Ben saw the card she played, and the swiftness with which she reached to draw a new card. Something in him sank. He thought he knew what she was thinking of, and what she apparently wanted to avoid talking about, though of course it was impossible to be really sure when she hadn't given him any verbal indication or even much in the way of nonverbal clues. But he remembered, vaguely, that this had come up the night of the fourteenth — or the morning of the fifteen, rather. After they'd eloped, but before he'd come to his senses. She'd told him she loved him, and his response had been you, too.

It was hard to say what he'd meant by it in the moment, muddled as his mind had been with the suggestions she'd been feeding him and the effects of the potion, but in light of how they'd been treating one another since the fifteenth, it was easy to see what she must have thought he meant by it. Looking across from her and taking in how she was sitting, the way she wasn't making eye contact, it suddenly struck him just how lonely and hopeless this entire situation must have been to her.

For a long moment, Ben struggled internally over whether or not he should say something. They had both made mistakes that had landed them in this position, and it wasn't ideal for either of them, but he didn't think either of them fully deserved what they were going through now as a consequence. He shouldn't just let her be miserable, if he could do something about it. But what could he do about it?

"Hey, uh," he said, putting his hand of cards down on the table for a moment. "Maybe we should talk about this."