I miss it, ( he admits with a smile that matches hers, although he'd never admit it was ridiculous. he'd never admit to the fact that it's the exact brand of 'flashy but makes no sense' that appeals to him, specifically. it was cool, and it got him around, and it allowed him to avoid traffic — what more could a guy what?
he gives his bottle a slight shake, assessing how much is left before collaring the bartender bot and asking for another (it's not like it's rushed off its feet—). if the realisation that he'll be drunk before bobbi is and still be drunk after bobbi has occurred to him, it's not reflected in his expression as he looks back from the bar to bobbi.
for a moment, it's as if he's just admiring her (he is, but that's not all it is—), as if he's trying to work out what he wants to say to that 'wrong spy' remark. she knows his thoughts on all of that — spywork — and what it means, what it entails. how he's tried but never quite been able to overlook the uglier side of it all, but in spite of that—
—he thinks it's kind of funny how he just keeps ending up around them. (well, with them, really.)
he supposes he could say that she got him, but they just keep circling that conversation, don't they? they had each other, then they didn't, then they did, then didn't, and it's the same way they just circle each other, on-and-off. old wounds, being opened and re-opened, and he thinks that regardless of whatever else, he'd always needed her more than she needs him.
so he doesn't say it.
instead, he focuses on the faint colour to her cheeks and he leans against the bar, head resting in the palm of his hand. his other hand, he holds up to her face, index finger brushing her skin lightly, right where the blush hits before, slyly— )
Yeah, but right now, you got a bit of red on you, Birdie.
no subject
he gives his bottle a slight shake, assessing how much is left before collaring the bartender bot and asking for another (it's not like it's rushed off its feet—). if the realisation that he'll be drunk before bobbi is and still be drunk after bobbi has occurred to him, it's not reflected in his expression as he looks back from the bar to bobbi.
for a moment, it's as if he's just admiring her (he is, but that's not all it is—), as if he's trying to work out what he wants to say to that 'wrong spy' remark. she knows his thoughts on all of that — spywork — and what it means, what it entails. how he's tried but never quite been able to overlook the uglier side of it all, but in spite of that—
—he thinks it's kind of funny how he just keeps ending up around them.
(well, with them, really.)
he supposes he could say that she got him, but they just keep circling that conversation, don't they? they had each other, then they didn't, then they did, then didn't, and it's the same way they just circle each other, on-and-off. old wounds, being opened and re-opened, and he thinks that regardless of whatever else, he'd always needed her more than she needs him.
so he doesn't say it.
instead, he focuses on the faint colour to her cheeks and he leans against the bar, head resting in the palm of his hand. his other hand, he holds up to her face, index finger brushing her skin lightly, right where the blush hits before, slyly— )
Yeah, but right now, you got a bit of red on you, Birdie.