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she hears him say her name and for a second she thinks it's enough to undo her entirely. there's something steady and something familiar in the sound of it, almost like the company inside hadn't worn her name out and she was hearing it for the first time all night. it nearly pulls the air right out of her lungs. maybe it's the tension of the last hours finally dissipating. maybe it's just him. his compliment lands somewhere she doesn't want to touch and her gaze locks on his with equal parts ease and intensity. "you always did have a way with words," she says lightly, the words laced with humor. she does a little spin even, showing off the low back and throwing him a glance over her shoulder. "you like it?" she's quick to face him again, lips curved into a smile. "thank you." she steps a little closer at his question, a sigh falling from her lips as her hand instinctively reaches for him. it settles on his shoulder, smoothing over a spot like she's trying to iron out a crease in his shirt and not just looking for an excuse to hold on to him. "the night was..." she hums thoughtfully, following the movement of her fingers before she meets his eyes again, "too long. questionable company. even more questionable talking points." she exhales, some of the tension she's been carrying slipping loose now that she's finally standing in front of him. "what about you? how did you end up here?"

It had been a busy night and certainly not a boring one, even if the only thing Conrad had been wishing for all night was to just drive home, get out of his suit and just go to sleep. The amount of conversations he had to overhear, each subject more crazy than the other and each person more out of their mind than the previous one, the things people left in the car, the rudeness and the fake politeness, he was just eager to finish his shift.

The moment he hears her voice it becomes evident that the night is over for him. He had made more than enough money, put up with enough, he could afford to leave earlier. He wanted to leave with her. Even more so after seeing the dress she was in, his breath stops for a second, so far from the image he is used to and yet still not different enough to the point that she stops being the Ariya he knows.

Even if it is evident that they both belong to very different social circles now, that thought doesn't seem to consume his mind just yet. "Ari," he sounds like the breathless one even though she was the one who had to walk towards him "you look -" the color in his faces betrays his thoughts "you look really beautiful" he can't help but tell her the truth, it's a simple but genuine compliment, he had never been the greatest man with words, not like this and not when he feels like his heart wants to jump out of his chest and offer itself at her. "How was the night?"

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she releases a shaky breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, the sound small in the quiet between them. the tension in her shoulders loosens just a fraction at his nod, at the follow-up questions that don't come. he's letting her keep her secrets, gracious as ever, at least for now, and some of the anxiety wound tight in her stomach eases because of it. but the guilt stays, heavy and unyielding, gnawing at her insides like punishment she knows she deserves. her eyes flutter shut, not to avoid him this time but to surrender to the relief of not being forced to explain what she can't yet put into words. when she leans into his touch, it's slight, tentative, as though she's testing whether it's safe to allow herself to lean on him, if she can do so without placing the burden she carries onto him as well. her free hand lifts almost unconsciously, mirroring the earlier motion, fingers curling lightly around his wrist where it rests against her cheek. the uneven texture of her other palm against his skin says what her lips don't and confirm what he's already noted aloud. there's more. "i'm sorry." the words are quiet but unwavering, soft enough they could disappear into the space between them if he weren't so close. when her lashes lift, her gaze catches his, like she needs him to see the truth there, to prove she means it, so he’ll believe it even if she can't give him the rest. she nods in answer to his question about the cuts, though the confirmation does not come out verbally. she doesn't move his hands away. she keeps them there, grounding herself in their steadiness, before leaning forward until her forehead comes to rest lightly against his shoulder. the closeness makes her voice come out even softer, muffled but certain. "i didn't want you to be mad at me." the confession is fragile, laced with remorse, but it carries something else too. exhaustion, maybe, from holding so much alone for so long. it's not an excuse, she knows as much. she shouldn't have lied to him. but it is the honest reasoning he's looking for. a beat passes before she adds, even quieter, "didn't want to make you worry, either." her fingers tighten just faintly around his wrist, the smallest reflex, like she's bracing herself for him to tell her she's failed at both anyway.

His heart breaks easily underneath her gaze. It is not an unfamiliar feeling as he watches the storm that quickly forms in her eyes and for a second he is grateful, probably more than he should be, for her ability to reign it all in before he falls a victim to every emotion threatening to come out of her.

As much as he wishes to be her safe haven whenever the clouds start coming in and the tides get too strong, he has a feeling that maybe she is the fortress after all, one he is still trying to understand, to get to know all over again.

She reaches for him and his breath catches, a wince just barely making its way out of his lips when he feels the touch of her hand - he had dealt with a lifetime of bruises not only on himself but in others, he could recognize that feeling anywhere and yet he doesn't pull away, he pulls her even closer, his other hand making its way to the other side of her face, holding her there - steady. "There's more," he doesn't ask, she has already confirmed it and in that moment it scares him what he would do for her, the limit he promised himself not to cross again suddenly feels within reach - his chest feels tight, the secrets in between them that is not completely aware of weight down on him.

He can't bear the thought of not knowing what happened, of her keeping things from him, of him not knowing who did this to her or what caused her all those injuries, but above everything he can't have her pulling away from him, not because of this. So he compromises, he nods once, a small gesture, even if his jaw is set and even if his eyes are serious and even if his mind is begging him to do the exact opposite. But his mind can't win, not when his heart is so deeply attached to the woman in front of him, begging for him not to ask any more question. "Alright, but don't lie to me again" she can hide all she wants from him, that won't be enough to make him leave, he respects her and he hopes that one day he will be able to make sense of what happened right here. He just can have her lying to him like that again.

He sighs, the pads of his thumbs stroke the skin of her face in a gesture that's more intimate than it should ever be between two friends, something he is not willing to read into too much at this point. "Have you taken care of it properly? Cleaned the cuts?" that's all he can offer now, take whatever she wants to give him.

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for a moment, she almost folds under the weight of it — his hand on her chin, the brush of his thumb, the way his voice dips lower without losing its gentleness. it's too much. too grounding. too conrad. her eyes well up immediately. she manages to blink the tears away without letting them fall for the second time since he's entered her apartment. ariya forces a small breath around the lump in her throat, gaze steadying on his like she's willing herself not to falter, yet still not succeeding. because there's a flash. a faint, betraying glimmer in her gaze that speaks to the storm of it all: the ache sitting in her rib cage as her heartbeat spikes, the spiral of guilt threading through her veins. "you make it sound so easy," she murmurs, quieter than she intends. her hand lifts instinctively to catch his wrist, holding him there without really meaning to. if it hadn't been practically reflex, she might have worried that he'd notice the uneven texture of her scraped palm. but alas, she can't seem to think straight when he's this close to her, demanding answers. it's yet another slip up to add to the count. "there's…" but she can't seem to finish. there's what? too much to say. too much to explain. none of it willing to make its way across her lips. "i'm okay," she therefore settles on instead. this lie isn't so much meant to convince him, as it is aimed at convincing herself. "you don't need to worry, okay? i'm here. i'm fine. a few scratches won't kill me." a few. another tally on the list. her voice wavers just slightly, enough to betray her, no matter how practiced her restraint. "conrad," she adds after a moment, softer, almost pleading now. she can't lie to him but the truth weighs on her chest like a ticking bomb ready to explode, threatening to do damage if she allows herself to share. it's too much. too soon. too risky. she can't hand it over, clutching at the invisible weight to keep from it spilling onto him. "can't you just... can't you let it go? just this once?"

Everything seems absolutely normal at first, clouded by the momentary relief he feels just by seeing her standing there in front of him. It started with her absence, then came the short text messages, ultimately there was silence and at last, nothing, which resulted in him going down a spiral of picturing the worst case scenarios before finally giving in and coming to see her.

He walks in, laughs softly at her remark, weight lifting off his shoulders while he has yet to notice the signs that sometimes seems off, busy organizing the things he brought on her kitchen counter and just at ease after noticing that she is alive and well and then it's when he replies, eyes falling on her "it's no trouble, ari, c'mon" he tilts his head, gaze still soft, he hates that she thinks she is bothering him in any way when in fact he just couldn't stay still knowing that she was feeling unwell.

"I would be an awful nurse -" and it's on this sentence that he never gets to finish, when his gaze lingers on her and when his ears finally catch on to the fact that her voice sounds just the tiniest bit different that he starts to look for what is really going on. He doesn't notice it right away, but what he notices immediately is her strange smile and how she is failing to meet his eyes - that's a problem right there, because that's when he knows she is hiding something from him.

His hands lifts, finger catching her chin softly just to raise her head, enough to make her look at him, her temperature seems normal and yet he is frowning still trying to put the pieces together, just in time to see the small cut on her cheek, his thumb brushes it before he can stop himself, stopping himself in time to smother the anger that grows just thinking about what might have happened "do you want to tell me the truth, now?" his voice deepens, but the softness remains, he can never be truly mad at her, and especially not when he still hasn't figured out what happened "keep your eyes on me when you speak" that's how he will know, her eyes have never been able to hide a single thing from him. Her lips can distract him, lie and he will still fall deeper for her, like a sailor crashing his ship and drowning happily when lured in by beautiful voices and sweet words. But her eyes could never do that to him, that's what made him fall in the first place, her eyes will never betray him.

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⋆ ⁺ ₊ ౨ৎ @intheseaofred. LOCATION: outside isolde by chef josefina's. TIME : as the night of coronado eterna draws to a close.

she barely remembers walking down the front steps. not really. one minute she's inside, running on autopilot, skin prickling with the aftermath of too much performance and too little truth and the next, she's in the thick night air, her heels clicking against the stone path as she exhales for what feels like the first time in hours. her head aches from holding her expression too carefully all evening. her throat feels tight. she just needs a breath. a moment to come up for air. a sign she hasn't lost the plot entirely. and then, like a lighthouse through fog, she sees him. it takes a beat to register: conrad. standing just off the drive near a line of cars, handsome as ever, looking like the first clean inhale after being underwater too long. she's not sure how he ended up here but she doesn't stop to question it. "i'm clocking out," she murmurs under her breath, fingers brushing her jaw as if adjusting an earring. smoothly, she slips the tiny listening device from behind her ear and tucks it into her purse. no final goodnight to leon, just silence. he'll get the message. then she starts walking. no — hurrying. "con!" she calls out, not quite loud enough to carry. her fingers curl tighter around her bag. it's probably a little undignified, the way she rushes toward him, but she doesn't care. for the first time all night, she's not chasing something uncertain. she's heading towards something safe.

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the moment she sees him smiling at her, something inside her shifts, like tension breaking under its own weight. relief hits first, fast and staggering, then a flood of everything else: the exhaustion, the fear, the guilt still curdling at the pit of her stomach. her grip tightens on the doorknob without meaning to and the action stings her palms, causing her to let go instinctively. for a second she can't speak, can't move, can only blink too quickly to stop anything from spilling over. it's stupid, she thinks, how one familiar face can make her feel like crying. but it's him and for some reason, that matters more than she wants to admit. it feels like she's frozen for ages but it can't be more than a long heartbeat. when she finally gathers as much composure as she can muster, she gestures for him to come inside and averts her gaze. if she looks at him for any longer, the emotions in her chest might choose to combust. it's much too hard to turn him away when he's standing right there. any excuse dies at the tip of her tongue. she barely managed to lie to him through text. lying to his face is impossible. "as much as i'd love that, i don't think i should be giving my neighbors front row seats," she says at last, her voice a little rough around the edges like she's still catching up to the moment. the comment is teasing but as she moves aside, she can't quite meet his eyes yet. it's that damn guilt clawing at her, worsened by the sweetness in his features and his actions. "you shouldn't have gone through the trouble." she forces a smile, hoping it passes as halfway relaxed at least. "what's next? adding nurse to your list of talents? i thought chef was already plenty impressive. people are going to think i'm working you too hard."

Conrad stands at her door, inked hands stand at his sides, after knocking once - then twice. One of them holds a faded shopping bag, certainly not the most charming of choices to match his poor sense of style, featuring just a normal pair of jeans and an old navy sweatshirt rolled up into his elbows. His keys, cigarettes and phone occupy the space in his back pockets, the later remains silent just as it had been for almost all of yesterday, no matter how many calls he had made and no matter how many texts he had sent Ariya it came to a point where she stopped responding.

He decided to give her time. Maybe she had fallen asleep, maybe she was just resting, maybe she truly needed her space. But, he had enough, the worry had been eating him alive and he had been unable to sleep peacefully the past night, just thinking about her alone in her apartment. If she thought her being sick was enough of a reason for him to stay away, then, she must have not known him at all - he had basically raised two kids on his own (while being one himself), saw one of them being born, he didn't scare that easily, nor was he disgusted by a simple flu.

He breathes a sigh of relief before he can stop it after hearing her voice through the door. Thankfully another neighbor was coming in at the same time and let him in, but for a moment Conrad thought of the possibility that she might not even open the door. But, that all fades away once he sees her face, the worry that had settled in his chest eased away just a small bit - she looked comfortable, almost cozy, messy hair, in her pajamas and a sweater that was far too big for her, he couldn't help the tilt of his head or the little smile that peaks through, clearly just happy to see her "hey," he breathes, staring at her "I brought food and some other good stuff that might help, is that enough to let me in or do I need to get on my knees and beg?" maybe he had gotten too used to her presence again, her absence affecting him in ways he was familiar with.

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⋆ ⁺ ₊ ౨ৎ the evening’s true final course has been served.

the name. the motive. the wrap-it-in-a-bow answer to coronado's most violent, public death in a generation. the words are precisely crafted. deliberately delivered. a miller with a cause. a man unlucky enough to become a convenient villain. and what a convenient occasion to present him to everyone on a silver platter. ariya's hand stills around the stem of her glass as she processes and her stomach twists. her brother would have made a convenient scapegoat if he was still around too. maybe it's this very thought that doesn't have her swallow the presented bait. or maybe it's the fact that by now she's spent enough time in this city to know when something doesn't add up. things with stakes this high are never that easy. a killer motivated by warped politics wouldn't stage a point-blank execution like that — not in front of a crowd, in front of an audience of people, some of which he knew, people entirely unprepared to bear witness to that kind of violence. that wasn't just a statement. it was a message. a message meant for a very specific audience. the sheer scale refuses to click into place in her mind. not next to the culprit they've handed out. the trauma left in the assassination's wake, the scream echoing in her ears even now, it can't be written off in a byline this neat. she remembers that day. some mornings, she wakes up already halfway through the memory. the color of blood. the sound of the shot. sometimes it's not the premier on stage. it's people she cares about. but the ending is always the same. she's trying to talk about it. trying being the operative word. with some state-recommended trauma therapist who probably signs the same confidentiality waivers the high council hands out like candy. the woman asks good questions. but ariya's not sure she wants answers from someone she can't fully trust. who can she trust these days, really? she shifts in her seat slightly, eyes moving subtly across the room. she isn't scanning for threats. she's scanning for simone. one of the few people whose name crosses her mind at the former question sitting in her chest. maybe if she finds the same doubt in her eyes, it'll be proof enough that her intuition still works. but she doesn't find her. just strangers dressed like allies and allies that look a little too much like strangers. a thought surfaces in her mind then, quiet and razor-sharp: if she meets the gaze of a del bosque and they find traces of disbelief lingering anywhere on her face... her name might no longer be found on a guest list but rather next in line on the chopping block. so, she does what she's always done. she masks. neutral. polished. lifting her glass, taking a sip and turning her head ever so slightly like she may have just let the information sink in. but her fingers drift to her mouth, knuckles grazing her lower lip under the pretense of fixing her lipstick. "you heard that, right?" she murmurs against her hand, too soft for any ears nearby to catch but not for the listening device she slipped on before leaving her apartment. a beat. she exhales. "...bullshit." she can almost hear leon saying it too in that gruff and matter-of-fact tone. like confirmation of what she already knows. maybe it's her imagination. maybe he's silent on the other end. but the imagined echo still steadies her. it's enough to re-center her. enough to keep her functioning. she rises from her chair slowly, unhurried, not drawing attention. just another guest, preparing to make one last round. one more circuit around the marble floor. one more chance to overhear the wrong thing from the right mouth before she takes her leave. perhaps she shouldn't overstay her welcome.

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⋆ ⁺ ₊ ౨ৎ @intheseaofred. LOCATION: classia tower, ariya's apartment. DATE: a few days after the happenings of this night...

ariya is a mess. though she rarely admits it, not even to herself and surely not to others. she prefers to believe that, with a bit more childhood conditioning, she might have taught masterclasses in emotional compartmentalization. the art of setting your inner turmoil aside just long enough to appear functional had practically been her bread and butter since she'd been old enough to think. and yet, this time, it was undeniable. the storm that had unleashed itself within her ever since her brother's necklace brushed against her fingertips sat trapped in her chest, outdone only by the guilt of remembering simone's injury (which made the blonde the recipient of frequent texts checking in on her) and her own visual reminders of what had happened. her scraped palms and the now fading cut from whipping branches tracing her right cheekbone like a half-forgotten memory. the bruising from the fall she'd taken had been the easiest thing to hide of all. still, she wasn't exactly giving news anchor ready. even worse, she wasn't giving conrad-ready. it was this very reason why she'd taken it upon herself to use every feasible excuse she could think of to avoid bumping into him. how on earth could she begin to explain what had happened when she was barely beginning to wrap her own head around it? how could she have faced him without breaking down? last he'd heard from her, ariya had insisted she was feeling unwell. her last text containing some half-baked excuse about not wanting to get him sick before she'd silenced her phone altogether, trying to swallow the guilt of lying to the one person she least wanted to lie to. she should have known better. the thought hits her all at once when she hears the knocks followed by his familiar voice on the other side of her front door. of course he would show up. of course he wouldn't let her disappear with a flimsy text and radio silence. her heartbeat spikes, thudding against her ribs as if it too was trying to run. "just a second!" she calls out, her voice thinner than she intends. ariya spins on her heel, eyes darting across the apartment like she might find a version of herself lying around that looks a little more stable. her hair is twisted into a lazy low bun, strands that had come loose hours hours ago framing her features. she was still in her favorite matching pajama set, soft cotton in a muted blush tone, comforting in its familiarity but far too intimate for this meeting she hadn't rehearsed for. she lunges for the long-sleeved shirt slung over the back of the couch, yanking it on quickly. the sleeves swallow her hands. an intentional choice. if conrad couldn't see the scrapes and cuts, maybe he wouldn't ask. maybe he wouldn't look at her with that penetrating kind of worry she couldn't handle. ariya takes one more breath, smoothes her hair down with trembling fingers and unlocks the door. when it swings open, the words die in her throat. there he was — every piece of him she missed, every part she was terrified to face. her mind scrambles for something to say, something that will ease the tension in her chest, that will make this seem normal. and yet, all she can seem to muster is a soft and quiet "hi" as her lips curve into a tentative smile.

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a breath catches in her throat upon the intrusion of her personal space. he lingers there like a cloud of smoke, light yet heavy all the same, leaving her lungs and heart stuttering as they're fighting the invisible vapor that might just suffocate her if she let it. his touch burns with a familiarity that he's long lost his claim to. it's different — they're different — but nostalgia has always been a companion cruel enough to send fleeting reminders, flashes of memories, to the forefront of her mind. perhaps under different circumstances that's what she would have gotten stuck on but the fear coiling in her chest isn't due to the disappearing inches of space between them. not tonight. it's the violent reminder of the device leon had bestowed upon her, well hidden in the jewelry by her ear — the opposite side of where his fingers choose to taunt her, by nothing less than some stroke of luck. she'd been confident in the untraceable nature, the placement, the silky locks serving as another shield. but with teo this close, her heart trashes wildly with the impending danger of being found out all the same. she'll let him believe it's all him. better he thinks each shuddering breath and shiver down her spine is solely his doing. the prominent thought commanding her instincts is just one. she needs to play this smart. if she flinches too much, turns her head too quickly, lets her eyes flicker with too much alarm... teo’s observant in his own way. ariya can’t risk it. she needs to throw him off. something nearly impossible to do. he'd always seemed unshakable but she'd be damned if she didn't try. she'd stepped too close to a lingering flame, it only served her right that now she was stuck playing with fire. "flirting with your cousin? is that what you think i did?" she asks when she finds her voice. a sigh falls from her lips that lands somewhere between teasing and disappointed, hand moving in time with the sound as it lifts and reaches out for him. the motion freezes just for the fraction of a second, like there’s an invisible line left to shatter, before she breaks it all the same because she must and allows it to settle against his cheek. "teo, teo," she hums, thumb brushing softly past his skin, "what am i supposed to do with you?" she holds his gaze, willing herself not to look away even though her throat is threatening to go dry. "all this time to study..." the gentle motion stills against his cheek, just to pat it twice. "...and you still don't know me at all." she doesn't withdraw her touch right away, making it a point to brush her fingertips past his jaw and down his neck as they travel, allowing them to settle against his chest. she's determined to give him something to focus on. something to draw his attention away from where his own hands linger. her eyes finally follow the movement of her touch, grateful to free herself from that piercing gaze just for a moment, as she watches herself toy with a button on his shirt. her voice is low, expression pensive when she speaks. "i'd tell you to brush up on your homework but i suppose the subject no longer calls for it." her gaze flicks back up then, as if trying to capture his reaction to her words. her fingers flatten against the fabric of his suit and finally — she pushes. him back, herself away. gentle but firm. slipping further from his reach, pulling herself back out of his orbit, creating treasured space that has clean air flooding back into her lungs as she instinctively draws a deep breath. but her eyes don't look away. not quite yet. "i like the suit, by the way." her lips curve when she speaks. the smile is heavy, loaded. she takes another step back, inching herself closer to the muffled sound of music from inside. "you look nice."

He catches the scent of her perfume as she steps closer to him, a signature that's all Ari; warm and familiar. In contrast, he's a maelstrom of ever-shifting pieces; different tailors, a new cologne, changing tastes — never again found in a place once he's left it.

"Careful," He echoes, doing away with the remaining space between them, the ease of a man who is in the habit of overstepping dangerous lines. "If someone overheard you talking like that, they'd undoubtedly think you're cruel..." Teodósio captures a strand of silky hair between two fingers, a hundred tactile memories running between them. He tucks it behind her ear, letting his hand linger against the base of her scalp.

"Taunting your ex? Flirting with a man who could be his brother?" Not that he imagines Andrea had actually done so tonight, not here and not yet. He's too careful for that risk, or maybe just too neurotic. But the truth doesn't much interest Teodósio. If she likes to imagine that he's jealous, he'll pick up a paintbrush and help her complete the picture.

And when she's this close, it's easy. Moonlight pours over Ariya's face, tilted back to meet his gaze. Beyond the balcony door, a violin trills a muffled solo. All the while his touch ghosts along her neck, forfeiting the curtain of her hair; soft like a brushstroke.

"Gloating about it, even... Who knew you had it in you?"

Poor Ariya, he thinks, eggs always in the wrong basket. Not only would Andrea fail in helping her find where she stands, he doesn't even know where to find it for himself.

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there's a sort of routine to the way he fills up the bowls for the cats that betrays his former claims about his lack of ownership over them and her eyes sparkle with the appropriate amusement at the quiet observation. the furball in her lap stretches, a quiet meow heard in passing before scout departs from his resting place atop ariya and the couch to collect his dinner. she follows suit then, rising from her former position to approach the table he'd set for them. "not even a little charred?" she hums, soft and teasing, though there's an evident warmth bleeding through, "we might have to start discussing your payment soon. typically only the first taste test is free. correct, chef?" she slides into the seat as if she'd claimed it a million times before and, almost out of instinct, she finds herself pulling the chair just a few inches closer to where conrad had put down his own plate. it happens before she can think better of it, like her body is responding to a lingering gravitational pull. she inspects the tacos, lips curving into a gentle smile. when was the last time someone had cooked for her? not at a restaurant or fancy event but in the comfort of their own home without a major occasion. it had been a while, certainly. it had been a while since she had done more than half-heartedly throw something quick together, too. it takes her exactly one bite to release a noise of approval, eyes finding conrad's as she nods eagerly. "you're hired. name your price, whatever it is." her eyes remain locked on him when he speaks as she hangs on every word he says. the sentiment was familiar. everybody needs somebody. it was a belief she'd echoed before and yet, somewhere along the way, the reality of it seemed to have gotten caught in the crossfire of the position she'd placed herself in. the list of people she trusted had dwindled significantly since her brother's passing, the list of ones she relied on had become even shorter. she liked to think of herself as reliable but when was the last time she'd actually let herself lean on somebody? today, she realizes, gaze studying conrad's features like she's trying to catalogue details into memory. as long as it's the right person. ariya places the taco back on its plate once he finishes speaking, wiping her hands clean before reaching one out towards him, pinky extended in a silent request for him to loop his own through it, much like something she would have done when they were much younger. she meets those bright blue eyes, her gaze not shying away as she speaks. "pinky promise to be your person if you promise return the favor?"

He tilts his head just slightly, a small movement that shows just how attentively he listens to her, even when the words of a reply don't form on his lips. Their dynamic has changed, both of them have changed over the years and yet somehow in this place, it feels like nothing ever changed, it feels easy and normal, like falling asleep on your bed after a long day. The conversation flows and the small silences that linger don't feel uncomfortable.

His eyes flicker back towards her figure, his heart beating just in time to remind him of the dangerous feelings he is unwilling to admit, "don't get cocky now" it sounds like a warning but without the edge it is supposed to have, instead its softened, lost within his smile. If, Ari, only knew just how much she had distracted him in these past few days.

The phone he always used to lose around at work, the same one he often left at home simply because of how little attention he paid to it, using it mostly only for work and little less, was now always tucked in his pockets, just to make sure that if she needed him, he would be within reach.

He puts in the final touches, leaves the rest of the dirty dishes in the sink and washes his hand before setting up the table, the food ready for them to enjoy, just before he moves of again to feed the cats. All three of them looking at him with attention before moving to their usual spots, "c'mon, let's see if I did well enough for you, and unfortunately they are not burnt" he replies, trying to not engage with the little pang of jealousy he feels by picturing Ariya smiling at another man.

He stops, lets her sit down first before doing the same. There are many ways in which they are different, but in some they are identical. "It's strange, isn't it?" Conrad still remembers the first time his sister was able to cook dinner for the first time and even if he was a bit proud, he could not help the odd feeling of actually having someone do something for him. It was easier and natural to be the one always taking care of things. "But, not bad?" he asks before picking up one of the tacos and giving it a bite, still looking at the woman in front of him "I'm still learning that no one is actually meant to be doing everything on their own, it's okay to rely on someone, as long as its the right person" he had enough of trusting the wrong people in the past, however, something in his heart told him he could still trust her. The one that had never disappointed him, the one he had missed so much.

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she doesn't flinch when he turns to face her. doesn't look away either. the balcony air feels as though it has turned taut as a wire. and still, she holds his gaze. steady and full of searching, expression unreadablen in the half-light. at his last remark something flickers across her expression. it's not hurt, not quite surprise, though there's traces. it's something else. something that seems to spur her on enough for her to draw closer. her body moves as if its been waiting for the opening, smooth and quick, minimizing some of the distance between them. "careful," she says, voice pitched just low enough to make it intimate. she stops still an arms length away, as though there's an invisible line she knows not too cross. too dangerous. like her subconscious is instinctively warning her not to get too close for comfort. "if someone overheard you talking like that, they might think you sound jealous." the words are almost teasing, though there's some bite behind them as she holds his gaze, studying those all too familiar eyes up close. her lips curve, pulling into a smile that's sharp. she wants to swallow the next words but they escape her before she can think better of it. "maybe my type is simply someone who doesn't keep me guessing where i stand."

'Andrea and I have already made our introductions, you know.'

He could say that he knows, that he'd seen them interacting. Not close enough to have the faintest idea what they were talking about, obviously, but it makes little difference. He knows every one of Ariya's smiles, knows the ones that are real from the ones that aren't, and Andrea – whatever he'd said to her – had earned the former.

"More the fool, he."

If Ariya's meant to take the hint, she refuses, continuing to tell him how well they got on; how they've even exchanged numbers. He bristles at that, all the irritation he had swallowed when speaking to Andrea earlier that evening rising back up his throat.

He's no wiser for it, can't put his finger on what irks him about it, except an inexplicable feeling as though someone has stolen the die, or slipped a card out of his hand and left him at a disadvantage for it. "What could you possibly want with my cousin's number?"

As if that isn't enough, it's apparently his fault introductions had waited this long.

(It is his fault, but that's not the point.)

"Please accept my apologies, Ariya." It's caustic and sharp as Teodósio turns abruptly, the line of his body now facing hers. "I didn't realize he was your type."

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💐

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“Grief is love’s souvenir. It’s our proof that we once loved. Grief is the receipt we wave in the air that says to the world: Look! Love was once mine. I love well. Here is my proof that I paid the price.”

— Glennon Doyle Melton (via 89words)

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she eyes him for a beat, without fully turning to glance at him. like she can't risk letting him read her full expression. like she's dissecting his words. like she's trying to peel back each individual layer of his reaction until she's left with answers she should have stopped digging for a long time ago. eight years to be exact. "andrea and i have already made our introductions, you know." she says then, the pause that follows delicate and measured to let the words sink in. "he's easier to talk to than i expected from someone sharing your last name. no immediate sharp edges. we even exchanged numbers." her gaze flicks to teodósio, a quiet challenge in her eyes. "you could have spared him the trouble of introducing himself. but then again, you never liked making things easier for anyone, did you?" she doesn't say it cruelly. in fact, it sounds almost like she means it. like she understands — or assumes, at least — that making things hard is one of the only ways he knows how to keep things safe.

It's a rare thing for Teodósio to wonder what other people are feeling, but standing on the balcony with Ariya – as if suspended in time – he wonders what she's feeling. How many times had she asked him about his family, his life, wanting to be part of it? How many times had he resisted; distracted her, put her off, kept her at arm's length?...

And now she's here. Not a thief in the night, but an invitee on a very exclusive guest list; one over which even he hasn't had any say. How does it feel? Teodósio tilts his head back, working a crick out of the muscles in his neck.

'Besides, Andrea doesn't make himself scarce when I walk into a room.'

"Maybe he's stupid." The words spill savagely out of his mouth as he rights his head, turning to flash Ariya a look. "Maybe you should really take pity on him, out of all the people you could approach when you walk into a room."

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"that depends," ariya says, eyes flicking upward like she's considering the question seriously. "are you the kind of man who makes good on his book-lending promises or the kind who just likes to say he has a library?" her voice is light, evidently teasing and something warmer lingers beneath it. a curiosity that could grow if allowed. "andrea del bosque, bookworm. who knew?" she doesn't sound mocking. in fact, there's the faintest note of approval tucked into the words, maybe even a little intrigue. at his question, she reaches for her purse, as if deciding something mid-thought, plucking out a minimalist business card containing her number. she offers it between two fingers, head tilting slightly. "here. for when you feel like arranging our next meeting." her lips curve into a smile, eyes sparkling with the faintest hint of well-meaning mischief. "we'll call it a two-person book club."

"I think I could get you that hazard pay you're looking for... if we go about it the right way, that is." Not that his family would ever pay her for anything, but he has near-unlimited amounts of money, more than he knows what to do with at any given time; he could afford to use a bit of it, even if on something more a joke than anything serious. "He would never tell me about a crush, but I'll keep my mind on it, I'm sure something'll come up." Truthfully, the only true childhood memory he has of Teo is that of finally finding out the thing that Teo'd been holding over his head for... what was it, weeks? Months? Years? And the heartbreak that came after, the questions, the answers it provided, his world turning upside down in a way that makes him sick to his stomach to this day, a roller coaster he can't get himself off of. "Oh, I never claimed to be perfect. But I have a decent collection of books, you're more than welcome to borrow from it at any point. My library's my favorite room in my home." That's true; it's big, but not cold. Dark, but not oppressive. The chairs are comfortable, there's a fireplace that's consistently burning in the winter, it might be his favorite place in the world. A brow raises at her next words, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "And when will be the next time we see each other?"

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"i have no trouble telling you apart," she says, evenly, no bite behind it. just the quiet confidence of someone who has looked too closely before to ever make that mistake. someone who used to light up at the sight of his frame before his face ever came into view. she doesn't step closer. just leans lightly against the railing, eyes flicking toward the scenery stetched out before them like it might give her something else to focus on. there's a calmness to her posture but it's practiced. the kind people wear when they don't trust themselves to show what's underneath. "besides, andrea doesn't make himself scarce when i walk into a room." a beat, then a dry glance sideways. she lets it hang there, soft but pointed. not quite an accusation, not quite nostalgia. maybe something in between.

Back when they were seeing each other, some eight years ago, he hadn't considered the way her career choice might one day come to haunt him. She'd been young then, years away from the set of a news station or a broadcast microphone. Now, he can't escape her. Not even here, it seems, in the heart of his own domain.

There's a stiffness in his spine that wasn't there a minute ago, but no visible change in his demeanor as Ariya approaches, the satin of her dress whispering over the balcony's marble. "So take them off... The dress is long; you'll still look a vision." He doesn't clarify whether he means a good one or a bad one. Instead, he lends an ear as Ariya reassures him that she won't linger. Teodósio doesn't respond with please, don't be silly, or even no, that's okay. He just listens, eyes on the dark, inimitable blue of the night sky.

"Maybe you were looking for Andrea. I'm told we look similar from behind."

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"i know," comes the reply, quiet but unmistakably hers. ariya steps past the threshold like she owns the night rather than wandered into it. as if his voice didn't give her momentary pause. her heels click softly against the stone, deliberate, unhurried. she doesn't look at him at first. just crosses to the edge of the balcony with the kind of practiced poise that makes it seem like she was invited there, not dismissed. "i figured if i was going to lose any more feeling in my feet, i might as well do it somewhere with a view." only then does she glance over her shoulder, expression unreadable. "didn't realize you'd already claimed it." a beat. "don't worry. i won't linger." but she doesn't leave, either. not yet.

LOCATION — Isolde in Villa Solana DATE — July 18, Pt. I STARTER — Open to Any/All

He'd thought to escape the crowd temporarily on one of the villa's quieter balconies.

Unfortunately, the entrance behind him marks the third time he's been interrupted in a span of ten minutes. He has no interest in putting on another charade of false humility in response to "this place is a maze!" or a near-identical sentiment, so Teodósio speaks before he's spared the glance over his shoulder. "Ballroom's the next door over."