she’d nodded sardonically at the comment about his game. she’d half-hoped the conversation would end there. as always, though, the other half… her eyes then rolled at syre’s blatant lie. to be fair, there was no way she could be sure it was a lie—it wasn’t as if she and darby had spoken in literal years. the last time she’d tried, after all, darby was whisked away by a hysterical anita. typical. still, there was always a hunch. or perhaps it was apprehension. regardless, maintaining a careless, cool head served as pivotal protection, something she felt was necessary in his presence. saf couldn’t target why and, honestly, preferred not to take the time to figure it out. why dig herself deeper into the grave? it was impossible to completely separate, though—one of them somehow always finding their way to the other. still, it took her back a bit when syre came to face her again, tone lacking its previous bit of bite. despite her stubbornness—or perhaps because of it—her eyes rose from her drink and met his. “talk?” she repeated a bit too quickly. “like how we talked while you were gone? you want to talk like that?” pointed brows raised a touch. “or do you want to talk like we did before that? because that’s what we did, right, we talked.” saf immediately recognized the slightest rare raise in her voice, usually eerily calm and steady. an open wound briefly exposed. it was the sudden change in his words that brought it out, she knew it. just talk to me. she simultaneously wanted it and was fearful of its draw.
As soon as her perfectly lined lips parted, he regretted the initial choice of even walking over to her. Admittedly he didn’t know what to expect in the first place, but clearly it was wishful thinking she wouldn’t bring up his leaving. Syre had known the Albrights almost his entire life. He grew up with them, went to school with them, partied with them, and of course dated Saf. Well, their version of dating. He still remembers the day he told her he was skipping a grade and instead of being in eighth grade with Darby, he was going into freshman year with her. High school was tough after the Albright family split, even worse after James died. Leaving for Oxford without saying goodbye was a shitty move, not talking to her, yet helping Darby lose her mind around Europe was also not the greatest move on his part. Clearly Syre was no stranger to making mistakes. He just somehow convinced himself she was fine and that he would never see her again. After his incident and Darby’s parents suggesting Yates, he still didn’t think to contact Saffie. Another stupid choice on his part since she crossed his mind more than he’d ever admit. “Look, I know I should have said this sooner, but... I’m sorry” though the words tasted foreign on his tongue, the sincerity in his voice could not only be heard, but felt. As much as he wanted to comment on the latter type of ‘talk’ he knew the chances of that happening should he start mouthing off would fuck up his chances of ‘talking’ to her like that again. Think smarter, not harder. “I’m sorry” he repeated, looking directly in her eyes. The two words couldn’t be more loaded. The words carrying the weight of every missed opportunity, birthday, and what they could of been while he was gone.
