somethingwithturquoise | MHA #4; Saturday Evening [01/29].

One of the nice things about a sangria night was that there really wasn't a whole lot to it; all Summer pretty much had to do was mix up a shit ton of fruit and booze and maybe make sure the place was tidied up a bit. She had considered shipping off the cats to a catsitter (no, she hadn't asked him, but, yeah, Summer was pretty sure Prompto would not complain about her shoving Pancakes and Issa at him for the evening) to get them out of the way, but, considering the nature of this particular sangria night, it might not hurt to have the additional comfort and cuteness around. So they were pretty much just hanging out and staying out of the way, up until the exactly moment when summer moved the first pitcher from the fridge to the living room, which meant they were both suddenly, inexplicably, under her feet.

"Nice try, assholes," Summer told them, once she did successfully get the pitcher to the coffee table without incident, after which they both dispersed and would more than likely be oddly absent until the exact moment she went to get the second pitcher.

She just assumed they were definitely going to need the second pitcher.

[[ mostly for a certain sad glowfaced alien, but can be open before him in the timeline if anyone wants/needs to poke at her! And, yes, I do have actual cats, how can you tell? ]]

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"...sometimes," said Summer, after a moment, her shoulders hitching a little as she couldn't really think of any other way to say it anymore, "that's just what happens. Some people just...have to go. It's not, like, anything against you and it doesn't mean that what you guys did have wasn't important, or meaningful, it's just..."

She trailed off a little, really failing to come up with how to explain it.

"Things just change, Stark. It's just how things go. And some people...most people, actually, in my experience, just leave. Sometimes they come back. Usually they don't. And it sucks, and it leaves this big hole inside you that you don't think you're ever going to fill, but some people spend so much time trying to figure out how to fill that hole that they forget about everything else around that hole."

Not that she was thinking about anyone specifically in her own life, nope, not at all, not one stinking bit...

Stark didn't respond at first, opting for a few very large sips (gulps, really) from his glass instead.

"I don't know that those holes ever get filled," he said carefully. "It's more...making room for them. Around them. This will always hurt. The last time...it was different, that time, the first time I was here. Zhaan...she died. And I was lost. But then I was here and she was here and she wasn't mine, she wasn't the same but she was here and she was alive and then one day she was gone. And she didn't say anything. She was just gone. And I...I was a mess. A disaster. And it still hurts. It will always hurt. But you live with the hurt and it's part of you, eventually. It doesn't go away. This isn't going away either and I know that and I...I wish I didn't."

To all of that, Summer listened quietly, maybe with a sip or two of her drink, but mostly, just listening, with a small, sympathetic tug at the corner of her mouth at certain key points. And when he finished, she was quiet for a moment longer, too, just...sitting on it a little. Finishing her glass, and then reaching for the pitcher.

"I think," she finally said, "it has a lot to do with what you do about that hurt, though. You know? Like...do you let it keep breaking you down? Or do you use it to, like, make yourself stronger? I mean, you said so yourself, you've survived this hurt before, Stark. You can do it again."

"I'm tired of being hurt," Stark said quietly, holding out his glass. "I'm used to it. I don't want to be. I was getting to used to being happy and not being lonely anymore and now it's back to before. Worse than before."

"At least you're not alone, though, right?" Summer asked softly, refilling the glass, and frowning a little as the pitcher was getting increasingly empty. "You still have a lot of people here who do care for you. So it's not all bad."

Edited 2022-01-30 20:09 (UTC)

"Not entirely alone," Stark agreed. "No. I know that." It wasn't the same, and he knew Summer knew that too.

"It does help, knowing that," he added after another sip from the refilled glass. "You're helping. I appreciate it. This, all of it." He wanted to be sure she knew that.

Yeah, Summer definitely knew it wasn't the same, but, if you asked her, it was better. But maybe she was a little jaded and cynical in that respect. She just put way more faith in the friends she'd made her than she would pretty much anyone.

But she'd probably said enough stuff Stark probably didn't want to hear, so she just nodded, drained what was left in her glass, and set aside.

"I'mma gonna go get that other pitcher," she declared, slapping her hands on her thighs and getting up just a little too fast, but she was good! It was good! "I know we've still got some, but it probably wouldn't hurt to be...pre-emptive. Prepared? Pre-something."

Just because Stark didn't want to hear things didn't mean they shouldn't be said. He just might need them repeated a few times.

"Better to have it," he agreed. "You made it. So we ought to drink it." And maybe if he had enough he'd sleep better tonight. "I'll...open the cookies?" Which really just required lifting the top of the box but they were there and hadn't been touched yet. "We should eat some. Probably."

MHA #4; Saturday Evening [01/29].

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