dariaftw:
daria had simply grunted when he had attempted redirect the attention from him, going back to the menu for a second. they’d been to this restaurant dozens of times, the establishment recently becoming a favorite in their rotation. they lazily pour themselves a class of wine as renan speaks, eyes boring into him ( they’re still leaned back as they continue to look at him, taking a drink from the wine glass slowly beginning to chill their fingers. ) it’s an uncomfortable beat too long before she shrugs, telling her manager that she’d only take a minute - much to the latter’s disdain - as she takes both of the glasses and the bottle with her. an empty one sat down in front of him and a glass being poured as she pulls out another cigarette and lighter, silently offering one to him before lighting her own.
*
a cigarette might calm the super-charged guilt that’s manifesting itself in the form of his leg bouncing rapidly underneath the table, but renan holds a hand up in refusal, lightly shaking his head. “ no, no. but thank you, ” he says, suddenly drawing a blank at how to proceed from here. he’s spent countless hours going over every crucial talking point he could use to try and assuage the situation, but the fact that he did so entirely in french is posing a problem now that he has an open platform to defend himself in his second language. “ okay, i’m just — so sorry, daria, ” renan blurts out, deciding that shit can’t get much WORSE if he just rambles aimlessly, “ i swear i had no idea, seriously. seven never told me shit, i was totally blindsided when i saw the news you two had... ” an uncomfortable beat passes, and he avoids daria’s eyes for a brief moment to look at a neighboring table, “ look, i just feel like shit about it. and i understand if you, like, fucking hate me and want me dead, ‘cause i would too, but you have to know i’m sorry. ”













