. balanced beaming

[tate mccarthy]

There's a strange role reversal going on here. Rosie relaxed and warm, Tate stiff, his mind elsewhere. He knows it's his fault that things are tinging awkward, but he's so unsettled by this new version of her, unnerved by her calm. The casual way she spoke of leaving a job she'd poured her heart into – it all felt wrong. Was it a guy? Rumors swirled, whispers of athletes and musicians. Loose threads he didn't want to unravel. He pays and uses the time to think, to try to pull his thoughts together and be in the moment, but her hand slips from his and he wonders if it's too late now. The wind whipped around them as they exited, but Rosie's question cut through the bluster, direct and uncomfortable. He studied her face, searching for answers, before resorting to a weak, "In what sense?"

[rosie de la cruz]

In what sense?. It's a cop out and she knows it, head tipping down on the edge of an exasperated laugh. When they'd broken up long ago it had been decisive and quick, Rosie cold with her choice because it felt rational and safe. It was strange to be on the other side now, inviting an inevitably tough conversation not only in its nature, but with other people in the fray. He was right - Olivia was everything on paper and then some, an old connection and family well suited to his parent's approval. But was that enough? She lets her words fall carelessly, Beni flashing briefly in her mind. It's easier to understand if you scream. "I know I can't force your hand, Tate. But I want you to know mine is back on the table.” Ironically she'd just physically dropped his but she carries on, expression set as she watches shadows flicker over his face in the lamplight. "If she makes you happy and you want to make things work with her and..and...maybe settle down, as you said, then that's fine too. Just tell me.” It hurts to say but she means it, gaze retreating to the pavement, arms crossing over her chest to combat the cold. "I meant it, before. I'd figure out how to be happy for you.”

[tate mccarthy]

There had been a time not so very long that the air between them had been static with desire. It was a thread that bound them through some tough times, an underlying affection for and obsession with each other that led them to overcoming all their frequent disagreements. But the charge in the air has turned, weakened, become something altogether more difficult to read. With the knowledge that he is not giving her the answers she wants to hear, he listens as she speaks, the air thick as he tries to swallow. He gives her words space and listens properly, giving himself time to fully understand them-- a trick his dad had taught him for negotiation situations. Never underestimate the power of a confident silence. But this silence is not confident and it certainly is not comfortable. Her authenticity is obvious, as is her difficulty, and so it becomes almost impossible for him to force out what he has to say. But force it he does. "Rosie. I love you, I think I'll always love you," a big breath, the next words laden with dejection. "But we broke up for a reason."

[rosie de la cruz]

"We were kids, Tate. I made...” she trails off, a mistake stuck implicitly in the air the second her eyes dart back up. It's the first time she can read him tonight and she knows he's not going to fight. For her, or them, looking away just as quickly to combat the full hollowness of the realization. She'd known it was a possibility, of course she had, always weighing all outcomes before they could even happen. But she'd never truly wondered what it would be like to untangle herself from Tate McCarthy, the mutual friendships and the favors and the occasional drunken nights. Somehow she'd never wondered why they'd never fully gotten back together, either. Rosie's mind clutters with recognition, the conversation they'd had about marriage months ago feeling like one between ghosts now as her hand decidedly reaches back into his. "I love you,” she says simply. Quietly. "I love you too. So much.”

[tate mccarthy]

Tate can't imagine a response that he would like to hear. If she simply accepted what he said at face value he would feel a perverse sense of indignation, irritated that she would give up so easily. But as she starts to fight it makes a lump rise in his throat, tearing his eyes away from hers. At times like these he became very conscious of the height difference between them, making her seem so vulnerable. Her hand finds his and he lets go of it so that he can wrap his arms around her and squeeze tight. "Oh Rosie." Finally he pulls away, but not completely, still stood with his arms around her. "I don't know how we ended up here. If I could have chosen a different destination I would have."

[rosie de la cruz]

This part she can predict. The second his hand slides out of her grasp she leans in instinctively, arms curving around his neck. She's tipped on the edge of her toes and her eyes are pressed shut so tightly she refuses to let a tear fall, caught in a hold she'd called home for years. He smells so familiar, he feels so familiar, it aches when he drifts a little further away, Rosie flickering her eyes open from where she fit on the edge of his shoulder. He'd never made her feel small but she understood what it might be like now, blinking slowly at the blurry street lights. He still could. "You still could,” she realizes she says out loud, hands sliding from their hold to frame the curves of his face. Eyes set on his, breath caught in her throat. "Yes or no?”

[tate mccarthy]

With her arms around his neck Tate stoops to hold her. She's tiny but so strong, it radiates out of her, which makes it all the harder to see her put herself out there so openly. He had never wanted to have this conversation at all, nevermind in the middle of the city, traffic horns blaring in the background. As her eyes meet his and she speaks her truth he understands immediately that it wasn't weak to put yourself out there like that, it was just more of her strength, her unwavering bravery. It makes something inside him ache. It's such a direct question that he has to give it a direct answer, though it's hard to force the words out of his mouth. "It wouldn't be fair to Liv."

[rosie de la cruz]

No. There it was. Rosie senses the ache coming in her chest before she actually feels it, leaning forward to press her lips against his cheek in understanding. He'd made his choice and this was the consequence, a shuddering hitch escaping from her lungs as her feet hit the ground and she looks away. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry echoes in her thoughts, because she'd already done it before and frankly, she was terrified she wouldn't be able to stop. Instead Rosie manages to nod, words quiet but surprisingly clear. "Then I'll figure it out.” But it feels like a lie on her tongue and she hates that she even has to say it, that this is happening, that New York City felt like it would swallow her any minute when she'd been steps ahead from the get go. That heartbreak is so loud and so quiet at the same time, finally snapping to enough to grab her phone. "I think...I'm gonna call a car.”

[tate mccarthy]

It wasn't meant to be like this. The disconnect between his intentions and the consequences of what he's said are laid bare in Rosie's expression, the usually eternally cool headed brunette cracking right in front of him. It sends a wave of guilt through his body, starting at the very tip of his head and crashing through to his toes, making his limbs feel numb and his heart hurt. The kiss on his cheek only serves to make him feel worse. "I really do love you." It doesn't feel like enough, it isn't enough, but it's all he has to offer. Well, apart from the obvious; he puts his hand in front of her screen, whipping his out. "My driver will take you. Please, Uber sucks, he'll be here way faster."

[rosie de la cruz]

"I know.” She does know. Their histories and youth are so tied together it would be shocking if that love disappeared entirely. He'd brought out a curiosity and openness in her; she'd coaxed drive and determination out of him. Things that reminded them of each other, now driving them apart. Rosie would laugh if her heart wasn't so heavy, eyes flicking briefly to his when his hand falls over her phone. Nodding at his offer, seeing now that this hurt him too. But he'd made his choice and she'd honor it, unsure what else to say as the wind blusters on. The silence isn't awkward anymore, just resigned, much like the breath she takes as a familiar car turns onto the street. Funny - the last time she'd taken it was back to his apartment, flushed and drunk and content to bury herself in his sheets until Tate returned. Now it was to take her away from him, offering a docile "goodbye, Tate,” as she stepped off the curb.