he hasn’t been purposely avoiding talbot since their tense conversation in the lecture theatre. there’s just... a dutiful care that kit’s been taking in walking around corners a little faster when he sees a familiar head of curly brown hair. or leaving the house just a few minutes later when they’re due to have lectures together - precautionary measures, of course.
but kit lacks foresight. and as he stands at the small buffet table to grab some food, it’s almost as if octavia’s ghost has intervened in making this happen just to see the unabashed look of a deer-in-headlights that he gets when his knuckles collide when reaching for the same spoon as the person beside him; the sorry that falters and is never spoken as it catches in his throat with a glance in the other’s direction. because kit knows now just how wrong he was. “oh. griffith.” his cheeks are tinged with embarrassment, his free hand reaching up to brush at the heat uncomfortably. suddenly the thought of facing talbot in a corridor was more welcome. at least then maybe then he would have been able to feign the same kind of confidence he’d had when sparring with him. instead, he’s uncharacteristically squirming as he nudges his head to the bowl before them, “... you go first.” ( @talgriffith )