#halfpyre

❝    WHAT    IS    A    VALID    REASON    FOR    SOMEONE    TO    LOVE    SOMEONE    ELSE?    SINCE    APPARENTLY    I'M    DOING    IT    WRONG.    ❞    anger    is    palpable    as    she    speaks.    her    relationship    has    been    on    the    rocks    for    ages    now,    and    she    doesn't    know    what    to    do.    who    else    is    she    supposed    to    ask    about    this    but   @halfpyre​.

it’s been months without contact — pure radio silence on both ends — and as much as she’d like to convince herself that time heals all wounds, the moment that felix steps into what was once their favorite coffee shop ( the very one that she’s been avoiding for far too long even though it’s the perfect distance between her place & the office ), her wounds feel fresh, raw, like they had never scarred over at all. maybe a less mature brooke would’ve ducked for cover behind the counter — slipped the barista a twenty to keep her hidden and sneak her out the back door — but she’s evolved, she’s grown. she can be an adult about this — right? 

instead, she approaches with a smile — one a bit too forced, one that makes her face hurt — and offers to buy him his iced red eye before he can turn her down ( how he can drink that concoction, she’ll never know. it’s basically rocket fuel ). before she knows it, they’re tucked into their favorite corner table, away from the hustle and bustle of the line, a single chocolate croissant to share between them — old habits die hard . . . she probably should’ve ordered two. 

the small talk is awkward at first, as to be expected. she asks how he’s doing, in the general sense. he says good. visa versa. it’s unsettling, really, to meander through such bullshit conversation with the person who knows you most intimately. they speak like strangers, but as she listens to his words, she can’t help but think about the fact that his smile reflects hers, that it isn’t real, because if it was, there’d be crinkling at the corners of his eyes. she can’t help but to miss the fact that the last time they sat at this table ( and every other time ) their hands were stretched across it, fingers intertwined, as if they had all the time in the world together. she misses that. 

and suddenly, when they’ve run out of things to say, he brings out the question that she herself has been dying to ask, but wouldn’t dare. they both always struggled with tact — she’s just had to find some deep within her since becoming such a businesswoman. her heart races, despite the true answer to his question being incredibly dull. still, she takes a split second to decide whether to tell the truth or to invent a story in the way she just knows her mother would be proud of. ultimately, it doesn’t take long to choose. he’d know if she was lying anyway. 

"I confess, I messed up." Lucy said softly, running a hand through blonde locks. Clearly she had no idea what she was doing, everything was certainly new to the blonde. Holding out the cellphone she stared at it. "It went black and won't show pictures anymore. Could you help?" Did she know she'd turned it off? No, no she did not. 

" sometimes i wish i could read your mind, " brooke muses aloud, before brushing her thumb across his cheek. he's famously withholding. so is she. but they're learning to get better at it. " tell me what's going on in that head of yours. "

" your generosity knows no bounds, " brooke practically beams as she takes the offered t-shirt from him, one well-worn and oh so familiar. a freebie from back in high school — d.a.r.e. emblazoned across the front in those bold red letters. she used to tease that it was the only non-plain shirt in his wardrobe. and so it had become hers, unofficially.

when she had packed him a box of his things, when all was said and done, the shirt laid right on top. she had half a mind to keep it back then, but holding on to it felt too heavy.

and now, they're finally reunited. " buckle up, " she waggles her brows, feeling giddy and lighter than she has in a long time, " i think i'm ready to make some destructive decisions. wait . . . that's the wrong club. "