“A bit,” he says dryly, an understatement. No matter what comparisons he tries to line it up against, none of it fits. Your girlfriend’s ex moves back to town after a long time away stationed in another city? Sure, maybe, except the amnesia. The complications.
This isn’t, Gwenaëlle starts, the beginning of some explanation and consolation, that half-aborted thought wandering along roughly the same path as his own.
If he doesn’t say something now, he might miss the opportunity. One would have to be a fucking saint to not be a little ruffled by this. So Stephen doesn’t say that it isn’t weird, but instead takes a moment to collect himself. An exhale, fingers drifting, finding the edge of her chatelaine and distractedly fidgeting with the chain.
“It’s only fucked if you’ve been, I don’t know. Pining and biding your time and waiting for the opportunity to fling yourself back into his arms and the romantic reconciliation that you weren’t able to have, before the Fade ripped the chance away from you.” He paints a picture; he purposefully makes it as over-the-top melodramatic as possible, wreathing it in humour to cover up the cracks. Christ, how he hates feeling so frazzled and off-kilter, territorial, jealous. But he’d also once sort of walked into his ex’s wedding and, vastly incorrectly, assumed that part of her had still been waiting for him—
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This isn’t, Gwenaëlle starts, the beginning of some explanation and consolation, that half-aborted thought wandering along roughly the same path as his own.
If he doesn’t say something now, he might miss the opportunity. One would have to be a fucking saint to not be a little ruffled by this. So Stephen doesn’t say that it isn’t weird, but instead takes a moment to collect himself. An exhale, fingers drifting, finding the edge of her chatelaine and distractedly fidgeting with the chain.
“It’s only fucked if you’ve been, I don’t know. Pining and biding your time and waiting for the opportunity to fling yourself back into his arms and the romantic reconciliation that you weren’t able to have, before the Fade ripped the chance away from you.” He paints a picture; he purposefully makes it as over-the-top melodramatic as possible, wreathing it in humour to cover up the cracks. Christ, how he hates feeling so frazzled and off-kilter, territorial, jealous. But he’d also once sort of walked into his ex’s wedding and, vastly incorrectly, assumed that part of her had still been waiting for him—
(What if Stephen’s just the placeholder?)