2020-08-21 - The Let Down

Most of the changes that have occurred at Kelly's Gym since Sparrow began her employment are things that members who are up to date on their dues won't ever notice, like some better back-office organization and less paperwork-related grumbling from the owner, but some of the impact is more obvious. Like additions to the playlist which provides perpetual background beats for the rough crowd that tends to train here. There's also a little more color if only because she's actually physically present with fair frequency now, a purple-haired beacon of brilliance behind the glass window looking into the back office. Or out of the back office into the gym, depending on your point of view. Today, she's in a pale sunshine yellow tee shirt with a rainbow on the front that declares her SUPER DUPER even if her expression isn't quite so upbeat, no smile curling her lips as she bobs her head and mouths Just cuz you walked in don't mean you're walking out along with the music, attention focused on the laptop opened in front of her on what may well be her side of the L-shaped desk. It's got a little pink pony with balloons on its butt next to a stack of papers yet to be sorted. It may as well be a nameplate.

There's a familiar form that comes to haunt the doorway of the office without so much as a knock. Cristobal leaning against the door jamb in a muscle shirt and joggers, a gym bag hanging from its nylon webbing handle from a curl of fingers. To most, he's just here to work out, but sometimes looks can be deceiving. "You work here now." It's not...really a question. Cruz' affect is flat, guarded, but there is something in his eyes that betrays a level beyond that. Deeper. Conflicted.

Sparrow's shoulders shift with the punchy rhythm preceding the chorus, and it looks like she might keep right on mouthing the words as she catches a shadow darkening the doorway. Her ready smile falters, along with those queued up lyrics, when she sees who it is. The first flash of reflexive excitement that lights up her eyes quickly gives way to hurt which, in turn, is tucked behind reservation. "I work here now," she confirms, even if it wasn't a question. "Couple of weeks." True enough, but there's another layer to that measurement of time, marked by a quirk at the left corner of her lips, the arch of one dark brow.

"We've needed to talk anyways." Cristobal steps in, shutting the office door behind him. It seems 'needing to talk' means 'now'. His bag is dropped, the heavy weight making a dull thud on the floor next to the desk, Cristobal taking a perch on the edge of it by sliding one thigh up on the corner. He's moving stiffly, perhaps the need for the gym to work out some of the kinks in his muscles. "You okay? Been staying safe?" It'd be casual conversation for anyone but them right now, and the way he's eyeing her as if checking for any visible wounds or afflictions.

Sparrow issues no disagreement to either the need to talk or the timing. When Cris closes the door, she wheels toward the window to twist the blinds shut. Who knows what the people on the other side might think about the turn this meeting is taking. She certainly doesn't seem to care, given how she doesn't spare a glance for the gym as it disappears from view, fully focused on the guy checking her out. No bruises, no scrapes, no evidence of anything being unwell. Except for maybe the faint hint of shadows beneath her eyes. Summer-casual doesn't call for enough make-up to cover that detail up. "I'm alright, yeah." She scoots back to her previous position, closer to him, a quick once-over looking for any new marks of his own to go with the stiffness of his movement. "I don't think you keeping away from me is what's made that possible, but." Shrug. "I appreciate the intention." In theory. It sounds like she isn't entirely sold. Still. "Glad you're still whole."

"No." Cris' arms fold over his chest loosely, as if reminded of the bullet wounds that have now left smooth pink circles on his skin surrounded by angry puckers of scarred flesh and it leaves him feeling vulnerable. 'Whole' is a subjective term. Beyond that, he has little indications of a recent skirmish, though nothing so life threatening. A bruise on his cheekbone, a laceration beneath his stubble that's edging towards beard. "I know it doesn't have anything to do with me or what I did. You're safe because you're smart. You're careful. I should have trusted that. So while I appreciate you appreciating the intention, I realize I was wrong in the way I handled it."

"Yeah," Sparrow breathes as her gaze dips toward the desk. Something flashes on the laptop screen, stealing her attention. Leaning forward, she closes the computer and slides it aside, like maybe clearing the space between them might say something that doesn't come across in her uncertain expression, in the distance imposed when she slouches back into her chair. When she looks back up at Cris, it's clear she's still working through what she wants to say, picking her words carefully in order to keep a flood of unnecessary emotion from spilling out all at once. "Alright," seems safe. Acceptance. A good starting point. "Well." More filler. More deliberation. "Where do you want to go from here?"

"That's the harder part." Cristobal's eyes flash up to Sparrow's, his hand dropping to his lap palm up as an invitation instead of just claiming possession of her hand as he normally might. "The only reason why I can be here, owning up to my mistake, is because of Dante. He's working so hard to make me realize I can be a better man. That I am a better man. When you and I started up, I told you I wasn't sure how this was going to work. I've always been the kind to date around, sure, but when things became serious with someone, I stopped being romantically inclined with anyone else. That's where I am now, Sparrow. I'm in love with Dante. And I owe it to him to give this a real go."

Sparrow stares at the offered hand without accepting the unspoken invitation, waiting to hear Cristobal's answer before bridging any physical distance. Contemplation of that contact is abandoned somewhere around the talk of being a better man as her gaze lifts, brows arching as lips purse slightly, the overall effect pretty plainly reading: duh. And she holds pretty much that same expression until he gets to the end, when she flashes a tight, off-center grin and nods. "Alright." With another nod, she adds, "Cool," then glances to the blinds blocking the window.

Cris' empty fingers fist back on themselves, the flat of it bounced upon his thigh. "Yeah. That's about how I thought you'd react." He says flatly. "One didn't have to do with the other, I want you to know that. I'd still die to protect you." He exhales out his nose, but he can feel his own anger churning beneath the surface and it's better released on a heavy bag or in the ring than on Sparrow. "Good fucking talk."

"What do you want me to say?" The words almost spill together, spoken quickly and quietly in the wake of his sarcasm. Sparrow only looks his way again after it's out there, and though her expression starts expectant, she doesn't wait for an answer. "It's shit, Cris. Not--" Her hands lift from the armrests only to fall again, face still scrunched with frustration when they do. Her voice is intentionally softer when she starts back up. "Not you and Dante. That's good. I like him. I like that he's good for you." That's the easy part to articulate, forehead creasing as she tries to continue. "What's shit is that you left me stewing for weeks. That you were a fucking dick to me and then... nothing. Silence. While I'm still holding onto--Fuck. I dunno. Whatever." Like an eyeroll can just clear out all of those feelings. "Lemme just be happy for you. I'm happy for you."

"I told you I needed space to figure shit out. You said take all the time I need." Cristobal's words are defensive, but they're spoken lowly, with restraint. "If I had just come to you then. Apologized then, then we'd have fallen into the same easy relationship. Because it was easy with you Sparrow. The selfish, good kind of easy for me. You didn't expect anything from me, you didn't need anything from me. But you're not something for me to put down and pick back up whenever I feel like it. You asked for my respect, and you deserve it. This is me, respecting you. And Dante. With accountability. With loyalty."

Sparrow's jaw tightens when her own words are turned back on her, as she bites back an entirely unnecessary reply. While he talks, she pushes to her feet... maybe a bit more forcefully than intended given how the chair rolls back a few inches once she's upright. Hands shove into her pockets, which only exaggerates her shrug when she asserts, "I was trying to make this easy, too, Cris. I said alright. Cool. We coulda been done at that, but you got weird at me, so." Her elbows swing out in another too-big shrug before her arms fall slack at her sides. "It hurts. I'm hurt. But I get it. And that sucks." She makes a face at him that's downright comical, possibly intentionally so, entirely petulant like NYAH! might be the next thing out of her mouth. But, after a frustrated huff, her voice is softer again, and she says, "It's weird agreeing with you while still..." She gestures at her chest, at that cheerful rainbow declaring her SUPERDUPER. That's probably coincidental. "Feeling things. This is me being happy for you and sad for me. It's me being honest, okay?"

"I know." Cristobal says just as softly, like he's trying not to spook a wild animal. He even moves slowly as he lifts off the desk to stand in front of her, "I'm all twisted up about this too. We wouldn't be here if we both didn't have some emotion wrapped up in this." He reaches out a palm, an attempt to smooth down her vibrant locks. "I'm not cut out for this lifestyle. But thank you for...for giving me our time together. It is a gift I will always treasure. And one I hope can turn to friendship. When you're ready."

Sparrow tips her head toward his touch, encouraging the contact while not pursuing any of her own. Not until he busts out the cheese. That earns him a shove. Not away, not really. In a different context, the absence of oomph behind it would qualify it as decidedly playful, but there's no smile to go with her crinkled nose. "Don't get weird on me. Don't--" She just gestures with her palm facing him, indicating all of that nonsense he was just doing about gifts to be treasured. "We can be friends. Probably. Unless you unironically tell me you're gonna treasure our time together again. Then, I mean. Then it's gotta be a pun, I think." No, really, she's thinking about this, like she's looking for some sorta loophole to some obscure rule she's never had to flex before. "I don't need time," is followed by a face foretelling correction. "I mean. Okay. I'm prolly not down for going out for drinks right now. Even if I weren't on the clock, but. No. You don't get time. No more time to keep yourself distant. Either you're my friend, even when I'm feeling weird about you, or you can fuck right off, alright?"

Cristobal rocks good-naturedly with the shove, grumbling, "Easy with the merchandise." Still sore apparently, but then having Clayton dig out a couple of bullets on the man's couch means he didn't get the best medical care. Passable, but still. Man's not a surgeon. "Okay. I'll spare you any more of my fluffy latino inclinations. But you're just going to have to suffer though this..." This, being of course the hug he's attempting to wrap her up in.

Sparrow looks like she might wanna take that 'easy' as a challenge and start poking for sore spots... but that wouldn't be appropriate for that declaration of friendship, regardless of whether she was being malicious or flirtatious. Fortunately, that impish intention doesn't translate to the hug, the embrace readily reciprocated with care, with a ginger hold that demonstrates an awful lot of restraint. Even without squeezing tightly, there's appreciation, a soft sigh against his neck before she nestles in. "Hugs are legit always okay." Softer, somewhere between sad and grateful, she adds, "Especially yours."

She's being gentle and mindful, and he's making sure the hug is genuinely felt without cracking her bones. One hand splayed on her back while the other cups her head into that nestle, "Now who's sucking up with sentimentality." He murmurs quietly, fondly, before Cris is angling his face to be able to kiss the top of her head. "But good. Because those aren't going to stop any time soon." He's pawing back her face so she can see his smile.

It helps. The intensity of that hug, all the feeling behind it. Doing is always way easier than saying. She clips, "Shup," against him at the accusation of mushiness, what should be two syllables barely even heard as one. She follows his urging, lifting up from where she'd tucked herself in against him. And, suuuuure, smiling back. With some mostly feigned reluctance. Her brows pitch up in warning just a second before she pushes upward, intending to place a kiss at the corner of his mouth, just barely catching his lips. Whether she hits her target or not, the affection is only meant to be brief. Safer that way. "Was kinda really looking forward to make-up sex." Hard to tell if it's an honest admission or just teasing, a sharp shove away from emotion. "Guess I'mma just have to imagine it on my own now." Nah, no. It's definitely teasing.

The kiss hits its mark, Cristobal not so much as flinching away from the affection, even drawn like a magnet into chasing after her as she withdraws before he catches himself. No, no, that wouldn't do at all, Cris. Keep it in your pants. Of course then she has to follow up with that and he's groaning as if she physically wounded him, head thrown back to let the sound travel the full length of his stretched out throat. "You're killing me, Paji." He takes a few dragging steps back, his hands trailing down her arms to catch her fingers and leave them dangling between them before he lets those too drop away. "I better go, before I get tempted to remind myself what you taste like."

Sparrow's eyes flash wide with innocence that just doesn't hold. Not when her smile goes all devilishly wide like that. Her fingers curl against his, making that eventual disconnect take just a teensy bit more effort. But when the contact is broken, she behaves herself entirely, shoving her hands back into the pockets of her short denim cut-offs. "You ever want that reminder, you know where to find me." Brows pitch sternly upward as she adds, "So long as you've got his permission." With that, she starts back to her seat and asks that he, "Close the door behind you?" cuz no matter how well she's holding it together right now? She's gonna need some time to let it all sink in with nobody looking once he's gone.