“you should try apparating straight onto the roof next time,” she sighs, never one to leave an awkward silence alone. “unless breaking your neck was the goal.”
bambi wraps her arms around her legs, the ever-present pout playing on her lips until finally, finally she turns her head to look at him.
her voice cuts through the silence, slicing through the night air and prodding at his conscience.
the lightness in her tone as she chastises him is familiar, and yet, he feels an underlying sense of guilt gnawing away at him— the way she hugs her knees, head tilted delicately to the side as she finally looks at him. the fact that she’s the one to look at him first.
in all their years of knowing each other, they’d never once fought. sure, they’d have petty little arguments— childish spats; incessant bickering— but those had never needed any resolution. because they were won and dambi, dambi and won.
it always had been just as simple as that, hadn’t it?
(except he held things from her. they were best friends, but there were things he wouldn’t tell her— couldn’t tell her. it was a complicated feeling and he hated it more than anything).
and then he’d gotten mad at her, an anger he’d kept deep within, lashing out on a wide-eyed bambi. he’d hated himself then, and he hates himself now, taking a slow drag of the cigarette before he finally turns to look at her. she pouts, and he feels a tug at his chest.
another tug which he distracts himself from by taking another drag— he supposes he deserved that. (but still, it stings: they’d never needed a reason to see each other before).
his exhale is slightly shaky as he gently offers her the cigarette back, his eyes darting from his fingers to her expression.
you didn’t text me. you didn’t call. i missed you.
(at least he can say this much).
“for raising my voice,” he continues, lifting his other arm to gently pat the side of her head. “and for keeping...” his hand stutters as he trails off, finding it difficult to continue the sentence. slowly, his hand slips from where he had been stroking her hair so affectionately, coming back to rest on top of his knees. the emotions whirling around at the pit of his stomach are conflicting; complicated.
it had always been so simple with them.
(then why was opening up so hard?)