(Any other day, Sophie would not complain that Quentin did what she asked of him and went away. In fact, it'd be a day to rejoice, one less headache to handle, but of course, that's a reflection she blocks from his view in the chasms of her mind — not that he needs telepathy to know how she feels. She's always made that clear as day, anyway.
The grip on her wrist makes her eyebrows lift just as his did, and she lets go, only to grip (pathetically) at his own, too, as the arched brows morph into a furrowed look. It's the dumbest stand-off in history, so it takes her a few seconds before she lets go and pulls her arm back to herself.
Manicured hand gesticulates to the couch as she has the bottle, still engulfed in the pale pink to be set on the kitchen counter, her attention focused on finding some glasses.)
/Leaving a girl to drink a whole bottle by herself./
no subject
The grip on her wrist makes her eyebrows lift just as his did, and she lets go, only to grip (pathetically) at his own, too, as the arched brows morph into a furrowed look. It's the dumbest stand-off in history, so it takes her a few seconds before she lets go and pulls her arm back to herself.
Manicured hand gesticulates to the couch as she has the bottle, still engulfed in the pale pink to be set on the kitchen counter, her attention focused on finding some glasses.)
/Leaving a girl to drink a whole bottle by herself./
(Besides. He has words she wants to hear.)