[attr="class","mila2"] Fucking Gunner Graves. How dare he leave her waiting for brunch? How dare he!

[break][break] It had been days, and Mila just couldn't get over it. The woman huffed, working in a flurry as she set up the various mannequins in the store as she prepared for them to open for the day. It had been only a few weeks since PRIMARINA opened again, but there were already a flurry of customers — both old and new — who wanted to make bookings for appointments. With new spring galas, masquerades, and the-like in the coming months with summer just around the corner, there was a lot of work to be done.

[break][break] And yet, Mila couldn't get her mind off Gunnder Fucking Graves.

[break][break] Vincenzo, her Alolan Ninetales, gives a whine of concern and she waves him off.

[break][break] "I'm fine, Vinny. Don't worry. I don't even care anymore. Who cares. I ate a really good brunch that day! The eggs benedict was super delicious. And I got so many likes on that post —"

[break][break] The door jingles with entry.

[break][break] Mila, who was halfway between two incredibly fluffy dresses, pokes her head out.

[break][break] "Is that Nico? Tell him I'll be right — "

[break][break] She blanks when she sees - not her loyal, faithful assistant - but —

[break][break] "Gunner Graves." Pulling her out of the way between the mannequins, she steps around them so that she can look at him properly. Mila huffs, hands on her hips. " "What the fuck are you doing here?"

[break][break] Mimicking him, incidentally, from that night at the bar.

[attr="class","ooc"] Gunner Graves

☉

[attr="class","mila2"] "The HBIC?" she repeated, unable to hide the slight bitterness that laced it's way through her tone. It was impossible say whether the bitterness was from the memory of how they'd met, of the organization itself, or how she could never be rid of it — rid of him — no matter how far she ran. "Of course it is."

[break][break] She huffs, turning away from him and walking deeper into the boutique proper. The store was tastefully elegant, designed with a blend of modern and chic elements as expected of high-fashion couture. The walls were adorned with large paintings and mirrors, strategically placed to reflect the carefully curated displays of clothing and accessories, and the overall area was minimalistic in theme, with clean lines and a mostly white color scheme.

[break][break] In the center, there was a cozy seating area adorned with white sofa cushions, providing clients a comfortable spot to relax and browse through magazines or discuss style choices. The cushions were plush and inviting, painted various shades of red and magenta. A pop of color, in the minimalistic landscape.

[break][break] Confidently, her heels clicked against the boutique's polished floor. Mila walked over to the displayed dresses of their newest summer lineup, just recently delivered. For a moment, her gaze focused on the meticulously arranged array of colorful dresses and sharp, tailored suits.

[break][break] It was obvious. She was ignoring him. She didn't want to talk to him. She was mad. Even if she was pretending she wasn't.

[break][break] "You don't need to lie, Mr. Graves. It's fine. Nothing to apologize for, really. You don't owe me anything."

[break][break] He didn't. Maybe it would do good for Mila to remember that.

[break][break] "Anyway," she said, bundling some fabric in her hand after peeling it off the mannequin, and trotting back towards him. "I have no idea what the others in my program are doing," she said, haughtily, "You know as well as I do that I don't give a crap about - " You. Rocket. Them. "All of that." She gestured emptily in the air, as she walked up to him, waving her manicured hand in front of his face.

[break][break]

[attr="class","ooc"] Gunner Graves

☉

[attr="class","mila2"] 'I'm not lying, Mila.'

[break][break] He wasn't. She knew he wasn't, but it was so much easier to pretend that he was. That he was just some asshole who had stood her up for brunch, one that she wouldn't ever have to think about again, because he was such a Grade A-jerk —

[break][break] 'We're not strangers.'

[break][break] Gently, he grasps her wrist. There is something about that small movement that catches her offguard, makes her breath hitch. It's nothing like that night at the club, where emotions were high and the music was loud and the heat of her anger fueled her into wanting to make him crumble. Just one simple gesture and he'd found her off-switch — her expression fell away, mimicking his, before she slowly yet softly pulled her wrist away from him.

[break][break] "Okay," she sighed. "Fine. But you're not going to just stand there. I'm going to put you to work."

[break][break] She walks away from him once more, her heels clicking against the floor, before returning with a small box. In that box was a series of dandelion flowers and string. "I need to make at least twenty of these necklaces before next week, for a showing. You can help me with that before my next client comes."

[break][break] The designer leads him to one of those plush, white couches and seats herself atop it. Wearing a mini-skirt, she crosses one leg over the other and with expert hands gets right to work.

[break][break] "What do you wanna talk about?"

[attr="class","ooc"] Gunner Graves

☉

[attr="class","mila2"] She busies herself with her work, because it is always the easiest thing to focus on, especially when the alternative is focusing on him. And whatever it is that he wanted from her.

[break][break] As he fields questions to her, her brow furrows. Conflict arises from within, resentment that clashes with the instinctual need to give in to what he wanted.

[break][break] "First," she said, putting down the halfmade daisy chain. "Are you asking me for work or —"

[break][break] Her breath hitches at the implication, and she takes a breath. Steadying herself, just like her therapist taught her to.

[break][break] "I just. I just need to know who I'm answering to, Gunner."

[attr="class","ooc"] Gunner Graves

☉

[attr="class","mila2"] 'Sorry.'

[break][break] Guilt pricked at her heart at Gunner's genuine response. She knew that he didn't like to apologize, least of all her to her. But she was still a little bit mad at him for ghosting her that day.

[break][break] She looks at him for a moment longer before picking up her own necklace. One was stored in away in a box before she started working on the next. Or at least she was before he said something absolutely vile.

[break][break] "What?" she said, dropping the necklace in her lap. She turned to him, gaze crackling with upset. "How could you even say that, Gunner? You - "

[break][break] 'It's not him,' she reminded herself steadily. It was the HBIC. It was what she'd asked of him, wasn't it?"

[break][break] She took a breath.

[break][break] "No," she said, lips twisted into a scowl. "You know I wouldn't."

[break][break] 'They killed Lukas. How could I?'

[break][break] She'd told him that once. Maybe he'd forgotten.

[attr="class","ooc"] Gunner Graves

☉

[attr="class","mila2"] The touch of his hand on her wrist was both infuriating and comforting all at once. She didn't need him to calm her down. She was fine. Just fine.

[break][break] But at the same time, she couldn't ignore the instinctual feeling of his hand on hers, the way that he simply knew what buttons to press to calm her —

[break][break] It was infuriating. Just absolutely awful.

[break][break] The feeling of him pulling away even moreso.

[break][break] The fact that she believed him when he spoke and said that the question wasn't coming from him. That he knew, knew her. The tiny spark of hope in her chest that refused to die, no matter how many times she'd tried to douse it.

[break][break] "Mm," she hummed, eager to bury her own feelings in the importance of his questions. Just work. They could do this, right? "I'm not sure, honestly."

[break][break] After all, it had been years since she'd been a part of Rocket. Things were so different now.

[break][break] "Slateport, probably. But things have changed since then — you live there. Shouldn't you know that?"

[break][break] Her lips quirked into a smile, fake, as she looked at him.

[attr="class","ooc"] Gunner Graves

☉

[attr="class","mila2"] "Then you're asking the wrong person!" she snapped.

[break][break] Mila was hardly able to hold herself back. Maybe it was because of the audacity of Gunner of all people to burst into her safe place, and then try to tear all her walls down. Maybe it was because of the topic itself. Maybe because it was Gunner himself.

[break][break] Shouldn't he have known better? Didn't he even care —

[break][break] 'Maybe you should go,' the words nearly fell from her lips, only to be pulled back when Gunner did it for her. He wrenched himself away, leaping to his feet. Her skin burned from where their knees had touched.

[break][break] Bile grew in her throat as she looked vengefully at him, only to halt once she realized that he was actually leaving.

[break][break] "Wait," she said, panic rapidly replacing the resentment. He was leaving?

[break][break] Against her better judgement, her hand reached out for him. It wrapped around his wrist, just before he could stalk away from her.

[break][break] "Don't go."

[break][break] Standing up, she took a deep breath, and then looked at him.

[break][break] "You came all this way." Her breath hitched. "Don't just... go."

[break][break] She wanted to come up with a better excuse as to why he should stay, but she didn't even know herself why she needed him to. She just knew that he couldn't leave — not like this. Not again.

[break]

[attr="class","ooc"] Gunner Graves

☉