ROCKMAN.

Despite the detached nature of his declaration, his eyes did still flicker from hers down to her lips, the proximity making them look tempting as ever. He has to remind himself that he's on the clock and one more poor decision was likely to end up in him being turfed out.

( He didn't need the money, but he needed a reason for his father to express his innate disappointment in him even less. )

He straightens up to grab two shot glasses, one placed in front of Dilan and the other lingering in front of him on his side of the bar. He decides tequila felt like the right wave for the evening, taking a bottle of Jose Cuervo from the row of options behind him and pouring them each a measure. He puts a few lime wedges into another shot glass that he places between their two, grabbing the salt to put beside it next.

"Customer's always right, so they tell me. Cheers," He grins, licking the back of his hand so he could salt it, repeating the motion so the salt coated his tongue before he lifts his tequila shot and downs it fast.

When he hears the others question he decides to turn it around, like he did in his classes." What do you think it means?" Hazel eyes remain on the painting." What is her expression telling you?"

Or maybe she was smiling, that was Tyson's second guess but the one he went with is the one that resonated with him the most at that exact moment, when his own mind was swimming with thoughts that he couldn't easily pick through.

"Don't know about what though, guess that's the big guessing game."

Maybe if she had been thinking more clearly then she would have left the ring behind in the hotel room just so he wouldn't have had to worry about it being somewhere questionable -- she knew what traces of his mother meant to him and would have never stolen one on purpose.

Because the moment that she had decided to leave, wearing the ring had become stealing -- taking something that wasn't rightfully hers anymore.

"No. No," she reaffirms with a shake of her head to show that she isn't expecting any gratitude from his end, "You can have it. You should have it. I don't want to keep it."

His illusions to France and calling her 'Doc' earn a brief and bleary look of confusion from her before the pieces click -- the memory of the story her parents had spun on her behalf coming back to her.

(When your family was in media they are always in control of the narrative.)

She would have rathered they just told everyone the truth.

She should have told Tyson the truth from the beginning.

"I wasn't in France."

@tyreynolds

( Like a watercolour repainted to be matte. )

Worry creeps into the edges of his long held rage, enough to keep him stood there and in the conversation when every other part of him was telling him to walk on passed her and not look back -- just like she had done the morning of the wedding.

Her confession brings more questions to him than it answers for him, a flicker of confusion evident in his expression. Tyson wants more than that, but Deanie had never known how to give him more when it counted so he readies himself for this to be no different.

"Are you going to tell me where you were or is that something you're going to keep to yourself too?"

If it was the latter, Tyson would take his chances with the fully-grown, stool-throwing drunks every time.

"I thought it was, didn't end up making the menu full time. I'll get one on there one day."

She knew that returning to New York meant taking accountability and making amends for the things she'd done wrong and the people she had hurt.

But there were some things -- some people -- that she hadn't felt ready to face yet.

But sadly she hadn't earned the right of good karma.

There's no easy way around him when he falls into her path so she didn't try, both hands clutching at the strap of her brown leather bag as she immediately nods to the words that met her ears.

"I have it," she confirms with another nod, knowing exactly where she'd placed it for safekeeping.

"Not here. Not on me. But I have it. I'll give it back."

@tyreynolds

( Tense jaws and terse tongues. )

"Hope you're not waiting on a thanks because it's the absolute least you can fucking do," He reminds her, "I'd say pardon my French but we're a long way from France, aren't we, Doc?"

He had never fully bought the PhD in Paris story that her parents had peddled in the aftermath of the wedding that never was, but the Wagners had fast closed ranks and Everett had no interest in shedding any light on Deanie's whereabouts to Tyson, so he had allowed it to become truth and he had allowed it to piss him off.

That's all he could see on his worse nights, visions of her having her best days in some far off European city, sparing not a single thought for the wreckage she had left of him without so much as a goodbye.

missy narrowed her gaze at him once more and she arched a brow, "there is a grand total of one person i would like to be eaten out by and it is not you. so yes, i'd rather take the sharks. jack, i will cut you off if you continue to egg him on." she gave the older man a look and he put up his hands in defense.

she shifted in her spot before her gaze flickered over to where her coworker was standing, talking to their boss, and she swallowed thickly before turning back to the glasses she was wiping down.

her cheeks were pink.

reel it in, feldman.

"Oh yeah? Who's that then?" He asks, seeking out further information on this grand total of one person, "I don't remember the last time I only ever wanted to fuck one person. The city's too lively and the population's too hot for me to waste all of this on monogamy."

( If it had been nine months prior, if things had of gone differently, he might have been singing a different tune. )

"Because it's where I work," Tyson answers plainly, like that should have been the most obvious thing in the world to her, "There's nothing relaxing about sitting with the same drunks who slur drink orders at you for hours on end."

"You say that like I wouldn't just clone you." It was puckish in how she said it through her smile.

In actuality, she knew what he was saying was the truth. There was no one close to being anything like him by a long shot. Though, if there were to be a Ty Reynolds Lookalike Contest - she wouldn't argue if it were held in her bedroom. That was for sure.

His antics earned him an affectionate eye roll, the corners of her lips etching up into a grin. It was the sort of thing girls did when they were completely smitten with someone. To Kouvr, it came so naturally to do in his presence that she isn't even aware when she's doing it anymore. Almost as second-nature as it was for her to go along with his little antics like how she held a peace sign up and posed for a supposed picture. "Did it come out okay?" She asked before adding, "You better frame that."

"Is it that they're not taking you seriously, or maybe you're ruining the holiday surprise and now they can't give it to you?" Kouvr continued to play along, the sight of his emerging smile enough to have her fall to the ground giggling and kicking her feet. The young woman attempted to keep her grin lowkey, her tongue taking in her lower lip in order to distort the fondness that fluttered in her chest and wrote across her face.

Her fingers instantly interlaced with his gently, as he took her hand. "Look at you, Mr. Kurt Browning over here." She commented on his improved skills, comparing him to one of the world champion skaters so simply. Even with not being on the ice for long, his confidence gave him a needed boost in skating and pride suddenly took root in her stomach.

She laughed, "Fuck yeah, you are. By the end of our time here, maybe you'll be able to pull off a jump?" Hope filled her voice as excitement lit up her face. As he posed the question, a mischievous look twinkled in her eyes. "Maybe if you can catch me, I'll tell ya?" She posed the challenge, knowing damn well she'd go easy on him since he just found his confidence on the ice. Her fingers untangled from his before she started to skate away, looking over her shoulder to check on him.

One Roy Reynolds would attest the same. In his ideal version of things, he would have had a pair of sons with Everett Reynolds work ethic and drive. Instead he got a doctor and a Tyson.

The weight of that disappointment rarely weighed the second born son down, though it crept into his peripheral around this time of the year. It might have rendered him some sadness if it wasn't for how easily Kouvr managed to distract him from it.

( Even a perpetual raincloud like himself struggled to be all doom around someone who managed to feel sun-drenched even in the winter. )

"Kurt Browning better be fucking cool," He says, unwilling to accept any less of a comparison to a name he didn't recognise. There was a mental note made to google whoever the hell that was later, but it slipped away from him as easily as the blonde did as she escaped his grip and skated off, leaving a challenge in her midst.

He needs no second gauntlet to be thrown down, accepting by means of accelerating his movements, skating faster than he had since the blades at the soles of his feet had first touched the ice.

He fast suspects that Kouvr isn't trying all that hard to make it difficult for him when he gains on her after he narrowly slips by an older duo who were holding onto the rail around the edges of the rink. Tyson feels no need to hold onto anything for balance now, but that doesn't stop him from taking a hold of Kouvr when he catches up to her.

His hands were no strangers to her hips, bordering on possessive in their brace for how he used them to press her body to his from behind, mindful not to cause any tangled-skate related stumbles.

"Got'cha," He declares by her ear, looking all too smug at that fact, "You owe me that lore and at least a kiss."

At his flatness, Mila scoffed, "If you really didn't want to be here - then you wouldn't be." She shrugged her shoulders, tossing a piece of her hair over her shoulder as she voiced the usually unspoken.

She rolled her eyes as she got off the chair, letting him take the reins on the situation. If anything, it was easier for him to just walk around as opposed to passing the dreaded lights back and forth and them inevitably getting tangled.

"You want my honest opinion?" She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "You missed a couple spots, but I have more lights we can add to fill those holes. Oh, and the ornaments. Can't forget those." She left the room, only to come back with a box labeled ornaments in black Sharpie.

( Like everything else he tried, he wanted to win the decorating, however that was possible. )

The last few centimetres of the string of lights were fixed into place so he was hands free to step around and observe his own efforts. Maybe Mila had a point.

He huffs to himself and then turns take the ornaments box from her, dropping down to sit criss crossed on the floor when he places it down in front of him and opens it to start rummaging through for ones he deemed tree-worthy.

"We rocking with a colour scheme or is this an ornament free-for-all?"

"You don't have to say it. It's just a collectivist standpoint men have on women, you moron." If her eyes rolled any more than they already have, then they'd fall out of their sockets; Something Ryatt was convinced of. "Complimentary or are you just a problem?"

His laughter caused her to laugh as well. "No, I'm serious." The brunette fixed her face, wiping the smile off of it. "You can't call Krampus, Kraddy!" The woman practically shrieked.

"You literally have bottom face. I don't know what you're going on about." Ryatt noticed the other patron raising his brow at their conversation and instantly opened it up to him. "Doesn't he have a bottom face?" The guy grumbled and shrugged which made Ryatt laugh with a pointed, "Ha!"

There was a sigh that left her lips. "I didn't get a gift yet. But, that's because it has to be perfect. Without the perfect gift, the holidays cease to exist." She then blinked, "Wait, don't you have a million and one girls to get gifts for? How the fuck are you pulling that shit off this year?"

No matter what, a conversation with Ryatt always gave him something to chew on and in this instance that became a literal thing when he fished a pack of gum from his pocket to retrieve two pieces and pop them in his mouth as he listened to her.

"One, I've never been a problem," Tyson lists, though never seeing himself as the problem was more truthful, "Two, never bottomed either. I thought about it once or twice but when the moment arrived I never managed to like the idea of getting fucked more than I know I like doing the fucking, you know?"

Married or not, he imagines she must.

"I bet you know. This is why you and me could never happen even if you weren't married and that wasn't tantamount to being incest adjacent. I know you'd try and peg me and we'd just end up arguing."

He's about to ask the same man Ryatt dragged into the conversation, when making out the words 'bottom face' in one of those grunts had him scoffing.

"That is pretty prejudice. You see how difficult life is for someone like me for something I can't help? I didn't ask to be so aesthetically pleasing but I find a way to carry on."

There's only a modicum of seriousness that enters the atmosphere when discussing the high-pressure and no doubt high-reward gift that was alluding her.

"Well, have you even got a short-list of maybe perfect gifts? Times a-ticking, you don't want to end up being Alan Rickman in Love Actually," He says in between chews of his gum, a movie he only recalled existed because Kouvr had insisted on taking the Netflix aspect of netflix and chill literally a couple of nights prior, "Easily. I'm not getting any. I've made that mistake before, chicks read too much into it. I'm not accidentally giftwrapping myself a saw trap that makes it seem like I want to go from situationship to relationship. Fuck that."

As if nine months in the Catskills had completely undone twenty-eight years of muscle memory; had made her forget what it was like to be surrounded by constant white noise, constant people, constant goings on.

But it was nice to feel invisible, too, after so long in constant self-reflection.

It was two stops early to her usual destination, but she'd seen postings about an estate sale in Williamsburg that she wanted to snoop around in for decor for her new bedroom, so with one earbud in, she broke her carefully cultivated new routine and stepped off the train.

She turns her head to look in the direction of the exit at the exact moment Tyson's eyes find her face.

The way she freezes is not welcome by other busy commuters, Deanie nearly being knocked off balance by a press to get onto the newly vacated car.

@tyreynolds

The platform never empties but it did disperse some with the whisking away of some of the clamouring commuters.

He’s got nowhere to go now but toward her, the exit putting him directly in her path with his slow approach, unsure if he could or should say anything.

“You’ve still got my mother’s ring,” He accuses in lieu of any softer greeting, everything from his tone to his posture was defensive. It may have been Everett’s to give away, but it wouldn’t be something Tyson allowed her to keep, “I want it back.”