“ there’s no delicate way to say this , so i’m going to be incredibly cruel , “ to chris’s credit he remained composed , and had throughout the length and gall of ambrosia’s admission from his perfectly steady-tempered albeit dumbfounded posture in the corner of the couch where a barista arrived with a smile to place his coffee in his hand. steady-tempered , but not all impassive. ‘ i understand that men have certain needs , ‘ had sent his priorly pinched brows shooting out of their confusion up his forehead as if they had been intending to hide somewhere in his hairline. ‘ but i would appreciate it if this were strictly a platonic relationship. ‘
his hands came together in something of a chapel , but he didn’t seem to know what to do with them. the spire collapsed as he laced his fingers and placed his chin on top of his knuckles. “ but , first. ambrosia. “ there was a sickly likeness to affection in the way he said her name , but it more resembled the condescension that he hadn’t used in her presence since this friendship of theirs had really come into its own. “ i need you to look me in the eye and tell me that you understand that we are not in the fourth grade. “
‘incredibly cruel’ is a delicate way to package what feels like––for a woman who sheds a tear over ‘could be better,’––an axe to her spine, cleaving at the ego she wears upon her sleeve. instinctively, ambrosia’s nose furls into a display of distaste, hand withdrawing from where it had been placed atop the table, nestled around a latte that had since grown lukewarm. her shoulders slant rigidly, nails forming half-moons in the smooth, milky underbelly of her palms. if her understanding served, she could only gather that chris brady had not, in fact, covertly harbored sentimental pangs of romance for her. in the absence of wanting to be with her, that could only mean he enjoyed her company, her personality and whip-cracking wit, which she found ever more unfathomable, since she had also resolved herself to accept she was perceived as being rather obnoxious.
with an incline of her head, her jaw pries open––though only an anxious tuft of breath eludes her, something ensnared between a sigh and gasp. “clearly. you’re closer to matriculating into a nursing home than a classroom.” words tumble, cheeks flushed: her fingers find the nape of her neck and entangle nervously. as she glances down, her brows shoot up, nesting in the arc of her hairline. “which is exactly why i wanted to clarify, if you did, that i won’t tolerate it. unusual as it may be, this is firmly camaraderie.” she deems herself irreligious; no benevolent god would send her this deep into the trenches of embarrassment without a shovel. “if there was anything you wanted to say, though, feel free.”