( it should be exactly that: that it's not because of her worth, or her character, or really a reflection on her at all. but people are people because they're selfish, at times, because even someone who tries so hard to think of the people around her sometimes falters and thinks of herself; because he says no and her eyes go round, even as he continues, even as he meets expectations for the answer to a question she hadn't really meant to ask at all. and sure, normally she would laugh and tease and reach out to punch him in the shoulder, or to playfully declare that he's just lying to himself, rather than anything that's really true. but maybe it's the alcohol or maybe it's that tifa won't be coming back, that now she's left without the deflection of her existence here or the cushion of her friendship--either way she nods her chin, pretends to listen but all she really hears is no.
and gross. and that no one does, nothing does and her eyes go down to her lap, where the wrinkles in the skirt of her dress are stretched out with the way she has it draped over her legs. she shifts, moves to sit with her knees up, wraps her arms around them and then sets her chin to the top. )
I'm sure you could find something out there.
( she did, didn't she? once upon a time. but then that happy thing disappeared into eighty-something odd letters that could never be sent and never delivered; then her life fell into a series of habits that would only bring her closer to a glass room and the reminder of her mother's body, cut up into little pieces, and then after that, what? did they really even do away with fate? or is that why she's here to begin with?
her eyes swim a little, but it's not because of him. it's not even really that his answer was rude, simply honest, and she's fine with honest. but sitting on the roof of a strange house that she's struggled to make a home, in a strange city that she's struggled to make something exciting, with a stranger who probably wants nothing more than to climb back down and take his bike home--all that, and the alcohol? she's starting to feel a little weird, too. )
If you feel weird, that just means it's working. Drink more.
( a bright laugh that she musters up out of nowhere. )
no subject
and gross. and that no one does, nothing does and her eyes go down to her lap, where the wrinkles in the skirt of her dress are stretched out with the way she has it draped over her legs. she shifts, moves to sit with her knees up, wraps her arms around them and then sets her chin to the top. )
I'm sure you could find something out there.
( she did, didn't she? once upon a time. but then that happy thing disappeared into eighty-something odd letters that could never be sent and never delivered; then her life fell into a series of habits that would only bring her closer to a glass room and the reminder of her mother's body, cut up into little pieces, and then after that, what? did they really even do away with fate? or is that why she's here to begin with?
her eyes swim a little, but it's not because of him. it's not even really that his answer was rude, simply honest, and she's fine with honest. but sitting on the roof of a strange house that she's struggled to make a home, in a strange city that she's struggled to make something exciting, with a stranger who probably wants nothing more than to climb back down and take his bike home--all that, and the alcohol? she's starting to feel a little weird, too. )
If you feel weird, that just means it's working. Drink more.
( a bright laugh that she musters up out of nowhere. )
And hand it over, you hog. Cheater.