He pretends not to but of course he does, she's nearly impossible to miss even in a crowd, and he busies himself with open the cap of the vodka he'd brought in hopes that he can get a few shots in before she makes her way over to him, but luck doesn't seem to be on his side because he can see her spot him out of the corner of his eye.
After what had happened with the incident with the cave, after Owen had kissed him and Coop had kissed back and there was a whole big kissing thing--which Coop knows had meant something very different to him, not only because he's been hearing gossip that he doesn't really think is just gossip--he'd sent Sylvie a text asking what her plans are for Christmas. He doesn't know why he'd done it, doesn't know why he hadn't had the courage to reply back when she'd said she wouldn't have much of anything going on, but he'd stared at his phone for a long time after he'd gotten her answer before simply tucking it back into his pocket.
It's the idea of being with her on Christmas, he thinks, that kind of makes his stomach turn, not because he hates it but because he maybe wants it a little too much. Since the cave, he feels like he's been falling down this spiral of self-doubt, like he's in danger of growing too reliant on others to carry him when he's spent a long time grooming himself not to need that after Sylvie had left the first time. He understands it a little better now, why she'd gone, and he doesn't even think he can be mad about it anymore; he's just so fucking clueless about what he wants for the first time in a long time because up until now, he hasn't wanted for much of anything.
He's just getting the cap off the bottle when he sees Sylvie's feet approaching, and Coop just barely glances up at her before fixing his eyes back on the vodka. "Hey," he greets, and it's weak, and he knows it. "You're here. That's-- It's good that you are. Merry Christmas."
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He pretends not to but of course he does, she's nearly impossible to miss even in a crowd, and he busies himself with open the cap of the vodka he'd brought in hopes that he can get a few shots in before she makes her way over to him, but luck doesn't seem to be on his side because he can see her spot him out of the corner of his eye.
After what had happened with the incident with the cave, after Owen had kissed him and Coop had kissed back and there was a whole big kissing thing--which Coop knows had meant something very different to him, not only because he's been hearing gossip that he doesn't really think is just gossip--he'd sent Sylvie a text asking what her plans are for Christmas. He doesn't know why he'd done it, doesn't know why he hadn't had the courage to reply back when she'd said she wouldn't have much of anything going on, but he'd stared at his phone for a long time after he'd gotten her answer before simply tucking it back into his pocket.
It's the idea of being with her on Christmas, he thinks, that kind of makes his stomach turn, not because he hates it but because he maybe wants it a little too much. Since the cave, he feels like he's been falling down this spiral of self-doubt, like he's in danger of growing too reliant on others to carry him when he's spent a long time grooming himself not to need that after Sylvie had left the first time. He understands it a little better now, why she'd gone, and he doesn't even think he can be mad about it anymore; he's just so fucking clueless about what he wants for the first time in a long time because up until now, he hasn't wanted for much of anything.
He's just getting the cap off the bottle when he sees Sylvie's feet approaching, and Coop just barely glances up at her before fixing his eyes back on the vodka. "Hey," he greets, and it's weak, and he knows it. "You're here. That's-- It's good that you are. Merry Christmas."