He set his glass fully on the table, the crystal clinking against the wooden top. The force behind his reluctance to continue holding it caused some of the bourbon to spill over the top. He watched the pool of brown liquid, following the swirls, instead of turning around to face Rogue. “Oui, chere? Tell me more.” If he looked at her, he might apologize again. He might feel guilty about the drink before him, he might wonder how much different his life would’ve been if he’d married her. He probably wouldn’t be sitting here right now, thoughts a mess of Lorna gone, again, but who knew what other bullshit he’d be in when his heart was so easily entangled. “You gonna hate me forever then? That make it easier for you?”
she could count the number of times she’d seen him without a drink in his hand better than she could the opposite. maybe she’d been choosing to ignore its ugly little stare up until he’d placed it on the counter, using with no more force than ordinary, but still the sound was shattering. a stark reminder that while he’d set it down, it was only a momentary beat of separation -- he’d pick it up again soon as his throat ran dry from the last sip. Her viridian eyes dropped briefly, only to level with his again as he spoke. part of her wanted to tell him to shove it, and definitely not to call her that, but the familiarity of it left her a hesitant, “Maybe.” she admitted. rogue didn’t really want to concern herself with what being friends with him could mean. not when they’d been trying to build a life together once and for the most part -- it had been worth it. but as much as it sucked and she lost him in more ways than one, she didn’t regret walking away. abruptly, she pivoted on her foot and went to the pantry. “what’s with the broodin’ and the drink -- is it tuesday or are you wallowin’?” she asked over her shoulder -- not that she cared.