. sweet sour motivation

[cora wolfe]

"Any particular order?" Cora's staring at the tree in her sister's home, habitually calculating where to space each ornament in the overflowing box she held. It finally felt like the holidays in New York, complete with thick sheets of snow blanketing the city and Sadie's infamous spiked cider numbing her lips. She'd somehow been conned into helping decorate with a well timed guilt trip and takeout invitation - but seeing her sister healthy and so close for a while took away all the annoyance. Aside from the fact that Sadie wouldn't put her damn phone down. "Maybe it's Adam", Cora thinks initially, stepping back to admire her handy work before retreating to the kitchen for another round. "Or Nate," is quick to follow, hand frozen on the pitcher in front of her. Though she trusted Sadie implicitly - and even Nate, to a large degree - that friendship still stung when it shouldn't. Couldn't. If Cora'd been honest, she knew which side Sadie'd probably be on anyway. Her sister breezing to the front door breaks her train of thought, trying to guess where dinner was from before a familiar voice cuts straight through the holiday jazz. "There's no way," she thinks immediately, taking a big swig of her drink before clocking her ex boyfriend, his suitcase, and how fucked she was instantaneously. The cocktail Cora had swallowed catches suddenly in her throat, curling back into the kitchen in the midst of a coughing fit as she tried to even attempt the logistics, the reasoning, anything, sipping water to combat the syrupy burn. Once she's able to compose herself she turns back around to make sure she isn't hallucinating. Nope. God, how fucking unreal. "Hi. Um. I take no responsibility in this, but feel free to stick around to watch me murder her."

[nate peterson]

It had surprised Nate to find that New York had become such a foreign place to him. It was a connecting flight he was all too familiar with, and there was not an inch of JFK airport that had not been graced by his presence, but the city itself now seemed like something out of a movie, or maybe somewhere he had been in a past life. Sat in a yellow cab on his way to Sadie's, he had earlier realized that the few friends he'd had who lived here, friends picked up at college or who'd found their way to the big city after high school, had all moved elsewhere in the midst of the pandemic. He had mentally scrolled through them all-- including Cora-- before he realized that Sadie was the only viable option, though it had killed him to ask. Though in the end he hadn't had to, as one mention of a grounded flight and the invite was right there for him, in it's little blue iMessage box. He was sure this city felt familiar once, but now it seemed like just a stop off between one home and the other. Buildings flash and he recognizes the neighbourhood, even briefly wonders if Cora lived around this way, if they might bump into each other. The thought it equal parts exciting and distressing. He soothes himself with the thought of Sadie's company, her level headedness in stark contrast to her sister's wildness. As the car slows to a stop, he tips the driver heavily and wrestles the case out the car and up the stairs of the picturesque brownstone.  Grinning from ear to ear as soon as Sadie opens the door, though his face is obscured by a mask, he can't help bringing her into a big hug. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes!" he says, pulling the mask off as the warmth of her apartment engulfs him. He hands her a little Hermes bag, the purse inside a last minute gift from the airport that he hopes she won't find gauche. "Or maybe we should wait until Christmas?" He pulls his coat off, turning to hang it on the hook by the door.  "Hi. Um. I take no responsibility in this, but feel free to stick around to watch me murder her." He freezes on the spot, shock holding him still. Slowly, he turns to face the girl whose voice he would never forget. Like New York, she looks familiar and strange all at once, a cascade of dark hair making her look like she's in some sort of disguise. "Hi," he says finally, resisting the urge to glare at Sadie. "You look... different."

[cora wolfe]

How? It's one of a hundred questions that floods Cora's mind in the quick silence, tugging absently at the edge of the oversized sweater she'd tossed on. Sadie was more methodical than romantic, weighing scenarios and spoiling her own surprises one too many times in fear of being unprepared. Which means this likely wasn't some plan concocted on their behalf. Her eyes slide violently over to her sister, who's suddenly rushing to take his stuff in and grab her own coat. "Sadie?" "I'm going to grab food, be right back!" "I-" With the tug of a hat over her blonde locks she's off, deftly avoiding the scenario as quickly as she'd created it. So much for any kind of buffer. "Alrighty then." Rolling her eyes, Cora attempts to put her sudden flood of emotions at bay, motioning for him to come further in before opening the fridge to cool the flush she felt on her face. "Pellegrino? Espresso? Whiskey? Spiked Cider? Beer? Gang's all here," she recites, pulling everything out anyway before looking back to Nate. It'd been years since she'd actually seen him, aside from her television screens and in photos, but he still felt so familiar. Even if he too, had changed. "You...sound a little different," she lofts back, fingers running through the curls that still took a second for her to recognize. There's a tilt of an accent Cora caught when he greeted her sister, though his voice'd gone flat the second he saw her. Made sense, after their last...whatever that was. End or beginning, she still had trouble discerning. "What are you doing in New York?" Cora finally asks, folding onto the couch and inviting him to settle in. They'd been at ease with each other before, and if there was one thing that had been drilled into Cora her entire life, it was navigating awkward social situations. Taking a sip of Sadie's fizzy cocktail, she eyes the whirlwind of decorations strewn about before shifting her gaze to face him. "Did she con you in to helping her decorate as well? That's dedication, flying in for that. You can put the star on top of the tree."

[nate peterson]

Seeing Cora so unexpectedly was like taking a sip of what you thought was water and getting a mouthful of vodka. A bitter taste immediately found itself in Nate's mouth, his blood warming with the indignity of being caught out like this. He wants to be angry at Sadie, he even briefly thinks about leaving, but his Midwestern manners keep him rooted to the spot, his facial expression tellingly neutral. He'll get Sadie back for this another time, ideally a time when he was less dependent on her for shelter, and ideally not when the smell of spiked cider's filling the air and the sound of low, smooth jazz is enveloping them.  It's the warmest welcome he's had in a while and it would be a shame to spoil it. "I can do that--" Nate starts as their host says she's off to get food, but the slight blonde is out of the door before he can so much as finish the sentence. Left alone with Cora, he looks up at her again, at those same clear blue eyes. The dark hair makes them sing, their crystal depths more blue than ever before. He follows her to the kitchen and with her back to him it's easy to pretend it's someone else, that she's simply his friend's sister. "I haven't had a real drink in ages," he admits, training and now the road to recovery putting a dent in his drinking habits. He remembers now how much he drank in college, the days he spent on the pitch hungover. A lifetime ago. She mentions his accent and he feels a little embarrassed, his dad having just been ribbing him for the same thing for weeks. "I've been told," he says, allowing himself to ease back into his old, broad tones. "I'll have a whiskey, splash of water. Thanks." She asks him what he's doing here and for the first time he starts to think this perhaps wasn't that much of a set up. After all, Sadie wasn't the type and how was Cora to know that he'd be on a grounded flight? "I was stuck at JFK, Sadie offered," he explains, feeling a little sheepish about acknowledging his friendship with her so openly, though of course that cat was already out of the bag. He follows her lead and sits on the couch, though very much on the opposite end, and he's very much more stiff than she had. He wonders how she could be so graceful in a situation like this, but then she was always this way, weaving her way through any situation with unimaginable ease. "I think she orchestrated the storm for that purpose. Needed someone tall. I thought you'd be in Chicago by now?"

[cora wolfe]

"She's quick, that one. Triathlons and all." It's the only thing Cora can think to murmur in response, walls closing in the second Sadie extracts herself. What follows is a strange sort of hesitance, a thin line between the familiarity of the Nate she knew from before, and an understanding that she knew little of his after. That chasm of years suddenly feels bleak to explore, busying herself with the cabinets and glassware so she wouldn't tug at her hair again. He'd always recognize that tell - that anxious uneasiness, even if she tried to hide it well. "Holidays can be reason enough, we'll say. Besides, Sadie's pretty top shelf around here." Cora holds his drink out with the tips of her fingers, deftly avoiding physical contact before clinking her class conspiratorially against his with a wink. It gives her a quick second to really study him, the familiarity of his dark gaze and the subtle ways he'd grown into himself. She simultaneously feels pride again for his successes, and an annoying jealously that his girlfriend probably had a hand in him dressing so well, downing another sip of her drink as she curls her legs under her on the couch. It's not a fair thought for her to have, not when she's the reason he's so cautious. She's sure this wasn't what he had in mind either, accepting Sadie's gracious hospitality and instead being trapped with his ex-girlfriend. Cora could easily leave right now, give him the space he'd requested before - but who knew when she'd get this time again. So instead she laughs at his reply, stretching one of her legs out to admire the striped socks pulled over her leggings. "That makes the most sense, we're useless without six inch heels or a ladder. Santa must have owed her one." When he mentions Chicago she shrugs, eyes dropping down to the drink she held in her lap. "My dad doesn't want me traveling, and Athena's somehow in Mallorca with her new boyfriend, return date TBC... so I seem to be grounded here for the near future. Luckily Sadie's here while on school break and my cousins are around, so..." Cora trails off, signaling to the Christmas decor they'd been in the midst of unpacking before Nate's sudden arrival. She's already forgetting that they're at a weird impasse, falling easily into her line of questioning as she sinks further into the couch. "What about you, did they clear you to go back? Is your knee getting better? I hope you're in first so you can prop it up, bet that's such a long flight with an injury."

[nate peterson]

"She's a lot of things," he says with a small grin. It was hard to put into words how much his life had changed in the relatively short time they had been apart. Becoming a pro athlete had not only caused him to cut back on his drinking, to fill out his physique, to fix his posture and hold himself tall... his whole lifestyle had changed. The cashmere sweater he was wearing was Loro Piana and he had no idea how much it cost, since it was gifted. He took a sip of the whiskey and could actually tell the difference between it and the cheap stuff his dad used to drink. On the counter by the door was that Hermes gift bag, making the little trinkets he used to buy Cora seem ridiculous. "This is good," he says, clinking her glass with his. All of a sudden, he realises how much more comfortable he feels in her world than he ever had before.  He sinks into the sofa, finally starting to loosen up just a little. It feels strange to be sat apart from her like this and he wonders if she feels that too. After their split he had done a  good job of avoiding her entirely, so in many ways, this was really the first time he'd spent with her, properly one on one, since that fateful day. It felt odd not to be all over her, ripping her clothes off. "Good job," he says awkwardly, gesturing to the almost complete Christmas tree. Since when did he become such a mute? In a strange way he's transported back to the early days of their relationship, when she had made the usually obnoxiously cocky college jock feel like a bumbling, shy virgin. It had taken him a while to accept that she wanted to hang out with him, that she was attracted to him, even. He'd forgotten all about that early bashfulness until now. "Your dad's probably right. I think all of this is karma for me trying to travel during a pandemic anyway." She glances down at her drink and it gives him the opportunity to really look at her. She's as beautiful as ever, but there's something a touch different about her, even beyond the dark tresses that frame her face. He can't place it just yet. His eyes fall to his own drink as she asks him questions and he instinctively reaches for his knee, giving it a quick squeeze to check that, what, it's still there? "It's way better. Supposed to exercise it now, which is great, I miss the pitch more than I've ever missed anything in my life." He stretches his leg out a bit, flexing to make sure that it felt okay. He nods at the question, a little embarrassed. "I can't really fly coach anymore. Not because I don't like it," he rushes to say, always keen to assure people he hadn't become a diva. "But I tried to and if people realize it's me, well... it's a lot." He feels guilty saying it, knows how much he owes to his fans. He takes another sip of the whiskey, feeling the warmth spread through his chest. "God I sound like an asshole."

[cora wolfe]

God, this was strange. It was like Cora had read the first chapter of a book then flipped half way through, trying to pick up what she'd missed in the interim through context clues and vague lines of questioning. Just, in this case, it was trying to construct the new life Nate lived without equating it to cheap The Sun articles and magazine profiles. Were those weird, to him? She wants to ask but doesn't really know her place anymore, feeling stuck in the past when the way he's changed is so apparent in front of her. His physical presence even feels more poignant, tracing the outline of his sweater with her gaze before the urge to feel his arms wrap around her again is so visceral she has to drink to chase it away. The time apart hadn't ruined that, at least. Not that Cora could act on it. Instead, she had watched time replace her with her sister on his priority list, at the very least grateful Sadie'd been around to save him from a stark airport hotel. If she was being honest, albeit selfish, she was grateful she'd also taken off for a little while. God knows where Sadie was wandering out in the snow, but wading through this initial panic of a reunion was better than trying to evade it all in the name of pacifying her oblivious little sister. "Thanks, may be my best project yet," she jests, standing to adjust the little white coat ornament she'd picked up for Sadie this year. Her affinity for cheesy gifts still knew no bounds, wondering briefly if he'd made good on getting her that magnet. Cora's eyes slide to his bag stationed right outside Sadie's guest room, trying to place if she'd asked before or after coming clean. If before, then she likely knew her answer. "That's really good to hear." Cora means it when he mentions his progress, knowing if she'd caught his eye just then she'd see how lit up they were. He'd always been that way about soccer, football, whatever it was properly called. Passionate about teams and players and practice and matches, spending extra hours on the field and sometimes rescheduling on her because of it. He'd never completely blown her off though, something she'd loved about him. Even if she hadn't always come first, he'd been transparent enough to tell her why. A courtesy she hadn't extended to him in the end, wincing as she fell back on the couch and the glowing warmth of her reverie was broken. Tying her hair up haphazardly, Cora manages a laugh at his humility before prodding him with her foot. "You're not an asshole. People actively choosing to approach you on a flight with no route of escape for multiple hours are the assholes." Though she was nowhere near as recognizable as him, Cora knew enough about fame to see what it could do to people. Or what people would do because of it, watching the hate Aisha got with her past ex-boyfriend roll in on social media still to this day. "At the end of the day everyone's still just a person. You're a cute guy from Kansas City who's good with this feet. And hands and mouth, but y'know, the world only needs to know so much."

[nate peterson]

The temptation is to pretend things haven't changed, or at least that they hadn't soured. Nate had a wholly positive relationship with all of his exes bar Cora, keeping in touch with them, sending them memes that remind him of them, liking pictures of them with their partners. In fact, for this very Christmas he had gotten a football signed by the team for his high school girlfriend's present to her fiance. He was not a bitter person and never had been, too good natured or maybe just too blessed himself not to easily feel happy for others. So it felt wrong to be so stiff with Cora, but it felt wrong not to be, too. Her recent admission swims round and round his head, as it had since she finally confessed. He was wounded by it and it made him feel vulnerable, and with a global pandemic and a damaged knee, vulnerability was something he had already had his fill of this year. He takes another sip and it tastes slightly sour.  The snowfall outside is almost fairytale esque, casting an already unfamiliar city into a place far beyond recognition. With the smell of the cider mixing with pine, the music masking the blare of traffic outside, it really does feel like something out a movie. So he leans into that, decides to play the part of someone who hasn't had his heart broken by the girl sitting across from him. "That would be high praise," he says, casting his mind back to the times he'd stalked her portfolio online. What a depressing thought. She was immensely talented, something that often surprised people who thought her main talents were simply being rich and being pretty. Though she was pretty remarkable in those areas too. She laughs and for the first time today she feels like the old version of herself, always gently mocking him or coaxing him out of seriousness. He breaks out into a grin. As her foot nudges him, he can't resist grabbing it, giving it a squeeze through the thick festive wool. "Assholes? I don't know about that... I mean, can you blame them? I'm very, very famous, Cora," he says, trying to keep a straight face before he lets out a laugh. He goes to take another sip but chokes on ice as she compliments his many attributes. Laughing, he playfully hits her leg with the back of his hand. "You missed the best thing to be good with off the list. Do you need me to remind you?" He hears himself and briefly the thought of Kim flashes through his mind. Guilt creeps through him, his ease with Cora making him feel too comfortable. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry. Shouldn't have said that." He removes his hand from where it had unwittingly come to rest on her leg. "Hey, that cider smells great. I'm gonna help myself, want me to get you some?" he asks with forced nonchalance, getting up to his feet. Without waiting for an answer he heads into the kitchen, still cringing at his own behaviour as he starts rooting through cupboards. Finally he finds a suitably Christmassy glass, filling it practically to the brim with the cider and taking a big gulp.

[cora wolfe]

To be honest, this scenario wasn't one Cora'd ever fully entertained in her head. Stuck in a hypothetical snow globe, face to face with the lone ghost from her past she'd wished she could drag to the present. Put anyone else opposite her right now and she'd already be halfway through the door, still flighty when it came to her heart and thinking further than the next day or weekend. Impulsive, spontaneous - it spoke volumes in her own mind that she'd still see something and want to text Nate about it, or continually bring him up to her friends. Staring at the short distance between them now, the glow of the holiday lights and the silly smiles they'd allowed, she's hit with the biggest dose of regret she'd felt in a while. It's all on her, the distance and the wariness. It could all be so different. But it wasn't. She'd all but sealed that deal, expression softening as he returns a compliment she knows should peak her interest. "For the record, I think my favorite's been a mural for this couple in Nantucket. Was a whole seascape thing, very peaceful." Cora shifts to go into further detail but he's suddenly touching her, breaking the unspoken distance they'd put between them. She'd be lying if she didn't feel that familiar warmth spread even through her sock, hoping to avoid a telling flush as she nudges him again with a smile when he's unable to hold his cool. Still too good, even to this day. "Truly, so famous. I'm so starstruck I've forgotten to ask for your autograph so I can sell it on e-Bay." She's reaching for her cup behind her when his next response stops her cold, brow arching as she felt her face heat up. So much for hiding that. "Like I said, the world only needs to know so much," Cora half whispers, finding his eyes for a split second before whatever little moment they'd been having burst. He has Kim and she has her confession, letting out a deep breath of her own as he shifts up and away from her. As much as she'd love to pretend they were back in the past, talking holiday plans or new year's eve parties, this wasn't them anymore. There wasn't even really a Them, anymore. Running her hands through her hair again Cora silently follows him to the kitchen, leaning against the counter a safe enough distance away to keep her bearings while she waits for him to look to her. "I'm sorry. I didn't know if I'd see you again to be able to say it in person, but I am. You were really good for me, and I wasn't good to you. I know I don't deserve any of your forgiveness, or the infinite patience you seem to have with me still, but you do deserve an apology." It hangs in the air for a moment, Cora's nerves too heightened to even know if it made sense or not before she grabs a glass of her own down and holds her hand out. "I'll also take a ton of that cider now please."

[nate peterson]

There's a strange nostalgia in the air, one that transcends the general sentimental feeling of Christmas. That was prepackaged, sterile, cliché. This was a nostalgia that hurt, that felt worthy of the literal Greek origin of the word: the pain from an old wound. Like hearing a song that so utterly transports you to a different time that it hurts to listen to, bringing you so close to the past but simultaneously letting you know that that's all it is: the past. Nate often thought that Christmas was a time where everyone tried to relieve their collective youth and there was something inherently insincere in that, in the same old decorations pulled out of the box and hung in the same old places, as if nothing had changed. He was a forward moving person, ambitious by nature and hungry for the next thing-- if he wasn't, he'd never have gotten to where he was now. But being here with Cora was a weird time warp, and it felt fake and all too real all at once. She talks and he tries to focus on what she's saying, avoiding the weirdness between them. His brow furrows. "Did you post that? I don't remember seeing it," he asks, fully aware that he's revealing a telling amount of stalking. It didn't seem to matter now, not when she had confessed to watching all his games. Not when she had confessed to all she had confessed to. Even with that lingering knowledge at the back of his mind, when she nudges him again he laughs and gives her foot another squeeze, enjoying breaking the touch barrier though he knows it should probably have remained in full force. Things slip further into disrepute and he can’t help but grin into his glass as her cheeks flush ever so slightly pink. It was very difficult to embarrass a girl like Cora and he was glad that she felt as sheepish as he did, though his guilt quickly washes that sense of relief away. With distance between them he can think more clearly. It’s hard to believe that such a small amount of alcohol could cloud his judgement so quickly, but that’s what he puts it down to, unwilling to acknowledge any deeper sense of yearning. He’s readying himself to return with a more distanced friendliness, prepping himself mentally the way he did before a post-match interview in which he had to congratulate the winning team on beating his own. He’s caught off guard, however, by her stealthy appearance in the kitchen and the honest words that come with it. Her words hang in the air as he tries to process them, too much for him to comprehend. After a moment, he slips into that interview mode. “Thanks for saying that,” he says finally, trying to make it sound sincere and not achieving it. ”I guess today wasn’t our day. They played admirably, all credit to them. We’ll just have to train harder, come back stronger, take it next time.” “Means a lot.” He avoids her eye, quickly filling her glass.

[cora wolfe]

She'd pictured it, once. Just past their year anniversary, punch drunk with Charlie in the midst of a party they were hosting right before winter break. "I really like him," she remembered slurring, watching Nate burst through the door with his teammates, high on victory from their game. That look of elation, coupled with the taste of sweat and hint of his cologne when he tracked her down for a kiss, still stuck with her sometimes. As did the thought that'd floated with it, that it'd been a fun year and what if it became a fun life? She knew now that she had no right to hold the memory so rosy, not when she'd eventually succeeded in wrecking it all. My mother should be so proud. Cora sighs quietly at the thought, eyes eventually pulled to the ceiling as she tried to remember her particular Instagram feed order when he comments. "I don't think I did, actually," she replies, brows furrowed as she grabs her phone to see if she had it in her photos. She won't call him out on it, but it's a thrill all the same to know that she's still on his radar, that he'd kept tabs enough to know her projects. She finds a few pictures and Airdrops them to him, a satisfied "there," in confirmation as she reviews them again for herself. Sure, she had connections for days and an abundance of resources, but Cora knew she was damn good at her job when she wanted to be. It fills her with a quiet pride for a moment, reveling in the thought and their surprising banter, his mouth pulling into a smirk that teases his own kind of triumph. A quiet confidence, an edge that matched hers - she wanted to stay here, for a while. But this wasn't hers to have anymore. She knew as much the second his response to her apology is devoid of emotion, of anything, rocking back onto her heels and slipping her hands into her pockets. She didn't feel much better for it anyway, the cliche it's not you, it was me omitted because what was the point? No one ever believed it in the end. "Yeah," she finally offers as her half-hearted response, taking the mug and burning her tongue on a giant sip she took once out of sight. She'd had enough champagne for the room to be glowing, but the warmth was no longer radiating between them. "I can go, if you want. I'm sure Sadie'll be back soon."

[nate peterson]

The atmosphere between them is fragile, going from forced joviality to all too open honesty in nanoseconds. It was making his head spin and the idea of Sadie returning at any moment only served to make it more uneasy, as he can't figure out if that would be something he'd be relieved or disappointed by. Nate can't get a read on himself at all and he hates that, wants to throw his hands into a T shape and call time out like an overwhelmed child so he can go and sit and process everything that had happened in what felt like the world's longest half-hour. Bits of what she said come back to him, breaking through the noise; "You were really good for me," stands out the most, an utterance he never once thought he'd hear. He was sure Cora regretted some of her actions, maybe even thought once or twice about what it might be like if they hadn't broken up, but that was such a ringing endorsement of a time he thought she didn't think very much of that he doesn't know what to make of it. Nate had never been one for confrontation. Whilst he wasn't afraid of it, and many of his sisters' ex boyfriends could attest to his willingness to act with open aggression when it came to defending those he loved, he didn't have the stomach to argue with people he cared about. He was angry about Cora's confession, of course, but he couldn't see how being angry with her would resolve anything, or even just give him some satisfaction. Nor can he feel gratified by her apology. He just feels sad that this was what it had all come to, that they could be standing in this kitchen, practically strangers to each other now. Her muteness and eventual offer to leave softens him, and he gives her a half smile, shrugging. "If anyone should go it's me. Listen," he's not sure where he's going with this, but he wants her to feel better. "It's easy to look back on things and be hard on yourself. It's also easy to look back and imagine that they're better than they were. What you did... you had your reasons. It's never for nothing."  He takes a sip of his cider, nodding towards the living area as encouragement for her to follow him. He sits back on the couch, wincing slightly as he puts weight onto his knee. Despite his initial reaction, he feels more comfortable now that she said what she said, the elephant in the room at least acknowledged even if it wasn't dealt with. He glances back at the snow, slinging his thumb at the window. "Can you believe this? I was so excited to get back to London, but that really does look like something off a Christmas card. Maybe even a Hallmark movie."

[cora wolfe]

”It’s never for nothing.” But it was, Cora wants to flip back, words poised on the tip of her tongue before she hesitates, drops her shoulders. It just wasn’t fair anymore. Too much time had passed, the apology she’d rushed feeling good on the surface before realizing that after so long, it wasn’t going to hold the same weight. She should have said something back then - sought him out, maybe not slept with someone else, admitted her mistakes or what she was actually feeling. Instead she had cooled at the distance, leaving the impasse that allowed him to move on without her. It was all too little too late, his response undeniably sweet after all this time. It wasn’t forgiveness, or hope or blame - just acknowledgment. They’d been, that was it. "Still too good for me," she manages, the hint of a smile to match his as they settle back into their respective spots. A little looser, a tiny bit more convivial - if this was a glimpse of a temporary friendship with Nate she was glad he hadn’t cast her out immediately. Adjusting the volume of the music on her phone, Cora sees his face flicker in pain, eyes dropping to his outstretched leg. "Do you need to ice it, or anything? Sadie has one of those Theragun things too - fuck, it hurts so bad sometimes." It’s not like she can see anything through his pant leg but she hovers closer regardless, remembering how she’d clapped her hand over her face when the injury played out on the field. She’d wanted to reach out, see if he was alright - but his lack of responses to her in general had been apparent enough. "I’d suggest we go out and have an epic snowball fight, but I don’t know if I could face the wrath of your fans if you slipped on ice and ruined your recovery." She continues, an idea forming in her head anyway. Cora bounds off the couch, sliding down the hall in her socks as she gathers a mound of snow from one of the balconies.. It burns in her palms but she shapes it into a perfect ball anyway, presenting it to him upon her return with a grin. "Happy Holidays, Nate."

[nate peterson]

Nate doesn't allow himself to dwell on the hollowness of what he's said. There are shades of truth to it, of course she didn't cheat for absolutely no reason - somehow, in some way, she was not happy in the relationship. What he doesn't say is that he a) doesn't see why she should have been, and b) doesn't see how falling into bed with someone else would alleviate that unhappiness. Surely it was easier to just call it off? Not for the first time he wonders who the guy was, where he was now, if maybe he followed her on Instagram and bragged to people about how he'd fucked her once. Maybe he bragged about fucking her whilst she was Nate Peterson's girlfriend. He feels embarrassed by his own arrogance, but the plausibility of that scenario rings a little too true for comfort. "That's true," he agrees, though only managing to keep a straight face for a moment. He had always thought that if he had more money, more status, more of everything he'd feel more worthy of her, and he's slightly sad but mostly unsurprised to find that this is not the case. She starts to fuss over his knee and he raises a quizzical brow. "Since when have you played nurse?" he asks, trying to remember a time in their relationship she'd fussed over one of his injuries like this. Admittedly he had never had an injury half as serious before, and he'd always been the type to lie through gritted teeth that he was fine to play on. Despite this, there was a newfound warmth to Cora that felt unfamiliar, but welcome. He'd seen her protectiveness of her sister, and he'd always known that she cared about him, but it was unusual to see it so clearly. "It's alright thanks. If you play your cards right I'll show you the surgery scar later, it's so lame. Embarrassing really, I wanted something gnarly. They don't really take requests."  He winces again at the suggestion of him hurting himself in the snow. The injury had reminded him of how fragile he was, his whole career so dependent on a mass of muscles and tendons being able to perform in a precise way that could be undone by something as banal as missing a step on the stairs. It was pretty amazing how one action could have such a lasting impact, something that she was sure to know all too well. Suddenly Cora is on her feet and he laughs, shaking his head, insisting he can't go out... but she returns triumphant, her hands full of snow. He can't help laughing properly, incredulous, looking up at her like she's insane. "Here, snowball fight," he says, picking up the tiniest pinch of snow from her hand and flicking it in her direction.

[cora wolfe]

"I was watching, when it happened." Cora barely looks up, caught in that weird reverie that blurs your vision and stalls your gaze. "It annoyed you so much when you had to get treated at school. It was almost funny because it was the rare time you’d get mad - always your ankle’s fault for turning wrong, or someone’s cleat bruised enough to take you out. You’d stomp off and want to go right back in." He’d had everything to prove then. She couldn’t imagine the pressure he felt now...or was it peace, having fallen in love with the right thing? Her hand traces near a ligament he’d probably torn, dropping away guiltily when she realized. "So when you didn’t get up...I knew it wasn’t good." What she doesn’t say is that you could hear the defining crack on the broadcast. The one that tells you to look away, to hope it’s a quick surgery and recovery. He’s probably lived this enough, she finally thinks, grateful for the glass she takes another sip of as her eyebrows jump. "Sadie’s also a medical whiz kid now, I’ve been taking notes." She hopes it alleviates whatever mood she’d pulled them down in, her own laugh sounding for effect as she thinks fondly of her (probably frozen) sister. She’d never have picked Sadie to be the one to bring them together again but she was suddenly grateful for it, wondering what was running through her mind as she knew Nate’s arrival would overlap with Cora’s visit. It was something she’d have to ask her later, head lolling against the couch for now before nodding eagerly to his offer. "I definitely want to see it, I bet it’s so small. Minimally invasive surgeries are so crazy, I don’t know how the fuck they do everything with a laser." She wants to ask so many more questions but still can’t gauge what comfort level they were at at this point, fingers tying knots in the throw blanket before she’s off to collect her snow. The laugh she gets in response warms her from the inside out, unable to cut her grin even as he flicks snow on her arm. Cora gasps dramatically, feigning offense before unceremoniously crushing half the snowball above his head. Flakes dispersed through his hair and across his shoulders, as if he’d just come from outside moments ago. "I rarely fight fair," she admits, though she offers him the remaining snow in her palm anyway, licking crystals from the tips of her fingers. It reminded her of when she was younger, running straight out into the first snow with her sister and not coming back until they were numb and without a care in the world. It was so much simpler back then. "Sadly I don’t think Sadie would approve of us building a snow fort in her living room, so I hope her guest room’s a suitable backup option for you. May be a little warmer."