"I —" Ezra started to protest, but cut off. I didn't want to hurt you, he had been about to say, but some part of him had. Hurting her hadn't brought any of the satisfaction that he'd thought it might, but the fact that he'd regretted it so soon after saying it didn't change the initial intention. He loathed himself in that moment, not just for the last comment but for everything he'd done tonight. Dancing with girls, trying to pretend that things were fine; seeking her out when it had become obvious that she was bothered by it; arguing that she didn't have the right. Of course she had the right. She had every right, because she owned his heart and always would. Nothing was ever going to change the way he felt about her, and if he had any sense he should have been leaping for joy at the suggestion that she still felt some echo of something for him, not berating her for it.

"I —" he started again, this time nearly admitting I miss you. But he knew that was a slippery slope, and that if he let himself say that he might as well kiss his dignity goodbye and just start begging her to take him back, because there was no way he could continue without becoming utterly pathetic. He still would have done it, if he thought it would have worked; he'd rather be with her and without his pride than vice versa. But she'd left him once, when she should have loved him most. There was no reasons to suspect that whatever had put her off before had changed. He didn't know how to convince her to stay, when he didn't even know why it was she'd left. He'd end up groveling at her feet and she would still walk away, in the end.

Ezra swallowed. He felt he had to say something, after two failed attempts, so what he eventually managed in a thick voice was: "I'm sorry."

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The following 1 user Likes Ezra Applegate's post:1 user Likes Ezra Applegate's post
   Rosalie Hunniford

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Rosie felt as though she was crumbling. Every defensive fortress she'd built, every soldier of determination she'd trained, every bit of it was all for naught. For all it took was a few minutes alone with him for her to fall to pieces, to forget how and why she left and beg for his forgiveness. To take her back, to love her as freely as he had a year ago.

He wouldn't.

She turned slightly from him during the silence that lasped, as though that action might hide how she seemed to be curling further into herself by the second. "I'm sorry too." Rosie whispered. There were an infinite amount of things for her to apologize for and none of which she could ever voice.

Behind him, the opening notes of the quadrille were beginning. Rosie had never felt both so intensely grateful and disappointed all at once, though neither showed in her expression as she quietly added, "I think you owe someone a dance."

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stunning set by Lady <3

He hadn't expected her apology in return. It gave him pause and he watched her for a second, brow drawn low. She was sorry. It could have meant so much, or it could have meant nothing at all, in practice. Sorry for the way things had ended, sorry that things had ended? That could have been something to talk about. Sorry that things had begun at all between them, when they were bound to end? Ezra had thought that too on occasion over the past year, but he had yet to convince himself of it. Even when he'd been exceptionally low, even when he'd been sure he was going to die or go mad, he couldn't force himself to regret having met Rosalie, having known her or loved her.

Did she think he was here tonight because he wanted to be? Did she think he could possibly care about any of these girls beyond the superficial task of checking off boxes to stave off his mother's lecture? She couldn't possibly think he'd already moved on. She had to know how deep the cut had been when she left, he thought. She had to know it couldn't heal in such a little span of time as a year. She had to know — didn't she? — how much hope the words I'm sorry too could give him, coming from her in a moment like this.

He had just opened his mouth to respond when she pointed out the music. His face fell. Judging only by his expression, one might have suspected that he thought Rosalie had summoned the music up deliberately to hurt him, to twist the knife in the fresh cut her admission had made. But he owed someone a dance, as she said. "Yeah," he agreed. "I suppose I do."

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