Once Again | Hector x Ava |
The knocking is faint in his ears from his place on the couch, sprawled out on his back and snoring in front of a muted television. He’s only just fallen asleep, and for the first time in what feels like days. Of course, time is skewed–at least in part–by the half-dozen Harbingers he’s treated himself to that evening, the emptied bottles cluttering up his coffee table. Hector can feel each one slosh around in his stomach as he rolls onto his side, albeit reluctantly, with a grunt in protest of greeting consciousness. It slaps him straight across the face instead once she speaks. Her voice–forgotten and familiar–rouses every one of his senses in an instant.
“…Ava?”
The disciple curses out loud as he fumbles off of the sofa, knocking a bottle or two onto the floor in the process. His feet carry him to the door before he can think to slip on a robe. He’s quite the sight in turn as he stands only in his shorts, hair tousled and eyes red-rimmed, his every joint stiff from sleep–or rather, a lack thereof. At the very least, it’s nothing she’s never seen before. Though, he’d been under the impression she’d never want to see it again. Last time she laid eyes on him, she’d thrown a glass of Arcadia Merlot in his face before storming off in true mélodramatique style.
He had half a mind to bill the Tribune for his dry cleaning.
“What are you doin’ here?”
Yet, the faintest smirk still pulls at his lips. Hector blinks through the blur of sleep to get a good look at her, openly admiring her ensemble from head to toe. It’s obvious that she’s trying to hide in it, though it seems rather pointless to him. She’s a vision, and nothing will ever disguise that.
“Make a wrong turn on your way t’hell?”
She had heard the tripping and the jumping from beyond the door and she sighed a loud. Only Hector, she thought to herself, willing herself to stand at the door and wait, what’s the worst that can happen.
And then he opened the door.
She caught herself from snickering at his appearance, hand gripping the edge of her sweater, knuckles white. He seemed lost in his own apartment, a real piece of work, but then again, she really didn’t expect any less. The bottles still rolling around and clanking from his scramble made her roll her eyes, but his snarky comment made her half laugh, and half want to punch that smug look straight off his stupid face.
stupid, handsome, rugged, idiotic, alcoholic face.
“Actually I did, and I knew you were close with the man in charge, so I thought I would ask for directions.” She snapped back, beginning to regret ever leaving her bottle of comfort back at her flat. It seemed so kind from the sharp memories that were flooding before her eyes as Hector was trying to will away the sleep, and she huffed, crossing her arms as she openly took in his clothing choices.
“I just....” don’t you dare say apologize ava tate, don’t you fucking dare “...wanted to talk.” The actress swallowed back her pride as she glanced around, more worried about people spotting her out of hiding than her ex-husband’s current wardrobe choices. Green eyes narrowing as she focused back on Hector, Ava sighed in anticipation of his smart response. “Plutonic, naturally.”
