Anya's face was a study in sorrow. Her eyes, usually so bright, were now clouded with tears that tracked crystalline paths down her cheeks. Her delicate mouth was pursed in a look of deep, wounded grievance that twisted a knot in Marcus's gut.
"Anya, I…"
He fumbled for a tissue, quickly pulling a handful from his pocket and offering them to her. But Anya ignored the gesture, the tears continuing to fall, a silent, eloquent protest.
"Anya, please don't cry. I wasn't yelling at you. I was just… frustrated. It wasn't about you."
"You were a complete jerk, Marcus."
Her voice was thick, but the accusation was clear. She still refused the tissues, letting the tears speak for her.
"I know. I was wrong. I'm sorry."
'You idiot. You have no right to take your own failures out on her.'
The self-recrimination was a cold wave, washing over him. What had he been thinking?
"Anya, I'm so sorry."
Seeing her face, tear-streaked, his chest tightened. He couldn't stand seeing her like this. He moved closer, and with a gentleness that surprised himself, he used the tissue in his hand to carefully dab the moisture from her cheeks.
"You just… you bully me," she murmured, her voice hitching. "You hurt my feelings, and you make me miserable."
Then, as if a dam had broken, she suddenly erupted. She stood up and threw her arms around him, sobbing loudly into his shirt, her fists beating a weak, frustrated rhythm against his chest. "You're such a jerk… a complete jerk… Why are you so cruel to me? Why?"
"Anya…"
Holding her, a long-suppressed and deeply familiar feeling surged through Marcus. He slowly wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, and gently stroked her back. She felt small and fragile against him.
"You always make me sad," she cried into his shoulder. "Why are you so awful?"
He was losing his grip. The intensity of the moment, the feel of her in his arms, the scent of her perfume; it was overwhelming. He held her tighter, acutely aware of the soft, yielding curve of her body pressed against his. For a wild, impulsive moment, every rational thought was drowned out by a much more primal urge.
After a long while, Anya's sobs quieted into shaky breaths. She shifted in his embrace, suddenly aware of how intimately she was nestled against his chest. A flush of self-consciousness warmed her skin. She liked the feeling, but a sense of propriety took over. She quickly pulled away, escaping his arms, her face crimson as she lowered her head and sat back down.
'God, she's beautiful.'
The faint blush that lingered after her tears, combined with the residual moisture on her cheeks, was a captivating sight that made his chest ache. He desperately wanted to pull her back, to whisper that everything would be okay, to finally tell her how he felt.
He stared at her, lost for a moment. But he knew that was just his own wishful thinking. He had no real idea what was going on in her head.
He returned to his seat, the ghost of her warmth still on his shirt. The thought of Serena, and now this complicated mess with Anya, cast a heavy shadow. A delicate, awkward silence settled between them.
"Marcus…"
Anya finally broke the quiet. A fresh wave of resentment prickled at her. Not only had he hurt her, but now he was just sitting there, stubbornly silent.
If this were anyone else, she would have had Chloe put them in their place.
But this was Marcus. Who else could get under her skin like this? Who else could make her so incredibly sad, and yet whom she could never bring herself to truly hate?
'He's my weakness,' she thought with a sigh of resignation. 'He's the one person I have no defenses against.'
"Yeah, Anya?"
The awkward atmosphere slowly began to dissipate.
"Marcus, did you quit your job?" she asked, her voice steadier now.
It was another uncomfortable question. In her eyes, he probably just looked like a failure.
"Uh, no. I got let go."
"What are you doing now? Have you found something new?"
"Not yet. I'm planning to take some time to figure things out."
He couldn't possibly tell her he was spending his days playing a video game, planning to make a career out of it. He cared too much about what she thought of him.
"Oh. Well, my uncle just opened a new branch here. He needs good people. I could put in a word for you."
"I appreciate that, Anya, I really do. But I think I need to handle this myself."
He couldn't accept her help. The idea of relying on her connections felt wrong, like he'd be taking the easy way out. He didn't want her, or her powerful family, to see him as someone who needed handouts.
"Marcus, I'm not offering charity," she said, her gaze sharpening as if she'd read his mind. "I know what you're capable of. I'm just suggesting a platform. That's all."
She was right, of course. He knew he could get a job at a top firm if he set his mind to it.
"It's a genuine opportunity," she pressed, though she could see his mind was made up. "You should at least think about it."
"Alright," he said, softening under her earnest expression. He couldn't bring himself to flatly refuse her. "If I decide to start looking, you'll be the first person I come to."
The two of them slowly calmed down, picked at their food for a little while longer, and then headed out of the barbecue restaurant.
"Walk with me for a bit, would you?" Anya asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's been over a year since I've been back in this neighborhood."
"I'd like that."
As he fell into step beside her, it felt like they were back in the days when they first met. A simple, uncomplicated happiness bloomed in his chest.
They walked until evening, eventually having dinner at a quiet restaurant with a nice view before slowly, reluctantly, making their way toward the university.
Anya, coming from considerable family wealth, lived in a spacious penthouse in a high-end complex near the campus for convenience, sharing it with Chloe and a housekeeper.
'We got here too fast,' he thought, annoyed. 'I should have walked slower.'
"Anya, I knew you were out with him."
Just as Marcus was reluctantly preparing to say goodbye, an angry voice cut through the air. A woman with a fiery presence stepped out, planting herself between Marcus and Anya. It was Chloe.
"What are you doing here?" Chloe demanded, her eyes locked on Marcus, her voice trembling with indignation. "What are you trying to pull?"
Marcus's heart hammered in his chest. Chloe had a striking, athletic figure that was hard to ignore. Now, as she angrily confronted him, she unconsciously thrust out her chest, in a defiant pose. The movement was… distracting, to say the least. It was a potent display that would tempt any man's gaze.
He felt his throat go dry and swallowed hard, forcing his eyes back up to meet hers. He barely managed to regain his composure.
Fortunately, Chloe was too focused on her protective fury to notice his momentary lapse. He knew if she had, he'd be in for a world of trouble.