A soft gust of air escaped her lips at his words, something so close to a laugh that the oddness of it struck her, if only for a moment. He used to make her laugh all the time, on purpose or not. Usually it was on purpose. Now, the reflex felt strange from lack of use.
The more tangible reminders of their relationship had disappeared with Matt so quickly when he'd left, and now Lydia found herself longing for the days when no matter how angry she was with him, when the time came for them to lay down their metaphorical arms in favor of being in each other's, it'd always been that simple. It wasn't so much a surrendering as it was finding a compromise, because being together had always been enough. For both of them, so she thought.
Matt had given her cause to doubt that in the end, but it didn't change the fact that once upon a time, they had been happy. Lydia surprised herself for a second time today by feeling both nostalgic for the old days, and not immediately dismissing them.
Still, she almost retreated. She might have but for Matt’s touch, which pulled her back before she could give into the instinct to run from this, as it so often did. The all too familiar, feather light touch of his thumb tracing her jawline only sent her spiraling even further into the space they both occupied that she tried so hard not to think about in the last two years. The space where they could both exist, and everything that reminded her why she loved him was still miraculously intact despite time apart and things said in anger.
Lydia had spent so many years afraid to let someone in. For as many successful relationships as members of her family had over the years, there was about the same number that had also been lost. Not all to tragic circumstances resulting in someone's death, but often enough that Lydia had decided a long time ago to save herself the heartbreak and never let anyone get that close. When it came to love, being an Evans felt all but cursed. Then one day Matt Silva had breezed through the doors of Camelot, and all of her carefully laid plans to never fall in love had eventually flown right out the window.
Even now, he still seemed to know her better than anyone else. The way he held her as she struggled with her own worst impulses was proof enough of that.
Something between them was shifting, into this unbearably fragile place where any sudden move could break it. Not knowing what she wanted. Not knowing what he wanted. Knowing that it didn’t matter. How could it? He was still who he was, and she was still who she was. They’d already proven it couldn’t work, hadn’t they?
She could at least accept some of the responsibility. Once she got past her seemingly endless supply of self-righteous anger towards her ex, Lydia knew she'd given up just as easily as he had. It had been easier to blame him entirely at the time, to watch him walk out the door without stopping him. She was just as guilty of not fighting for them, she knew this. But just this once, Lydia didn't have it in her to keep pretending that what they once had meant nothing to her.
"Can we just not say anything for a little while?" Tilting her head into his touch, Lydia kissed him again. Arms circled his neck to pull herself closer to him, allowing the familiar comfort of being in his arms that she craved and so very rarely let herself have. It was for the best. Talking didn't seem to be getting them anywhere fast.