#tempest:thread

she hates these parties. hates, that james only brings her along to highlight his intelligence, that she shrinks in his presence without really intending to. that this is who she is now, with him. after another thirty minutes of him drinking too much, insulting her in increasingly less subtle insults and attempting to grope her in front of his friends. she ducks into the nearest quiet room, desperate for oxygen. she's still dripping in his condescencion, still suffocating in him--in this when the door opens. suddenly, the room floods with noise from the party and then quietens again as whoever has discovred her hiding place shuts it. she looks up and meets leopold's eyes and feels her cheeks flood with colour. embarassed, flustered-- lately he's been pulling a whole host of feelings from her that she's too terrified to examine. he notices her--talks to her, too-- and it feels good. feels illegal, too. she shouldn't like his company so much, or how easily he sees beneath her smiles or her silence. "oh--i'm sorry--- did you-- need some space or--" she clears her throat but holds his gaze. " did you follow me in here because you-- were worried because im fine james has just had a little too much to drink-- he--didn't mean it." the excuse is well rehearsed, practiced but there's no conviction behind it.

It's been 2 weeks, 4 days and about 12 hours, since she last felt the weight of Dylan's gaze on her. It's her own fault, that she cares enough to feel the distance, for his silence to hurt. She's surrounded by fall joy, cinammon--everything, changing colours in a cafe full of plants, there's enough beauty and bother here to keep her busy. But she can't stop looking for him--and she hates it.

She's just finished attempting one of arabella's simpler recipes-- covered in flour and sugar when she hears his knock. she knows it's him before their eyes meet. Knows the shape of him, even when he's more shadow than man, at this time of night. Her heart stops. She meanders through the empty cafe, laptop--and job forgotten. "...What are you doing here?" I missed you.

"jealous--- of what?" it takes her a second to realize how it must have looked with mark's arm slung around her shoulder, as he whispered in her ear. she'd followed ford out of the party--confused by his sudden exit, but suddenly it's crystal clear. when it clicks-- she giggles. "oh-- of that-- of mark. ford.... mark's gay." she bites back a laugh, smothers it with her palm until she's settled and just looking at him, with soft eyes. "i... i like you ford. more than like you actually." she admits quietly. "and we can decide not to name it-- not to call it anything. we can go back to being just friends if you want. but-- " she shrugs her shoulders in a rare moment of bravery. "there's no reason to be jealous of anyone else--"

she blames it on the wine-- on the way it blurs the lines between them. they’re there, in the dim light of the cafe. it’s shut--and she’s typing, working on something. but mostly she’s looking at them, and laughing. mostly-- she’s trying hard not to feel the way their laugh feels like she swallowed the sun. since when-- did they make her feel like this? she tries to pin point the moment when they went from acquaintances to something resembling friendship-- when this tension that’s present in the room came to be? when did this happen? when did they happen?