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The ride back from the mall to the airport feels off to Gemma, like there's an undercurrent she can't quite put her finger on. She settles in next to Roier and stares out the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks of color, but her mind is somewhere else entirely. Foolish is on her mind, and she can feel his eyes on her from the other side of the van. It makes her skin tingle, but not in a bad way—just in a confusing way. She shifts in her seat, trying to focus on something else, anything else, but it's useless.
Roier notices. It's probably surprising he didn't say anything until that point, that man knows her too well to miss this. He leans closer, his voice low but direct. "You look weird, what's wrong?"
Gemma keeps her eyes on the window, shrugging like it's no big deal. "Nothing." She can feel his gaze drilling into the side of her face, reading her like an open book. Normally, she'd spill everything to him—he lives for drama, especially when it comes to her love life—but this is different. Foolish is a mutual friend, and talking about him while he's sitting just a few feet away feels wrong.
Roier lets the silence hang for a beat. "Wait," He starts slowly, eyes flitting between the Gemma and Foolish suspiciously. "Do you like him? That's why?"
Gemma groans, sinking further into her seat, the leather squeaking softly beneath her. She doesn't want to have this conversation here, not in a van packed with their friends, but she knows there won't be a better time later. The day's plans are already decided: pick up their last friends, head to a Cellbit's, party until who knows when. And she definitely doesn't want to have this talk at 4 AM, half-asleep. She sighs, resigning herself to the inevitable. "Ugh, yeah." she mutters, feeling a blush creep up her neck. "I'm kind of surprised it took you this long to realize."
Roier leans back with a wide grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, shit. You're less obvious than you used to be." Gemma would never admit to it, but Roier swears she's so obvious and lovey-dovey when she has a crush. "Good job, he probably doesn't know."
Gemma pulls her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as if she can somehow make herself disappear from this conversation. "Probably? I hate you," she whispers, her voice barely audible. She isn't afraid of her feelings, but the thought of rejection makes her stomach churn.
