Freya realized her mistake a moment too late. Mistakes, actually. Two of them.
First was the assumption that bringing Kyle to a bookstore would be the same as bringing any other friend, and that a conversation about books would come without much effort. Upon asking for a recommendation, though, his discomfort was instantaneous, and her face fell as he said never and turned away. Oh, no. She should’ve known better than to presume anything about him, including what his hobbies might be and whether they matched hers. Plenty of people never read for pleasure. It didn’t matter to her whether he was one of them; what did matter was that she’d stumbled on something that somehow made him feel inadequate. Like he was lacking something and couldn't bear to admit it. She didn’t want that.
Not for the first time she wondered what kind of life he led when they weren't together, if both friends and books were excluded from it.
“Never mind,” she said to the side of his head, not ignoring the misstep so much as giving them both an opportunity to breeze past it as tactfully as possible. Her expression carefully neutral though his eyes were elsewhere, she crossed her arms over her chest before scanning the endcaps to find the mystery section. It wasn't far, only a few aisles away, though the slightly chaotic organization of the secondhand bookstore meant finding what she was looking for wouldn't be so easy. But that was half the fun. “The mysteries’ll do.”
She stepped behind him, following without thinking and hearing his question but not immediately answering it. Because that, of course, was her second mistake. Talking too much. Oversharing. She had a habit of doing that around him when her guard was down, though she knew better. Had known better, long before she met him. A good spy never offered more than was asked, and neither did a scavenger. This past year put both Freya and Rey’s calculated privacy to the test, but as much as she already trusted Gabe, even he hadn’t broken through it fully. With Kyle, though, she was breaking it herself. Over and over again, revealing more of herself than she’d shared with anyone in years, bit by accidental bit.
Why tomorrow? She looked down and bit back a joyless smile. Because tomorrow is the worst day of all, besides one. Easier to hold that one back; it was too honest for the daylight. But she’d already been too honest to lie. The truth it was, then.
“Because tomorrow’s my birthday,” she said finally, sighing through the words with resignation. Without meaning to, she suddenly sped past him, down an aisle that would lead to the mystery section. She thought about looking back over her shoulder at him and instead stared resolutely forward, as if pure stubbornness was enough to check the vulnerability of this admission. “And I’d rather read through it than think about it at all.”