oh, anna [-hs]

the first time

"Believe it or not, my life doesn't revolve around you, Quinn. I'm just trying a new place out." His tone is dark, laced with some sort of annoyance. After overcoming the initial surprise of seeing me, now it looks like he's irritated with my presence. I lean back a little.

"I never said that. I'm just surprised you're here. That's all."

"No," he instantly disagrees. "You're upset but secretly pleased because you think I'm stalking you like some lovesick dog. I could care less about you right now. I'm trying to get work done."

I sit back even more, completely caught off guard by his tone. "What is your problem?"

"Nothing, you're the one that came over here." He rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to his laptop. Suddenly, it's like I no longer exist. He's submerged in his world again. I'm pretty familiar with the feeling. He did that a lot when we were together.

"I'm sorry about your dad, Wes."

He scoffs.

"I really am."

My mind is reeling. Trying to figure out why he's acting so cold. The last time I saw him, we were sitting on his apartment floor. That was the night he found out his dad died. He called me because he needed someone. I stayed until he fell asleep. I texted my own parents, and then they bought me a fucking piano.

My mouth twitches back and forth. "What did I do?" I murmur carefully.

His eyes snap up from the screen separating us. They're full of fire, but he looks more like a wounded animal lashing out than anything. "You weren't there when I woke up."

I can't help letting a small chuckle escape me. He winces at my reaction. "I'm never there when you wake up. That was our thing."

"Was?" He spits out the past tense verb. I pause, taking a breath.

"I'm not really at that place in my life anymore."

"That night was different and you know it." His voice is tight, dead. His words stab at me, cutting through my argument. He's right. Why didn't I stay?

"I'm sorry, Wes," I murmur again, this time not about what happened to him, this time about what I did.

He just hums to himself and looks back down at the screen.

A wave of self-loathing washes over me. I shrink down in my chair and fold my arms across my chest. After a second of silence, he tilts his head to the side and stares daggers into the laptop before him.

"How's Harry," he asks curtly.

"He's good."

"Good enough for you to be at a different place in your life?"

"Yeah," I mumble, looking down at my hands.

"That's not the Quinn I knew."

I wince. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean," he rolls his eyes. "You don't let people change you like that. You don't let people get to you like that, because that's when you end up hurting them, or they end up hurting you." He pauses, running his tongue over his front teeth and reading my expression. "I know you, Quinn. I know you, and that's not you."

I sit frozen, taking in his words. And then I slowly lean forward, until I feel the edge of the table between us digging into my ribcage. "You don't, not anymore, not like that," I rasp. His mouth twitches back and forth like he finds my words amusing.

"Twist the narrative however you want," He leans back in his chair, tracing his finger along the edge of the cup. "Deep down you know I'm telling you the truth. I always tell you the truth. It just hurts because I don't sugarcoat things. He's changing you."