He didn't mean anything by it, Storms, so relax.

She whispers to herself in her head, loud enough she's almost certain he could spell it out on her lips. No-- wait, don't look at her lips.

Stormy pulls them in, biting down awkwardly as she tries to maintain what little composure she has. It's been weeks since she's really come out of her hovel, and here she is, making an absolute fool of herself in front of the delivery boy.

Gods, he looked familiar.

"Why?"

Because she's a great customer. But she asks anyway, looking rattled, perplexed, annoyed, confused. Her brow twitches, agitation settles onto her face with a vengeance. It relaxes, turns awkward and quiet, however, when their fingers brush against each other. Though her hand clasps around the cup, it clasps over his.

"L-let go, man."

Her voice is quiet, but she exhales in retort when he asks her if she's got it. They're both stammering, both confused by this turn of events.

"Yeah, I've got it, if you'll just let me have it."

Why was he making this difficult? Why was he making her face turn red? Why was his face red? She pulls, frustrated and overwhelmed.

"Dude."

aaron faust

☉

It isn't enough. It would never be enough.

His silence speaks volumes. His question opens up the flood gates, gives her a glimpse, then, at what it is she's been desperate for.

But it isn't enough.

"I don't know."

He stops looking at her and that is when she stands up. The motion is abrupt and she peels off the blanket. There is a moment of hesitation before she ultimately decides to hand it back to him.

"Thanks for dinner."

Or whatever it was this had been. The woman's expression is dark and conflicted, and she seems distracted and far away as she moves to leave.

FERNANDO SILPH

☉

When the hug feels like it might be going on for too long, Stormy leans in deeper. She buries her cheek closer, holds her tighter. Cait's dreams were not unrealistic and not impossible, but they were wistful for a woman who had no idea what she wanted.

"Okay."

cait alfric

☉

"I'm crazy?"

Her voice rises in pitch until it is almost a shriek. Trauma turns her blood to ice, makes her erratic, makes her unreasonable. All she can see, all she can hear, all she can smell is the Soiree. In her peripherals at all times, she can almost see the pink mist from the Soiree creeping back up on her.

It worsens now, seeing him, seeing his Unown. Him shouting at her doesn't help, either.

What scares her worse, however, is the fact that she wants to believe him. He's telling the truth, because why wouldn't he? Why would Derek try to hurt her? It didn't make sense. But nothing makes sense anymore.

"Fuck you."

He returns the Unown and she walks straight past him, desperate to get out of there. She doesn't look back.

DEREK HOFFMAN

☉

It isn't malicious or truly intentional, the reason she hesitates when she offers to give him her coffee cup. But for her, the motion is somewhat intimate, for no other reason than she's sort of crazy.

So crazy, in fact, that, in spite of her body's violent manner of rejecting physical contact with even her closest friends, she gets caught up in something quite intimate as the cup passes hands.

In between her rifling and muttering, her attention spans back to Aaron again and again and.. again.

She blanks, a peculiar blush developing on her face. It reddens worse as she comes back to her senses and full realizes he is still talking to her, and the intimate acts she has manifested are a bizarre and wild fever dream. She blinks rapidly, her hand stills in her purse, and she opens her mouth to object.

But instead, she gasps and sparks.

"What? The fuck's that supposed to mean?"

A great customer. Was that an insult?

But as quickly as her fire flames, it fizzles. She swallows, suddenly more awkward than she had been a moment ago, and she glances away.

"Uh--"

He offers her coffee back, only to pull it away before she could take it. Her fingers brush against his and she does a double-take, brows creasing in confusion, before he gives her her coffee. And she can't manage to pull her hand back, either. So they sit there awkwardly, both holding the same cup.

aaron faust

☉

She makes eye contact with DEREK HOFFMAN, and it startles her. Maybe, in some way, she wanted him to hate her, to never speak to her again. For what she had said to him, for what she had insinuated.

But here he is now, his gaze searching for hers in the crowd. And he follows her, in some capacity, to lean over her shoulder and ask her a question:

"How's the pie?"

What a simple, silly thing to ask. But she is thankful, in some manner, because he does not touch her. He gives her space, and yet still reaches out.

"It's-- I.. haven't had a chance to try it yet."

Her hand trembles slightly, nerves getting the better of her. The fork clatters against the plate and she forces herself to still, awkwardly bringing a bite of the pie up to her lips and stepping aside to as to let Derek grab a plate for himself. His quiet moans of enjoyment and the black and blue stain of the blackberry pie make her smile just a little bit.

"The pie is delicious, Boruta, thank you for bringing it."

She inclines her head to the man, before nudging Razz Kingsman with the tip of her toe. Her brows raise, encouraging.

"Razz, you should try it too."

LANCE VOLLANS boruta maher DEREK HOFFMAN

☉

He relaxes the conversation, takes hold of what meager conversation changer she's offered.

The ribeye.

He lowers the menu and she can hear the rustle. It nudges her curiosity button, pulls her just ever so slightly out from under the dark cloud she's made herself a crutch.

"You're a gym leader for the minor league?"

This is something she should probably know. She probably does know, but circumstances cloud her judgement and stress makes her erratic. She hesitates, lowers her menu all the way to the table. She appears intrigued, mostly, watching him with wide eyes.

"It is.. Alex's gym?"

CIAN MAHER

☉