♡

the change.

the save is quick, instinctive, not premeditated. like trusting a reflex on the lacrosse field so that he catches the ball instead of getting shelled in the face with it. she'd looked away for a beat. she'd looked embarrassed. like it was her fault for misreading a cue, and not his fault for fumbling the delivery. he'd clocked it. course - corrected without a second thought, and it works. funny, that he can never be that smooth when it's on purpose. her question's framed like a joke, but the spark in her eyes is asking for a real answer. that, he can do.

oh, god, she would've simply died on the spot if she'd misread this – it's not something that happens often, not when it comes to the delicate, delicious art of flirting, at least ! but maybe it's not that far fetched when they say there's a first time for everything. nonetheless, her worries fade away just as fast as they'd creeped in, continuous reassurance dissipating the last bit of discomfort in her body. " bad liars are a real catch... " it's a trait she safely puts in the positives column. daphne's a fellow terrible liar, after all – unless you count the life or death secrets she keeps, the likes of which would take a real feat of intimidation to pry out of her – but adding that to her comment would just take away from the way she wants her words to land. she has all the time in the world to seem conceited later ! for now, the singer runs with what she's been given & simply lets bright eyes linger on his with a smile that asks, plain & simple, if he truly knows what he's getting himself into.

he could backpedal. tell her that he can handle it, that he's lived down worse, that no song she writes about him would ever be as bad as the edited texts that his ex leaked. he could find another punchline in this, somewhere. get as much mileage as possible until he runs out of road. then she gives him that look and he loses the whole plot before he's even decided what it is. there's no shame in the callout. if he hadn't meant what he said, he might have tried to recant. but he had, so he doesn't. he clears his throat instead like he's buying himself a couple of extra seconds, like that makes up for some critical difference between losing ground and gaining it when he's already off - balance. " i guess it depends on what kind of amnesia, doesn't it? people don't lose all of their memories, like they do in the movies. it doesn't really happen like that. i think, um — " and think is being generous with his head buzzing and the room feeling fifty degrees warmer than it was a minute ago. " i just think that i'd remember what matters. what's important, i mean. " unclear at this point whether he's holding for the cheers or the laugh track. he never claimed to be good at this.

some people deserve a little lyrical justice ! this is decidedly not the case & even if she were to take it seriously, give into her ambition, he would get the final say & not one soul would be able to tell where her inspiration came from ! the story would become something else altogether, detached from real events, held together only by the sentiment behind the experience – short-lived, but blown out of proportion for art's sake. oh, it doesn't even matter now, does it ?? daphne's used to the smooth talkers, people who would have taken that opening & ran with it to make her swoon. they would definitely not be fixating on the accuracy of how much memory loss amnesia causes ! & she takes it the wrong way. lips purse into a small pout first, blues breaking eye contact just for a moment – this seems like a long-winded way of letting her know she's not, in fact, as unforgettable as she would've liked. the singer's about to fall prey to a pang of embarrassment when the save comes – important. thank god. she's important !

❝  what's the occasion? ❞