. gun street girl .

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"Sleep is a luxury I can't afford," he said with a sad smile. Between having to get Forrest up and ready for school and late nights at work, weekdays went by in a blur of commuting and working, with not enough personal time in between. The main difference with Tessa gone was that he'd lost a few hours in the morning, hours he didn't realise he depended on until they were gone. He turns his hand upwards, threading his fingers between hers absentmindedly. "No. It's too much, I can't get home in time to have an evening," he says, echoing words she had said to him a hundred times. He glances at her, wondering how much more to tell. "Sophie isn't speaking to me either," he confesses. Sophie had been one of very few people from his office who'd been at their wedding, and he knew Tessa would understand what a blow this was to him. "I don't know, I'm tired of it. I'm tired of Tom fucking Ford shitting himself over a picture being cropped one tenth of an inch more than he'd like."

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You would think for how active he was, Forrest would sleep like a rock. That wasn't the case. He'd run laps in his sleep, constantly rolling around and babbling on as he did. He was also a victim of night terrors and would frequently cry himself awake. Tess sympathized with Tristan. She loops her fingers through his with ease. She's perhaps a little too comfortable. But with two beers, she's a little tipsy and feeling happy despite circumstances. “She isn't?” she frowns. That's surprising, considering they had all had such a good relationship at one point. Tessa had fallen of the radar once having Forrest, but Sophia seemed fine before she'd left. “Why not?” She's always been a good listener, it's one of her better traits. She could make the most stubborn stranger tell her about their problems with their father. Tess brings his hand to her lap and holds him there, rhythmically stroking with her thumb. “It's not about the money or status, you should be happy working. You could get any job, you might as well get the one you're happy with. You might have to take less pay, but that apartment's gaudy and there's better places to raise a child.”

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He shakes his head. Now that he's started talking he wants to tell all, but he's conscious of her feelings (another new development) and he's unsure where they stand. Looking at her for a moment, he's visibly deciding whether or not to tell more. "We had a... thing," he says, sighing as he said it. This is the first he's spoken about it, though he can't shake the suspicion that others in the office know. "It was drink fuelled, I was depressed, she was kind to me in a way that actually felt genuine..." he sighed again, looking up at the ceiling before looking back at her. "Nothing much actually happened. I couldn't stop thinking about you." He feels awkward now, exposed. He nods along with her career advice, it's everything she's been saying for years but he's finally listening. "I'm not moving to Brooklyn," he says finally, giving her a grin. Admittedly it would be nice to go somewhere they could actually have a garden, maybe even get a dog. "Besides, I thought you loved that apartment. It's all you!"

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“Oh,” she frowns. She's not insulted or angry, just a little bothered and saddened by it. Sophia held up her wedding dress when she had to pee. She'd said how happy she was for them and how beautiful they looked together. Sophia, the traitor. Tess blinks away and digests the fact, had Sophia been after Tristan the entire time? “That's a shame. Was she angry with you?” She smiles as he comments on Brooklyn, “Brookyln's over, baby! It's all about those suburbs.” She's sarcastic, as nice as it would be to have green space there was nothing more sad than those cookie cutter houses. Tess laughs, “sure! If you mean an interior designer showed me a moodboard and I said, 'ooo, that's nice'. Then yea, it's all me. But if it were actually me, it would have zero style. I needed to pay someone to dress up our apartment.”

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He can't help searching her face for signs of a reaction. It wasn't that he wanted to hurt her, but he wanted to see if she cared at all. This meeting had predominately been about Forrest, with him being both their top priorities, but with a plan established for him it remained to be seen what the future held for them as a couple. He knew it was naive to think that it held anything, but was that hurt he was picking up on? Or was he projecting? He squeezes her hand again, now running his thumb along her knuckles. Her skin felt so soft. "Angry with me, yeah. It was me who said I was fine and made all the moves, she was hesitant.. then when she finally gives in I start going on about you. I deserve it, it just makes work even harder." He wonders if she's been up to anything with anyone else, but knows he doesn't want to know the answer. "That's alright," he says, his grin morphing into a lopsided smirk, "your taste is terrible. Good investment."

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There's a wrinkle in her brow as she thinks about it. She didn't expect him to be faithful. She'd abandoned him without much explanation and he deserved to move on from then. But as she reminds herself of this, she's still wounded by the betrayal. She hadn't even been on a date, finding someone else had been the farthest from her motive. “Sometimes things just have to happen, you know. Maybe that was one of those things. Maybe she'll come around, she has to understand,” she tries to offer words of encouragement, but she really hopes Sophia stays away. She frowns at him and then laughs, “I went into work wearing this blouse the other day, it had these frills,” she takes her free hand to gesture frills on her chest. “And my co-worker said that it was so terrible he was going to burn it. So it's jeans and t-shirts from now on.”

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Tessa is such a sweet person, he can't imagine anyone else who would offer condolences for a failed extra-martial affair... to their husband. Though it wasn't as simple as that, he was still glad to have told her, lest it feel like a dirty little secret. It really had been the furthest thing from a sexy encounter, if anything, it was pretty traumatic and depressing. "I don't think that had to happen," he said, guilt written all over his face. "I shouldn't have. I think I thought I'd feel like I was getting back at you, but it didn't feel like that at all." It's strange to think of himself as being that angry, though he was that angry a mere few hours ago. He laughed at her story, thinking of all the things she'd brought home over the years. Really she could pull most of them off. "Hey, can we go for a walk? I need some air."

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She shakes her head at his reasoning, “no, don't. You would have any right to move on.” Though she's really glad he didn't, as that would have been terrible to walk into. Her husband with a new woman and her son with a new mother figure. “I mean, you should be flattered. I haven't even been asked on a date and Sophia's a real catch,” she laughs it off. She looks at him like he's said the golden words, her eyes looking at the bar and her words enthusiastic, “yes!” Her hand slips from the warmth of his and she grabs her wallet, “you'll let me pay.” She demands, her hands reaching into her wallet and laying some bills on the counter. “Thanks so much!” she calls to the bartender who is hiding away in the back, her purse swings on her shoulder.

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He looks at her skeptically, finding it hard to believe that anyone hadn't asked her out. "She's too young for me. Besides, I know you, and I know how oblivious you are. People hit on you all the time and you think they're just being nice." This had been another common disagreement in their relationship, with Tessa's sweet nature leading to her seeing the best in some real creeps, assuming Tristan was only jealous. It wasn't helped by the fact that he was very jealous, so much like the boy who cried wolf, when he had a point it was hard for her to distinguish from all the times he hadn't. He can't help but laugh as she responds with zeal, and though he shakes his head and goes to get his wallet, she's too quick for him. "Hang on, hang on," he says, pulling on his suit jacket. Grabbing his coat, he follows her out into the bitter cold. "Here," he says, holding the coat up behind her, "put this on before you freeze to death."

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She shakes her head and grins, “no, no. I swear it! I've only just gotten myself cleaned up. Up until I came back I looked like Rapunzel, if Rapunzel rain through the forest and fell in mud.” In New York everyone looked like a model, there were expectations. Plus her hair was bordering on dreads. And she was afraid she'd run into Tristan at any moment, she would have come across as a crazy person. Tessa lets the coat fall on her slim shoulders and she's grateful, “thank you.” As she pulls open the door, she tilts her head up at him, “are you going right or are you going left?” As the door shuts she makes a decision, “we're going left.” Tessa pulls the jacket closer to her. It's stopped sprinkling but the spring air is wet and uncomfortable. “I keep being tricked into thinking it's summer. I'll head out without looking at the window or the forecast and I'll freeze for the rest of the day.”

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He shakes his head, refusing to believe that she could ever tarnish her looks effectively enough to put men off. Not any man he knew. He lets the heavy wool coat drop onto her slender shoulders, almost worried it'd be too much for her. He'd been insane during her pregnancy, refusing to allow her to lift anything heavier than a Harry Potter book, and even then he'd been cautious. "Good decision, I told the office I was in meetings," he said as they head away from the direction of his place of work. "Have you heard of layers? It's neat because if you're hot, you can just take one off, whereas if you're cold, at least you've got them already," he said, grinning at her as they fell into step, his hands in his pockets. He'd been getting tired of New York but he's feeling more positive about it now, looking around at all the hustle and bustle. "Bet you're missing Sierra Leone today."

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Tess looks up at the great skyscrapers. She remembers how when she'd first moved to New York she'd been amazed by it. It was completely new to her, so different from where she grew up. It was loud and big, the people were always in a rush. It had made her feel so alive. Near the end that changed, New York had become hell. But now she looks at it with endearment. “Lay-ers,” she says the word slowly and looks puzzled at him. “I've never heard of this thing. I'll have to try it,” her pace is slow and long, different from when they were last outside. She's glad to not feel like she's forcing himself on him. “Just the sun, not much else. U'll make a point of going away for a week here and there, keep myself grounded,” she explains her plans, looking at his face for a reaction. “I won't stay away though.”

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Tristan laughs as she spells the word out for him. He wants to sling an arm around her shoulders and walk along with her tucked close, but it's too familiar. Perhaps it would feel more natural if it had been something they were doing before she left, but back then they weren't really enjoying each other's company so much as enduring it, barely even noticing it. There had still been moments of happiness, but they were fleeting and insubstantial. This felt like way back when, before Forrest was born. "Can you believe I haven't checked my phone in over an hour? I think I'm gonna break out in a rash." He mulls over what she says about going away, taking a second before he responds. Finally he nods. "You'd have to go away an awful lot to match how much I've been away... recent events not included."

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She laughs when he mentions his phone, “I'm really impressed,” and she is. All the changes he's made don't go unnoticed. Past Tristan would never cancel his afternoon to sort out family, he'd find an excuse not to. When he mentions how disloyal he's been in terms of spending time with family, she only nods. It's clear he knows he failed and there's no point in repeating it. It's a lesson learned for both of them, as he regrets being absent and she regrets running away. “I'm pretty sure we're even,” she wants to tuck her arm into his but knows it's too much. So instead she rushes in front of him a little, her expression playful as she peaks back. “It wouldn't be much unless there's some sort of crisis. I'll answer my phone too, and I'll call instead of sending letters. And if I do send a letter I'll make sure there's one for you too. I should have left you a manual.”

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He and Forrest really are much alike. The distraction ploy with the onion rings, and now this, the open need for praise when it came to doing things that really shouldn't need outright support. Forrest had proudly insisted on his dad reviewing the way he buttoned his shirt this morning, even though it was something he had done many, many times before. And here Tristan was, drawing attention to what should be a minor feat. What for? Was he trying to impress her? "It's killing me, but let's see how long I can last," he said, feeling genuinely pleased with her response. Evidently he was trying to impress her. He rolls his eyes as she runs ahead, now it's her turn to imitate their son. "You should have," he agrees, "it took me days to realise he'll only get in the bath if the water's a ridiculous colour." He paused, narrowing his eyes at her, "if you only go for a week at a time there's no need to send letters, you'll be back before they arrive."