Hiraeth
|heer-eyeth| (n.)
a homesickness for a home you can't return to, or a home that never was.
As humans, each one of us yearns for something oh so deeply, and not all of us might get that. But if we ever do, we keep it so close to us, clingin...
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❛❛No.❜❜
❛❛「₪」❜❜
"Where'd Al go?" Xantheus asks, fixing his hair.
"He left about 15 minutes back," Sandra responded rather dully. Omega, who'd taken a seat beside her, tapped her shoulder, asking her if she looked okay.
"You look like you just had a shag, shag-face," Sandra says, eyeing her. "Also, I can see those hickeys."
"Darn it, Xantheus." She curses under her breath.
Omega looks over at Sandra, ready to share the details, but concern takes over her excitement when she sees her upset countenance.
"You okay?"
"Mm."
"What'd that piece of shit do now?"
"Nothin'."
"Don't lie to me, Sandy."
"I'm telling you, Meg, it's all good," Sandra whispered, clearly not sounding good.
"He told you he's not looking for relationships right now, didn't he?" Xantheus sighed, knowing Alan all too well.
Sandra only nodded.
"What an ass. He was the one who led you on, gave you his number and shit, and now he says he's not looking for anything serious."
"He apologized for it. Said he didn't mean to lead me on and—"
"Yeah well, too bad he did exactly that."
"If I may," Xantheus interjects, "I hardly think Al meant to hurt you. He'd never do such a thing. He's not—"
"Xan, I know you love your friend but then so do I. It's for the best you don't defend him."
"Guys," Sandra speaks up, feeling a tad bit guilty, "please don't fight because of me."
They both nod silently, and no words of consolation or disapproval follow. Sandra keeps rewinding the scene in her head. How she was so close to him. How she let her guard down for just a second, thinking that was the right thing to do, her hopes getting the best of her. How his inked hand locked with hers, stopping all motions whatsoever. And how, before she knew it, he was gone, and she was left alone. She feels pissed, pissed at herself for ever letting herself be hopeful.
"Xantheus?" She calls, and in a split second, he appears, obviously concerned for her.
"Yeah?"
"A glass of whiskey, please? On the rocks."
"Of course."
"Sandy, be careful, please. Don't get drunk." Omega voices her concern, her eyes squinted as she regards Sandra, trying to analyse her state of mind.
