Re: The next afternoon: Seven/Marta
He's spent a fair bit of time cringing as he looks back on the drunken phone slur of words down the phone line. Not that it'd been inauthentic, yeah? He wanted to talk to her, to see her - to apologize for being the massive piece of shit that he'd been at the house-warming. There was a degree of justification to which he'd felt entitled, yeah. But that didn't mean it was right. He'd been angry for a long time, and so fucking little of it had anything to do with anything other than his own perception of how shit had gone down between them,
Seven was digging his thumb and middle finger into the tendon that ran up the side of his neck when he glanced up and caught side of Marta, standing at the edge of the park. He didn't like the furrow that had worked itself in between her eyebrows. He didn't like most of the situation, yeah? But he sat up at a sharp angle as she made her way over to the bench, and glanced along the up-and-down from the ripped knees of her jeans to the way that her sweater fell softly over her hips.
Fuck, but she's never stopped being beautiful. "Hey." Simply. Trying for flat, yeah? Even if he had to sit back and regard her from a leaned-back position. "You look - great."