Re: log: dylan & max
By contrast, Dylan didn't really have bad memories of the time in his life that spent around Max. Everything had gone to hell in the end, but he didn't remember all of the before as bad necessarily. He knew that things got awkward somewhere, and that he was too good at avoiding problems to do anything about it until it just ended completely with them being pitched into different worlds after lots of radio silence. He'd also been pretty good at bullshitting, most agents were, to a certain extent. So maybe he just convinced himself that nothing had really happened, and therefore nothing was really wrong. Either way, he was moderately aware of his own asshole status, but knew that there was nothing to be done about it now. He remembered Max glossing past apologies like they didn't matter, and he figured that she was probably right about that.
Dylan toasted her with his glass of beer, "To black and white." He wiped foam away from his mouth with the heel of his hand, and grabbed a bar napkin to thoughtlessly clean up the condensation that was leaving wet rings on the bar. Max was right about something else too, he was a new him. Old Dylan hadn't been exceptionally organized or neat, his apartment and subsequent hotel room had been a minefield of files and books, electronics and empty energy drink cans. Now, he wiped up dripping beers like not thinking. It was an idle task, and he looked up at her afterward like the meticulous chore had made him think of something to ask her as a byproduct. "How's your family? I know the brother is trying to handle Daniel, but what about the sister that hates me?"