"Either you're with me or against me."
Sun is someone that she trusts. Blake has made this known numerous times over numerous occasions, though always subtly. She's not one for conveying her feelings well -- she does what she can, but almost always fails, given her nature. Sometimes it comes off as rude, offensive. She means well -- she swears she does. But her tone sharpens, her eyes slant, her fists curl, her tongue is spiteful.
"What did you expect, Blake?"
"I didn't-- I didn't mean--"
"Listen. Either you're with me, or against me. And I'm not about to stick around and see what's up."
He turns, and doesn't give her a second glance. Her hand shakes at her side, a buried desire attempting to claw its way out. She wants to reach out, to grab the back of his shirt, to pull him back in, to apologize. But she doesn't know how she'd do it without breaking down. And she can't afford to do that. Not now.
Instead, she waits until he's gone into the black of night and slumps down. She slams her fist against the ground, lowers her head, and revels in fifty million unspoken regrets.
