" and  i'm  its  favourite  mistress.   " she  scoffs,  almost  coy,  brandishing  a  smile  despite  her  best  judgement,  or  rather  the  innate  paranoia  of  being  condemned.  something  tells  her,  however,  that's  not  the  case  here.  not  with  him.  it's  awful  just  how  easily  she  could  get  used  to  the  feeling.  " we  can  pretend  that  we're  good,  and  that  our  days  are  good,  and  you  know  what,  if  we  pretend  for  long  enough,  maybe  it'll  come  true.  "   it's  childish  at  best,  the  worst  sort  of  teasing,  but  all  it  takes  is  one  look  to  realize  that  he's  broken  her  veneer.  "  i  do  indeed,  thank  you. it's  vodka  tonic.  " 

he flags the bartender down, orders the vodka tonic without a second thought, and pushes his own drink towards the bartender while he's at it. might as well try and start fresh. "pretending," he says, like he's testing the word. "yeah, i've built a career on it." not bitter, just honest in the way tired people get when the hour's late enough. he slides the drink toward her when it arrives, unhurried. "tell people what they need to hear long enough and sometimes it sticks." a beat, something quieter underneath it. "doesn't always work on yourself though." he glances over, and there's something almost wry in it. "vodka tonic's a good choice for a woman running on no sleep and optimism."

cruz looks at the fresh glass for a moment, then picks it up. the first sip is slower than the last one, more deliberate, like he's remembering that drinking is something you're supposed to actually do and not just hold onto for the company. something in his shoulders shifts. not gone, just redistributed, like he's put something down without quite letting go of it. the reset helps, he'll admit that much, even if only to himself. "you talk like someone who's been there before," he says. not really a question. he picks up the glass again, easier this time, and waits. easier to listen than to keep handing pieces of himself over to a stranger at a bar, even a decent one.

"surprise." kai said, his tone flat. "i think it's about time you and i have a chat." he murmured, hands resting on the bar counter with a restlessness he was never able to shake since prison. "you've done well for yourself, i see." amidst how much you've failed me, kai thought.

the chuckle that escapes his lips is quiet, unbothered, the kind that comes from a man who's been told worse and slept fine. "you sound like my mother," he says, voice shifting just slightly, softer and a little warmer, "'you've built such a nice life, mijo.'" he takes a sip of the bourbon. "she's more sincere." he's been clawing at something his whole life and he knows it, and he stopped apologising for what that looked like a long time ago. he sets the glass down and glances over, unhurried. "you needed me years before you came to me," he says, easy, almost conversational. "that's usually how these go." a beat. "but i'm listening."

she didn't say anything for a moment, just looked at his reflection in the glass. it struck her distantly that this might be the most honest conversation they'd had in years, and that they were having it sideways, both of them looking at the other through a pane of glass rather than directly. she understood why. some things were easier to say when you weren't quite facing them. "there's always been a seat," she said quietly. she left it at that. below them the crowd had thickened, the noise of it pressing up through the floor in a way she'd never quite gotten used to and had stopped trying to. "he didn't make it easy, for what it's worth." she kept her eyes on the turf, the slow gold spread of the floodlights. easier to say it to the glass than to him. "he brought me in to be the sinclair in the building and then spent three years second guessing every decision i made. blocked promotions i'd earned. i gave up everything he asked me to give up to be here, and then had to fight for every inch of it anyway." a pause, something tightening briefly in her jaw. "while you still had a title and a salary and a soft landing. even after." she stopped. she was still his older sister, and there was a version of this conversation that went further than she was willing to take it tonight. "i'm not saying that to hurt you," she said, quieter. "i just need you to know it wasn't what you think it was from the outside." she finally turned from the glass and looked at him directly, just for a moment. "so if you came here to remind yourself why you resent me, i'd rather you say so now." she moved toward the door and held it open, finally letting her eyes meet his, chin held high. he would never be a fixture in this world again, but if he stepped through the door with her, maybe she could put her pride aside and allow him to be a guest. "food's getting cold. it's your call, dec."

the ball cleared the net and she moved for it without thinking, which was probably the point. the return wasn't clean, a little late, the angle slightly off, but it cleared the net and landed somewhere in the service box and she felt something loosen slightly in her chest at that. not pride exactly. something quieter. the particular relief of a body remembering something the mind had decided was gone. she repositioned, turning the racquet over once in her hand. the grip still felt slightly foreign but less so than it had ten minutes ago at the fence. "okay," she said, mostly to herself. "okay, there's still some knowledge in there somewhere." she looked across the net at him, something settling in her expression, more focused now, less self conscious. "again, please."

“yeah,” she said, tilting her head toward the far end of the vendor row. “you passed it about three loops ago.” her finger raised to point him to the line of people. “follow the line of people who look like they’re about to pass out from hunger.”

fitz turned to look in the direction she pointed, and sure enough, there was the unmistakable cluster of people with the thousand-yard stare of the genuinely starving. he let out a breath that was mostly a laugh. "three loops," he repeated, like he was processing a personal failure. "three." he pushed off the tent post, squinting down the row. "in my defence the layout of this thing makes no sense. whoever planned the vendor spacing has never been hungry in their life." he glanced back at her, then at the shade she'd clearly had the foresight to find early. "you been here long or did you just have better spatial reasoning than me from the jump?" it wasn't really a question, more the kind of thing you say when you're stalling before walking back out into the sun. he looked at his beer, already resigned to its fate. "i just hope i can make it there and back before this is completely undrinkable."

fitz made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a concession. "yeah, alright, i walked into that one." he fell into step beside her without much resistance, which probably said something about how long he'd actually been wandering. "in my defence," he said, "i own exactly one light shirt and it's got a hole in the sleeve." he glanced sideways at her camera. "get anything good today or just documentation of my suffering." he was quiet for a beat, easy enough in the way he moved through the crowd beside her, letting her take the lead without making it obvious that's what he was doing. there was something about anya that made it simple to just exist next to, the way it was with people you'd known long enough that silence didn't need filling. "brisket," he said, mostly to redirect himself. "okay. that's the best thing anyone's said to me all day." he looked over at her. "what do i owe you for the rescue. you want a beer, i'll get you a beer. mine's basically hot tea at this point anyway... just, uh, beer flavoured." the thought made his stomach churn.

"all those hits on the ice make you blind or something?" marcy asked as she held onto a portable handheld fan. while she was used to the heat - texas sun sometimes felt right on par with brazil sun - she didn't want to ruin her hair before she even went up on stage at the party later on for her set. "here. water's more important. you're tall so you're closer to the sun. food can wait." marcy said, handing over her bottle of water with a frown. this could be her one good deed of the day. "you literally got a bird's eye view, you tree, and you still couldn't see where the food is?"

fitz took the water without arguing — hydration first, pride second, he wasn't an idiot — and let the insult land with the kind of easy grin that meant he'd clocked it as a compliment in disguise. "blind, no. concussed, probably." he twisted the cap off, drank half of it before he came up for air. "and cheers for that, genuinely." he squinted down at her and then at the fan like it was a personal affront to him. "also i'm not a tree, i'm a landmark. different thing entirely. much more impressive." he handed the bottle back. "and for the record, bird's eye view only works when there's actually something worth seeing. all i've got up here is hat brims and people's terrible sunscreen application." he nodded toward the fan. "does that actually do anything or is it purely psychological? genuine question."

the   sound   of   metal   against   the   wood   rings   as   she   sets   her   keys   on   the   bar   first,    taking   a   seat   next,    hand   signing   for   tequila.    his   words   only   catch   her   attention   after   a   few   seconds   after   they   land   and   she   turns   her   head   slightly,    green   orbs   flickering   to   the   bourbon   in   his   hand.    “   bold   of   you   to   assume   those   are   the   only   two   options,   ”    her   voice   is   light,    corners   of   her   lips   slowly   moving   up.    “   you   look   like   you   solved   three   problems   and   created   four   more,   ”    despite   the   words,    her   tone   isn’t   judgemental    -    observant   only,    she’s   good   at   that.    her   body   shifts   on   the   stool   to   face   him   slightly,    the   corner   of   her   eye   catching   the   bartender   setting   her   drink   down.    “   i   think   you’re   wasting   a   perfectly   good   bourbon   too,   ”

the comment about the bourbon pulls a short huff from him, not quite a laugh, but close enough. he lifts the glass and drains what's left in one long pull, doesn't even feel the burn anymore. sets it down with a soft thud. "four is being generous. twenty sounds more accurate." there's recognition in the way he looks at her now. he takes her in: the keys, the tequila, and something in his brain clicks into work mode before he can stop it. she's here because she needs out, and he's the guy she calls. he's never charged her for it. probably never will. there's a kid at home who needs her money more than he does. "bad day or just needed the drive?" his tone is easy, familiar. they've done this before.

" sure why not ? " remy shrugged as he looked back at her . it happened to him more often than he cared to admit . the male social media admin was more rare in their sport than most would think so he often found the random encounters the girls got up too , he was dragged into it for all the wrong reasons . " i mean he might call , but really you should tell him that he should call rebecca , she's been trying to use our work accounts to get me to go out with her for like 4 weeks now , i met her once she wasn't supposed to see how cute i was and go off of the deep end like this . "

"four weeks," she repeated, something shifting slightly in her expression. not quite sympathy but close enough to it. "and you've just been dealing with that." she looked at him properly then, less like his boss and more like someone who was genuinely checking in. "okay. that's annoying and i'm sorry you've had to navigate it." a beat, then back to business, because she couldn't help it entirely. "i'll call their GM tomorrow, tell them to keep it professional." she held out her hand. "let me read the whole thread from the start before i decide how aggressive to be."

she wasn't sure who she had been expecting when the door had gone , but it wasn't her big sister . in fact , her family was often at the very bottom of her list when she wondered who might be popping by for a social visit . because they never did , at least not normally without conditions and as she cautiously opened the door to her eldest sibling , she wondered what they would be today . for a moment she paused , looking back at the brunette she always thought looked nothing like her , a wary gaze falling on the coffee in hand . " quad shot . brown sugar . splash of heavy cream ? " strong and sweet , just the way she liked it .

georgina held the cup out. "still got it," she said, something quietly settling in her chest when delilah recited the order back. she'd second guessed herself twice in the queue and ordered it anyway on instinct, which felt like it meant something she wasn't going to examine too closely on a doorstep. she caught the look on delilah's face. the wariness. she understood it, probably deserved it, and didn't try to talk around it. "i'm not here with anything," she said. "no agenda, no family thing, nothing dad sent me to say." she glanced briefly at the second cup in her own hand. "i was on this side of the city and i thought about you and then i was here." she lifted a shoulder, small and a little uncharacteristic. "i can go if it's a bad time."