast of his memories versus the woman before him. He wanted to hold onto their past with everything he had, but you couldn't magically recreate the past. He didn't want to put too much thought into that, though, lest it shattered the perfect image he had of the woman, of their relationship.      GRABBING ingredients and a pan, he manages to clatter around the kitchen in near silence for several moments after she finishes speaking. Of course he remembered everything she said. He didn't forget, those nights were as clear as if a movie reel were playing before his eyes. "Maybe," he mutters, then reminding himself that she's in another room, he clears his throat and prepares to speak louder. And maybe attempt to sound less put-out. "That depends, did he use cinnamon in his grilled cheese?" As disgusting as it sounded, somehow, the customers kept coming in for it. He hated it. What happened to the classics? "Because our Cinnamon Grilled Cheese is a pretty big hit."  That was friendly, right?

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IT was childish to wish for things from the past, or to think that after years had gone by nothing would change, that two people could just pick up and go back to what they once were. it was childish to wish someone the unhappiness and heartache of waiting on another, but Claire would still do it. she would still wish he had waited for her, she still wished he hadn't been so eager to give her whatever she wanted, even if that included her freedom. she wished first and foremost he had fought harder. but Freddie never was one to step out of his comfort zone, and he was never one to disappoint her. She hadn't noticed until years later just how under her spell he had been. Now she wished that perhaps he still could be. IT was childish to resent him for the power he held now, to be upset that he was no longer at her beck and call, that he no longer fawned over her, she hated that perhaps Savannah was that driving force in his life that he now thought only of her and her needs and wants and how he could make her happy. She didn't deserve him, no one deserved that adoration except the girl who had earned it all those years ago. She hated that this time around he was the strong one, she tried so desperately to hold her own when really all she wanted was the protection of his arms and his love again. Leaving him had left her in a mess, a hell of a marriage and a life she was far from proud of, she could only hope that in returning to him she could be safe from it all. But he wasn't her protector anymore, he was a friend and a distant one at that. HE disappeared into the kitchen and she tried to ignore the pang that came from his lack of recognition at her teasing. sitting alone at the counter her short nails clicked as she tapped them rhythmically on the bench top. she listened to the clang of plates and his low tones barely escape out to her. she slid down from the stool and ducked behind the counter to catch the end of his words, standing in the doorway of the kitchen her lithe frame leaned heavily on the door frame, one foot resting at a time as her feet ached from the heels. "cinnamon?" she scoffed, wrinkling her nose at the idea. "what is wrong with these people? what happened to the classics?!" she stuck out her tongue, drunk and entirely unimpressed with the idea of cinnamon anywhere near her grilled cheese. she watched him, or his back anyway as he got to work, his shoulders were hunched, he held himself like he was tense, like he was being forced into a corner and was waiting to strike, waiting for an opportunity to choose between fight or flight. SHE knew then that a friendship was probably too much to ask between them, acquaintances would probably be more likely. she would perhaps see him in conjunction with Tara or Harper, but there was nothing without them, there was safety when a buffer was around. When they were alone they both just a couple of cats on a hot tin roof. Maybe time would salvage something but it wasn't going to happen tonight. "thanks for this, freddie.." she thanked him quietly "i'll just grab it and let you close up, i don't want to keep you..." she stopped herself from finishing that sentence with her name. it was hard to enough knowing she was there, admitting it out loud would only make it worse. and having him acknowledge Savannah to her face, might just break Claire's drunk little heart. "this wasn't my idea, just so you now" she added, feeling like drunk Claire needed to explain herself "this was all Harper's idea, i wouldn't just come around to make it awkward for you. you made it all reallllllll clear" drunk Claire couldn't help to exaggerate in slurring tones. Joking with him didn't work, and she didn't want to stick around for another blow to her ego, she just figured the safest bet was to take sandwich and get home to her bed. Her fiance-less bed. NOTES, reply timeeeeee

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SHE was closer. The slight echo that emitted through the kitchen was all the evidence he needed to know she was no longer in the safe zone. She was far too close, in his personal space. He hated when people intruded when he cooked -- not that he did it all too often at the diner since construction started -- and having her there was such a shock to his system that he nearly dropped the skillet. "You should really go sit back down. It's slippery back here and you could fall. Don't want to return you to Harper broken." That was his best shot at banter for tonight. He was doing his best, but he wasn't sure things would be entirely comfortable with this particular blonde for a long time.       LUCKY for him, he didn't need to add anything frivolous to her dish, but her words conjured a grin that he didn't want to exist. He wanted to stay in his brooding corner and keep her at arms length. Life was so much easier that way. So he kept himself distracted, focusing on starting up the stove, making sure he had the ingredients out -- as if it were somehow difficult to gather the proper ingredients for a grilled cheese sandwich, he was treating it was if he were making a five star dish with a hundred components. Not having something to tap his hands against, he starts tapping his foot to the rhythm of a song he couldn't remember the name of, something on of the waitresses listened to, most likely. There was something relaxing about cooking, there always was, but staring at butter burning off in the skillet felt like he'd rather pour acid in his eyes than stand there.      THANKS didn't go unheard, but they went unanswered other than a slight cock of his head an a small grin she couldn't see. That was stupid. The only thing that managed to make him relax, even slightly, was the thought of her leaving. Which only brought about way too much guilt for him to cope with. He didn't want her to leave, but he needed her to. He shouldn't be feeling this way, but he couldn't stop himself. He didn't want her to be anywhere near him, but he desperately wanted to beckon her closer. He really needed to sort out his head before he went home. Or opened his mouth again because he was tempted to ask her to stay, to tell her it was okay if she just stayed for awhile, but he's wondering if it would be safer for her to leave. The consideration is halted before he can jerk his chin in agreement. It would be safer for him, but she was drunk and he wasn't going to let her run out into the streets and have something happen to her. He wasn't so selfish he wouldn't take care of her. He'd do the same for anyone.       FOR the first time since she approached the doorway he casts her a brief look, closed off, and if he could help it, as unreadable as possible. Claire was a master of understanding him when he wasn't able to use his words, but damn if he was going to let her get inside his head tonight. "You know me better than to think I'll let you go until you can walk a straight line." He's a big brother, her reminds himself. If his sister was drunk, he would hope someone would be generous enough to sober her up before sending her out on her own. "I'll put on a pot of coffee and you'll be good to go within an hour, hopefully." As soon as the 'hopefully' leaves his mouths, he frowns. Shit. He didn't mean for that to come out the way it sounded, but dammit if it sounded cruel even to his ears. Not that he corrects it because he knows that it's not entirely false. He needs to get home as soon as possible.      SHOULDERS tense even further -- if possible -- and he's having to force himself to breathe. When did the kitchen suddenly get this stifling? Is this what it felt like to have a panic attack? Is this what it felt like to heave a heart attack? Shit, shit, shit. He has to call Savannah, he as to go home to Savannah. Soon. He made plans and even if he wasn't happy with those plans -- she was his wife. No matter how he explained the situation, he was going to upset her and upsetting her... shit, he was in a full state of panic, trying desperately to keep his composure so Claire didn't see the anxiety conjured the second he even thought of home. "Yeah, it's cool, it's fine, don't worry about it." It wasn't her fault he was going to be late getting home. It was his fault for offering to make her food. "Eat, drink some coffee, and I'll call you a cab. It's fine... Van will understand." Even saying her name made his chest tighten. And he was back to fully avoiding looking at the blonde.

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THERE  were countless times that Freddie had looked after her before and perhaps, on some level, tonight was no different. a level headed Claire would have seen his attempts, despite his apprehension and obvious discomfort. she would have perhaps excused him from a duty he felt perhaps he was his, and let him go back to his dark and broody little bubble that he now inhabited as an adult. TONIGHT, Claire was not level headed. she was drunk, she was full of fire and fight. she wanted none of his help and all of his attention and instead she was receiving a feeble attempt to help and a cold shoulder. the more he avoided her, the more he refused to meet her eye, the more her anger swelled. what was the point? why was she here? was it to make him obviously uncomfortable? was it to suffer through the guilt he was still wearing? they always said misery loves company. HIS jokes were hollow, every inch of his body tense and arched away from her like a frightened animal. she felt monstrous and entirely unwanted by a man who had once been her whole world. if she thought logically she would have known it was her fault, she'd brought up the past and challenged his marriage. it was understandable that his was hesitant around her. but Claire wasn't logical, she wasn't sober. her temper boiled at the idea that he could be so cold to her, that she could read every inch of him and know that no part of him wanted her there. he was trying to be kind, he was trying to look after her but it was strained and reluctant and she wasn't about to let her already battered pride take another blow by receiving his pity and charity. HE was trying to look out for her but it just came off condescending. 'hopefully' she could be out of there within the hour. she wasn't sure what it was but there was something about that phrase that rubbed her all the wrong way. she frowned and clenched her jaw to stifle the foolish drunken tears that were threatening to spill over. "you don't have to do that" she replied, but her tone wasn't polite, it was hard and bubbling with anger. "do you really have such a problem with me these days that you can't even be in a room with me?!" her voice was rising, it was hurt driving the outburst but it was coming out as fury. "that you can't even bother to look at me?!" he remains still and silent and she's dreaming of him calming her with soothing words and a tender touch but he hasn't made a move. "YOU"just get on home to van now" she spat, hating his wife, hating the way he shortened her name so affectionately. she hated everything about them. "fuck your grilled cheese sandwich, I don't want it. I'm going home" she flounced out of the kitchen, her legs wobbly in her heels. she trips, but once again catches herself before she falls and pulls off the strappy shoes roughly. bare feet pad across the diner as she grabs the door and rips it open, before hesitating. her purse. she stops, her usually sharp mind slowed by anger and alcohol. she sees it back on the counter and she contemplates leaving just so she didn't have to ruin her fiery exit, but it's got all her money and ID and she wasn't going to get far in a cab without it. she turns back to the counter, trying to maintain her childish temper tantrum as she snatches the purse from the counter top. NOTES, finally made it pretty

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A COTTON dish towel twisted up in his hands, the only thing that was currently keeping him occupied and distracted. The sandwich was slowly cooking, seemingly taking hours to even soften the cheese. The universe was entirely against him and the towel was the only lifeline he had. In a slow routine he had subconsciously decided on, he would twist the towel tight, wrap it around one hand, then let it unfurl. As soon as it was drooping in front of him, he would do it again with the opposite hand. Over and over, watching the pan sizzle, ignoring the silence that seemed to only amplify the fact that neither of them were entirely comfortable speaking with one another. It had been seven years, he'd argue to himself, every single time he even thought about trying to bridge the silence, it shouldn't be this hard.       EVEN drunk Claire was withdrawn. Or maybe it was just his paranoia. Damn if he didn't envy her her intoxication, though. He was tempted to seek out a bottle of anything to down in one gulp. Maybe that would relieve his stress. Or perhaps he should take up smoking. He had never found any desire to do so before now, he had been thoroughly disgusted -- and fascinated -- as a child by the images of what tobacco does to the body. It was almost understandable why people would risk lung cancer, among other things, to alleviate a days load of crap. Maybe life would have been easier if he didn't bury himself in projects all the time. That was how he coped with things he didn't like in his life. He worked until he was exhausted and then went to bed. When he woke, he did it all over again. Distraction had worked for so long, but she had invaded his distraction so maybe he could become an alcoholic or chain smoker instead.      "WHAT?" Her words brought his attention back to her -- not that it had ever truly left, but now his gaze had actually turned her direction. His hands fisted as if there was some hope to ground him and keep himself from doing anymore damage. Because he know he has. He knows what he's said, he knew it the moment it came out of his mouth that it was a double edge sword and Claire being Claire would never take it as a gift in disguise. So he stays silent, watching the small spot of wall over her shoulder as she yelled at him, listening to the happy, albeit awkward, drunk turn into her own personal storm. What was he supposed to say? She wasn't wrong. He didn't want to look at her, he didn't want to talk to her, he didn't want to be anywhere near her. She was too much temptation. Like a drug addicts drug of choice, no matter how much he wanted to stop, he always ended up submitting to her and he was desperate to break that cycle.      THE towel now discarded, both hands are linked at the back of his neck, the base of his head resting against his palms. Those contradictions were starting to bubble up again. He wanted to console her, but he wanted to make her hate him; he wanted to keep her here, but he couldn't handle having her near him; he wanted to argue and hash everything out, but he hadn't had that kind of fight in him in a long time. Freddie had become the sort of man that stood by and would let her scream her hearts content at him while he stood in utter silence and avoided eye contact. He knew the right things to do and say right then, but he didn't do either. He didn't try to contradict her or convince her to settle down. He just continued to do all those things that had gotten her so riled up in the first place. Even if guilt was already beginning to gnaw at him, twisting his expression into one that showed his pain and sympathy for the woman.       SO when she storms out, he's incapable of just standing there, as he had intended to do, as he knew he should. He was doing it because she was drunk and a drunk and upset woman wandering around New York at this time of the night was never a safe idea. If it were his sister or Tara, he would want someone to do the same, right? She's by the door by the time he enters the main room, hands on his hips, his brows creased, letting his frustration at her deciding to do something so immature as bolting show above all else. "You're not running out of here in the middle of the night, Claire," he speaks in a tone that is far too close to the tone he takes with his sister when he lectures her, but he doesn't care right now. Stepping in front of the door, he throws the lock into place and crosses his arms over his chest. "You're too smart to do something so stupid, Claire. You're really going to risk your safety because you're pissed at me?" No, definitely not on his watch she wasn't. Fuck not talking. "I don't care how long it takes or how unhappy you are about it, but you're going to sit down until you're able to walk a straight line without tripping over your own two feet."

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SINCE the time she was a little girl, fully developing into her own likes, dislikes and personality, her father had called her a 'tempest in a teacup'. she was spoilt, to put it plainly, but her temper had always gotten the best of her. she was a clever girl, strong in her opinions and convictions and she fought tooth and nail for whatever she felt was right. she was proud too, which was a combination that never went well with such a short fuse. over the years she had curbed her temper, trained it into assertiveness and let it work for her as opposed to against her, but there was always times that got her hackles up and Freddie just seemed to be one of them. IT was an odd thing too, because it had been Freddie that had calmed her all those years ago. his quiet patience had taught her a thing or two about holding her tongue. she saw the hurt she caused and the damage she left with her words written across the face of the boy she loved and she learned to rein it in. Another man had taught her to bite her tongue with the sting of his hand but Freddie didn't even need words. JUST like he didn't need words now to tell her just how little he wanted her. not only had he turned her down, shut down any ideas of a chance for them, he seemed to be against the very idea of them being friends, of being alone in the same room as her. was she a predator? was she and what she did so vile that he couldn't bring himself to look at her. all the times she had lost her temper seemed insignificant now to the way he looked at her, or rather past her, and to the damage she had done when she had let him let her go. HE looked fed up, and ready to be rid of her, and she was all too willing to oblige. her heart ached at the idea of having to stay here longer. hours ago she had dreaded returning home to an empty bed, but now she was ready to welcome it. his authoritative tones scold her and she bristles to the same tone he uses to rein in his little sister. he blocks the door with his frame, and now claire feels like the trapped animal. animal is probably the best word for her, drunk and belligerent, she's almost feral. SHE catches his eyes and his gaze catches hers for only a second. his words are right but they make no sense to her, she's not concerned about the danger, as she far as she's concerned she stepping out onto the streets of pegram. she clenches her jaw and takes a deep breath before turning away from him and the door in a huff. "what did I ever do to you Freddie?!" she throws back at him bitterly, as she slumps down on her seat at the counter. "what did I do to make you hate me so damn much?" she tries to be cutting but it's more hysterical and she can't control herself. "you can't hold the actions of a 17 year old girl who didn't know what she wanted against me forever! you were the one that got married Freddie! you moved on! and then you kiss me after your dad's funeral and I'm the bad guy?! I was there for you in every way you needed me. Where was she?!" her rant jumps and jumbles, her brain moving to quickly for her slurring words. "And I made the mistake of looking too much into it and speak up and you go and start treating me like an asshole! I can't fucking read you anymore!" she threw her hands up, defeated "I don't know what you want, I don't know anything because you're so fucking closed off." she didn't want to continue but he mouth got the best of her. "I bet she makes you miserable and so she should" she's fiery and out for blood, a part of her that had been quashed for all those years with Rhys was coming out in her and directed at the man in her life that deserved it least. NOTES, finally made it pretty

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GUILT stirred deep in his chest, pulling him forward, despite the fact that his head told him he was an idiot for not making her leave right now. The morally sound side of him couldn't allow it, though. It couldn't allow a girl, any girl, to wander around the night like this and since it was Claire... it made his chest tighten, his worrying setting him on edge. It didn't matter that she was angry with him or that he was struggling with his own inner demons. He could take whatever verbal lashing she felt he deserved without snapping -- because that's how he had always been. He had always watched in silence when she had her fits and he would console her when she was done. Now he watched her with confusion and concern, not knowing if consoling her would be safer than letting her run into the night.      HOW was he supposed to be the good guy to her and to Savannah? How was he supposed to honor the marriage he had built with a woman that seemed to do everything in her power to make him happy, whether it worked or not... while also keeping Claire safe? He didn't like seeing her hurting, but how was he supposed to make her pain go away without hurting someone else? Someone who was innocent to all of this? Savannah had her faults, but they were bred from his inadequacy, his failures as a husband, his inability to move on from the hurt of the drunken blonde and open up. He almost wished Tara were here to force some sense into him, to remind him who he was and why he pushed Claire away. She'd tell him to call her a cab and let her go -- that'd surely be the most logical thing to do, right? Logic was obviously not present.      HER words sting and he doesn't try to hide it, he knows he can't anyway. He didn't know whether he should be proud or apologetic that he had made her feel like he hated her, but the only thing he felt was shame. This wasn't the man he was brought up to be and even if his mother supported his marriage, she never would have encouraged him to treat Claire so poorly. Not for Savannah's benefit, not for anyone's benefit. 'You don't disrespect the women you care about,' she would tell him, 'you treat them like porcelain dolls, no matter how mad you get. You treat them like you would your own mother.' And that's not what he was doing with Claire. He was treating her like he hated her, he was making her feel this way and he was embarrassed of himself for taking things so far.       SHOULDERS now relaxed, he still stands before the door, arms crossed, but this time, he's trying to keep his breathing steady and think through his words before he spits something out. "You broke my heart, Claire," which is nothing new to anyone that new the man. "I don't hate you, but actions have consequences and your actions..." He has to stop himself because he knows what he wants to say and he knows the way she'll take them in this state. She'll react as if he's slapped her in the face and told her he hated her all over again. But in his eyes, it's true. She chose her path and losing him was the consequence. How could she think he would wait around for her after that? "I would have done anything for you, but waiting around while you dated some other guy? That's not fair."      RUNNING a hand through his hair, he tries to reign in the temper that wants to rear it's ugly head, the frustration at her throwing his faults back in his face all too easy to fall prey to. "That was a bad day." He hates talking about the funeral. He may not have been close with his father, but he was still his father. He still loved him, he was hurting and he had chosen to lash out in a way that Freddie simply never lashed out. He never lashed out, but he had caved and gone to the one person that he really shouldn't have. "You're not the bad guy, but what I did was a mistake. I didn't kiss you because I loved you, I kissed you because I was upset and I had sent Savannah home with my mom and you were there and..." He could rattle off a thousand reasons, but none of them made it any better. None of them explained away his actions or gave her the whole truth.      "WHY is it so wrong that I want my marriage to work?"

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SHE would be ashamed at herself in the morning. ashamed that she had let her own insecurities tear at him, ashamed that she lashed out him when he was only trying to help. ashamed that she would bring up his father death so callously and throw it in his face. she didn't want to be this girl but something deep down was craving his calm, craving his love and his gentle hand and every time he denied her or turned away she crumbled. a part of her knew that the last time she had been truly happy was with Freddie and every inch of her wanted to be that happy and safe again. FIRE glinted in her eyes, clouded by alcohol and bad temper she was accusing him of actions she didn't want the truth about. she should have known that the answers weren't going to be easy to hear, but she surged on anyway, spitting her hate at him. everything he had to said in return was nothing but the truth in his typical calm and diplomatic manner. I usually soothed her, made her rein in her temper but today she was fighting it. she wasn't seeing sense and she didn't want to. she only wanted to hear one thing, and nothing he was giving her was remotely close. SHE tried not to flinch at his words, the truth, were far more brutal and damaging then any blow Rhys had ever dealt her. she broke his heart, she'd known it all these years but hearing it only made it hurt more. tears that had been threatening to spill over were held back as she bit the inside of her cheek and let the pain distract her. "consequences?" she choked out softly under her breath, "I've survived the consequences, I've had about all the consequences I could bear" she mutters. SO many nights had she laid in bed and questioned the world and her God, she asked if the bruises and cutting words and isolation was her penance for straying. for being too much of a coward to break it off Freddie first, for not appreciating what she had. it was just one of many ways she had tried to reason away his actions and his anger, trying to find fault in herself because she dared not blame his actions on him. HIS next words were the breaking point. she had clung to that night after the funeral, she had clung to the way he had touched her and looked at her, with such tenderness that she knew that something still lurked in his heart for her. he could have gone home to his wife but he had taken her hand, he had kissed her. she had known that running off to the city to marry a man she'd just met wasn't the answer but she was only searching for distance. searching for something to put between her and Rhys. and that night gave her a sliver of hope that Freddie could be her saviour. HEARING that night being reduced to loss and grief and mere circumstance hurt more then she could comprehend. she was just in the right place at the right time. she was a mistake. the words broke her, she dropped her gaze, her shoulders slumped. she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek and grabbed her purse. she needed to go, she needed to leave. she needed to get out of here before she said something she regretted, or worse, she cried. SHE got up, purse in one hand and shoes in the other. she had no fight left, she was thoroughly embarrassed by her outburst and his sobering words. she met him at the door, fronting up to him with a defeated tone. "let me go home, Freddie. call me a cab or whatever you feel like you need to do and just let me go. this was a mistake, seeing you again, trying to talk about everything..." HE instead asked why she questioned him wanting to make his marriage work and she couldn't answer him. she had no excuses and the truth was far too pathetic. she shifted awkwardly and frowned, looking up to meet his startling blue eyes that were clouded with frustration. "it's not wrong, it's commendable." she said in placating tones "just call this an attempt at me being a home wrecker and I'll go. I'll be a distant memory and one day you'll laugh about it" she was rambling drunk, making dry excuses to cover up the fact that the only reason she didn't want his marriage to work is because hers hadn't. she selfishly wanted him to be as miserable with Savannah as she had been with Rhys. she wanted him to realise as she had, that they belonged together. that they both had made mistakes. "can I go now, Freddie?" she stood in front of him like a child waiting for permission. she was close enough to smell his cologne, and she wished she hadn't. NOTES, you're killing me, smalls

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DEEP down, he knew she was just drunk, but in that intoxication, there were kernels of truth that he couldn't escape. She was speaking out against his flip flop attitude toward her, the way he's used her as a coping mechanism, the way he treats her with cold indifference, then clings to her when he needs her most. Yet, is he really willing to offer the same in return? It's selfish of him to do this to her, to do this to his wife, to do this to anyone that he thinks he cares about, but here he is. Standing with her just out of reach, closed off, distanced from anything that could possibly be productive in their current stand-off. It was the way he had always worked, with her, with Savannah, with Tara, with his sister, with anyone that presented conflict that he didn't want to confront.       HANDS drag through shagged hair, his own temper and willpower dwindling in light of how distraught the blonde appeared. Maybe he should just speak his mind... or he could just let her go. In his mind, those were the only two options possible and neither seemed right. If he spoke his mind, he would hurt her more than he already had and his conscience couldn't bare the weight of causing her anymore pain; if he simply let her leave, who knows what would happen to her in her emotional state? "Yeah, 'consequences.' You didn't want to be with me then so you don't get to just decide you want to be with me whenever it's convenient for you again."      EVERYTHING coming out of his mouth sounds wrong. It's harsher and colder than he means it to sound, but no matter how much sensitivity he attempts to infuse into his words, there's very little cushioning you can add to a statement that blames someone for their own heartbreak. If that's even possibly what she's going through -- he's not even entirely sure she's genuine in wanting to be with him or pursue any kind of anything with him. He's still on the face, waiting for her to remind him that he's just the back-up option for her. This time he won't let her blindside him by her indecisiveness. And maybe part of him still held a bitter grudge against her for her decision to let him walk away, to give her what he thought she wanted.       BUT in truth, he was getting a sick revenge on her without evening trying to. He was pushing her and reducing every moment of intimacy between them to nothing more than grief. "It could have been a stranger," he regrets the words as soon as they slip out of his mouth, but he doesn't take them back. He wants to believe it's true, he wants to believe that no matter what Claire once had meant to him, they it wasn't her he had sought out, that it had just been comfort and she filled the roll without asking questions. Now he felt guilty for all new reasons. Guilty for cheating on Savannah, but also guilty for using Claire.      HE shifts, moving just enough that if she so chose, she could walk right out of the building, but he was hoping she wouldn't, not like this. How much more selfish could he possibly be? "I should call you a cab," he mumbles, shifting uncomfortably at her close proximity, trying not to think of the familiar perfume mingling with liquor and sweat. It was so easy to remember their time together when she was sharing the same oxygen as him. He has to think though it, remind himself of things that aren't her.      COMMENDING him for wanting to make his marriage work should make him feel better, it should make him proud, but all it does is make him frown. He wants someone to tell him to divorce her, not just because they don't like her, not just because of some petty disapproval of who he chose to marry. He wants someone to see what's truly wrong and tell him he's foolish, even if he fights against it. He wants her to remind him why he's gone this route. But she isn't. She's quit. "I don't believe that's your motive," he's not sure who's benefit he was saying that for. He hesitates and, then defeated, he drops his arms and steps away. "Fine. I wish you would talk to me, but fine." NOTES, merry xmas have some poo.

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THIS wasn't how she imagined her night ending. cold words and a frigid reception from her ex was the last thing she wanted. a part of her had hoped to see him tonight, some selfish and masochist part of herself wanted to see him again and call it casual. harper, as much as she loved her, was merely an excuse. a means to an end. she had planned for tonight to be light, to be flirty. she'd drop a comment about their night together and he would merely give her a knowing glance, maybe a smile. they'd joke about home and bring up old stories. she didn't expect to be treated like an unwelcome stranger, she didn't expect to be throwing a drunken tantrum in his empty diner in the middle of the night. BUT here they were. she felt gutted and drained by his words. everytime he opened his mouth she hoped for an apology but he only became more cutting, more ruthless. he was desperate to put distance between them in anyway possible. she always known the sweet and charming side of Freddie, she didn't realise there was a place outside that. she now realised that this was what it was like to be on the outside, to no longer have his affection, or even a sliver of his respect. she was nothing to him. less then nothing. that's how little he felt towards her, how little he felt about her. she could have been a stranger, were his own words. he was right though. she couldn't expect to walk back in, six years later, and hope to pick up where they left off. she couldn't just pretend she hadn't hurt him. she couldn't ignore the past of their history she didn't like and hold onto the parts she did. THE fight that was burning so hot and bright in her only moments before had fizzled out. she was defeated and discouraged with every sobering and harsh word he had for her. he offered to call her a cab, but made no move to do so. she wanted out, being so close to him made her skin itch, it made her prickle with heat even on the cool night and her tiny dress. he would never not have this effect on her, she's learnt that after his fathers funeral. she tells him what she thinks he wants to hear, what he's being fighting with her about, what he insists is the truth, but he doesn't look happy about it, in fact he looks displeased and she wants to scream in his face that he is purposefully disagreeing with anything she said just to make her miserable. HE asks for a motive, he insists she talks to him and she doesn't know whether to scream or cry. "talk to you?! I have been talking to you!" she states, arms in the air with frustration. "you don't want to hear anything I have to say!" she shouts, exasperated. "you want a motive? it's pure selfishness. I'm miserable and I want you back because when I was with you was the last time I felt happy, and loved, and whole." it was a sad truth and even admitting it out loud made tears well in her eyes "you say you love her but anyone with eyes can see you're unhappy! the fact that you're staying with her anyway makes you amazing, it makes me proud of you, but it doesn't make it any fucking easier to watch. you're doing the right thing, but at what cost?! do you want to have mediocre life? do you think your dad would have wanted that for you?!" she beating a dead horse, clinging to the idea that he didn't love Savannah, and although he denied it time after time there was something about the way he asked her for a motive that made her wonder if he was really asking for an excuse. HE steps aside to let her go and she knows the conversation is over. she'd said the wrong thing, or perhaps he just didn't want to hear how right she was. she regretted using his father against him, but she knew he was also a man that had walked away from a marriage and he had been happier for it in the end. he had tho diner to show for it, at least. "just ignore me, I have my own motives, sure, but all I want is for you to be happy, Fritz." she used the old nickname affectionately. "and if you're not happy with her then don't make yourself miserable the rest of your life just by being a good guy. you didn't fight for what you wanted in high school and look where it got us? both miserable. do what's best for you, Freddie."" she couldn't wait to crawl into bed and for the first time tonight she was glad it was going to be empty. NOTES, worst xmas ever

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EVERYTHING she said has been right, from the very beginning. He led her one that day, leaning on her when he needed someone most and the one person that should have been was gone. He could have gone home to his wife, he should have, but since he was a teenager, he had been so hung-up on the possibility of someday reviving his romance with Claire - he couldn't just let her walk away when she seemed to finally show interest in him. She had wanted him, she still wanted him, even when he was being cold and distant, and the sixteen year old boy that had been prepared to focus his entire life on the blonde had taken over. But that wasn't an excuse. He wasn't sixteen anymore, he was twenty-three and married. He was a business owner, he was supposed to be a grown man who knew the difference between right and wrong.       BUT when it came to Claire, he didn't know the difference between right and wrong. Everything was skewed, his morals suddenly gray - if not completely absent. She fucked with his head in the worst ways and he didn't know what to say around her. Did he love her? If he didn't, then what made him sleep with her? Was it grief? If it was, did that mean he was he over her? If he were over her, why did he find it so damn hard to simply let her walk away, crying or not? He wasn't a terrible person, he wasn't going to let her stumble around drunk and hurt herself, they were friends, after all. But did he even want to be her friend? He wasn't sure he even wanted to answer his own questions, not to himself or to anyone else. If he did, there was a good chance he was going to end up admitting something he wasn't prepared to confront anytime in the near future. It was easier this way. To remain distant, even if it meant confusion.       REMAINING distant was becoming harder to do as every minute ticked by. He wasn't a cruel person at his core, he knew that he wasn't being fair to her, but he couldn't stop himself. It was just one of the many ways she had skewed his perception since she walked into his life again. She was bringing out the worst parts of him and he couldn't even blame it on her, not entirely. She was baiting him, trying to get him to open up, and instead of taking the bait, he was clenching his jaw and digging in for a fight. A fight with a drunk girl. That's what he had succumbed to. "You can't just walk in here and expect me to drop everything for you because you've decided that you want me again. That's not fair. Not to me, not to my wife, not to anyone. You made your choice, now..." He wants to tell her she has to live with it, but he knows she is. That much is obvious and no matter how stubborn he remains, he's not an idiot, he can hear the pain in her voice.       MENTIONING his dad in any capacity wasn't helping his frustrations, but he knew she was right. His parents had divorced because they weren't happy, his father had packed his bags and moved to New York to pursue his dreams and no matter how hard it was on his family, he always knew it was for the best. Being unhappy wasn't going to help anyone and he couldn't fault his father for looking for happiness elsewhere, but that didn't seem like a good enough excuse for Freddie. Maybe he was a fool for staying with Savannah when it was obvious to the world that he wasn't happy, but he didn't want to leave someone that had done nothing but love him and try to be a good wife to him. She had put up with so much for so many years and he was throwing it all away by even entertaining the idea of not being with her. He thought he was selfish to even consider divorce so he can't even bring himself to respond to her assertion that his father wouldn't have wanted this life for him.       HE shakes his head, looking at the floor, focusing on a scuff in the tile instead of the woman in front of him. How many times had he actually laid eyes on her since she walked into the diner? "I didn't fight in High School because all I ever cared about was your happiness. If you didn't want to be with me, I would rather let you go than hold you back and have you end up resenting me... cheating on me." He had regretted letting her go since the moment they ended things, but he had never imagined things would get this out of control, that it would take so many years for them to come back together. "What if what's best for me is to stop being selfish and do what's best for everyone else? Even considering divorce is cruel. She doesn't deserve that and you don't deserve to be someone that cheats on their wife." NOTES, stupid chrome didn't want me to reply.

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THROUGH the haze and fog of the alcohol that clouded her vision she hadn't quite seen it yet, it took her a little longer to fight through the sting of his words and realise exactly what she felt and she was surprised when she did. pity. all she could feel towards this man was pity, despite wanting to. she pitied that he to had made rash decisions that led him into an unhappy marriage, she pitied that he had struggled to find his place in the world. but most of all she pitied that while she knew how unhappy her marriage was with every blow of a fist from Rhys, he was just as unhappy in his, he was just so painfully unaware. HE keep working under the illusion that he couldn't give up on a marriage that done wrong by him, Savannah loved him and was devoted to him, that should be enough but it wasn't. claire could see him fighting with his better self, confused by the lines of right and wrong, he hadn't realised that staying in a marriage without love was just as cruel as leaving her. he told her she had to live with her choices, although he hadn't quite said it and it burnt her to here those words, tears escaped and she wiped them from her eyes with a hasty hand. they were the last thing she wanted to here. she didn't want to bear the scars from Rhys alone, and she already knew that Cedric couldn't heal them. there was always something drawing her back to this man, no matter how she fought it. this man was once her whole world and she wanted it again. "THAT'S not fair" she whined childishly and he admitted that he hadn't fought for her in high school on her choice. "you asked me how I felt and I was honest with you, I gave you full disclosure and you broke up with me! you rolled over and gave up and let me go. those aren't the actions of a man that loves someone. when you love someone you fight for them! you just let me walk away, and then rolled into bed with her, what was I supposed to think. I never thought you loved me, not like you once did. and then after the funeral it was like it used to be and I knew you wouldn't fight, so I have to. rhys was the biggest mistake I've made in my life. I gave up someone who loved me for someone who hit me and called it love and I'm a fucking fool for it" she was wild and desperate and spitting out half formed and drunken thoughts. she was jumbled and messy and revealing too much to a man that still had the potential to crush her heart, but she didn't care. HE called himself selfish, for just standing in a room talking to her, for considering these things and she couldn't help but pity him again. he was so wrapped up in guilt and confusion he didn't know which way was out. he was the most selfless man she knew and all this childish thought about him not loving her disappeared at his confession, about his fear of trapping her and her resentment. she ached to know he had been that brave, that he had sacrificed so much for her, when she was just a stupid teenage girl who didn't know what she wanted. impulsive and coursing with alcohol to fuel all these bad choices she couldn't stop herself as she surged forward and closed the gap between them, she stretched up on tip toes, his eye finally meeting hers as she placed her hand on his cheek and her lips met his, feather light at first, waiting for the recoil and when it didn't come she pushed harder, deepening it, before pulling away, her heart beating wildly, fighting to get out of her chest. she had no words, she tried to search for something witty or clever or sweet to say and she couldn't say anything. NOTES, it's bad sorry