Re: The next afternoon: Seven/Marta
Crossing the park to the bench wasn't easy. Even with a phonecall that had managed to not end in shouting, there were still memories (sharp and cutting) of the turmoil of the past years and the disaster of the housewarming party that had left her feeling sick and uneasy for days afterwards. A single phonecall wasn't going to erase all of that - for either of them. It had made it easier to agree to meeting, but it was different once she saw him sitting there in person. It took a moment of internal monologue to get herself over to sit next to him.
Everything about his body language, from the sudden upright posture to the press of fingers into a muscle that was obviously strained tight, all read as pain and tension and possibly more than a bit of regret for having made the meeting in the first place. And that look over her, taking in whatever it was that he saw when he looked at her, made her feel a little reluctant to sit down. But this... they were trying something, right? She could try.
The flatness of his voice made that too-familiar ache start up in the back of her throat, the one that was like choking back a piece of too-dry food and having it lodge hard halfway down. The tone was different enough from the previous night's phonecall that she wondered just how much he'd had to drink, that the admission of wanting to see her slipped out. And whether or not it had actually been true at all.
She wasn't going to ask that though. Instead, she pushed it back in her mind, where so many other of the painful things about them lived, and tried to focus on getting through the moment. Which meant ignoring the bit of surprise she assumed was behind his assessment, and pulling out a small smile to put on her face. "I look like I worked all morning and rushed to get changed," she replied, but softened it with a shake of her head. "But thank you. ...you look as-" She had to sidestep from the soft word that wanted to spill out, "good as you always do."