He could possibly mean that. James dropped his gaze, and then got off the bed, unable to sit still. He wanted another drink quite bad, but with none of his own liquor (who's stupid idea had that been?) he was left to stew in his own nerves. And he was nervous. He paced around the side of the bed and then across the open space of the room, unable to choke any words out. Part of him felt like he didn't even have to elaborate. He'd been downright blunt. There was nothing to explain. Or at least, he shouldn't have to explain what he meant. The fact that she was even questioning it made it quite clear that she understood. Or at least got the idea. More than anything though, he felt shrouded in doubt.
Perhaps this had been a bad time. Maybe he should have waited. If he hadn't brought it up they could still be talking easily, catching up... small talk. James wanted to shy away from the idea. He didn't like small talk. It was so much easier to get straight to the point, and that's what he'd done. But, what if he'd just messed up any chance he'd had by jumping the gun? What if he'd just invited her for lunch the next day and let them get reacquainted with each other? Was that even necessary? Could they have changed so much that they actually had to sit down and learn who the other person had become? James didn't think so, at least not for his part. There were some things that had changed about him, of course, but he thought it was just a general maturing process. He would have agreed. That couldn't possibly be a bad thing. But what if he'd just kept his mouth shut? He hadn't needed to take them down this road. What if...
He finally settled down a little, leaning against the open window and staring out over the deserted cobblestone. Why couldn't he meet her eyes any more? Finally, an easy question. James was scared of what he'd see. He didn't want to see the flat rejection that he was sure would be there. It would be the sure sign that he had waited too long; that he hadn't grown up fast enough and he'd missed his chance. And who did he really have to blame? It all came down to his own immaturity and inability to commit to anything. Her questions cut off his train of thought, and he finally looked at her, just a quick glance.
No, he hadn't said anything. He'd been shocked silent. It hadn't been unfathomable. And that had been the problem. He remembered the talent show that year, playing Last Christmas and the way his eyes had found hers. At the time he hadn't known why. He reasoned that he'd simply been looking for a familiar face so that he wouldn't be nervous. And her birthday, a day that fell during a time when he had barely left his bed for anything but classes. But it'd been her birthday so he'd gone to the party, and not only had he gone but he'd danced with her. It was her birthday, he'd reasoned to himself, and never mind the fact that he hardly ever remembered his own. Oh, and all that bickering and fighting they did? It was because they were both hopelessly stubborn and definitely not because he wanted her notice that he was smarter than he let on to most people, and that his opinions were valid and well-thought out. Right.
But how could he begin to articulate that? Song words, James could write. But when it came to having to explain himself, he often came up with nothing. And the accusatory stab in her voice sent an icicle of guilt into his stomach. He was even less sure now, her words destroying any confidence that he'd had to begin with. But he couldn't just... not answer. Not again. She deserved an explanation, even if nothing came of it. He could at least give her that. Or, he could try, anyway.