"Can I get you a beer?" Claire said, heading toward her refrigerator. Owen turned to look at her. The image was objectively unremarkable, but somehow, even with everything they'd been through in the last day or so, he couldn't help but see it as one of those perfect little polaroid moments: the midnight hum of the city outside, the glow of the refrigerator light spilling over her and onto the floor as she retied her ponytail… Her hair was actually even messier now, but he didn't have to tell her that.
"Did you bring 'em, or do we gotta like, go somewhere?" He joked, reprising his words from just a couple days back. Her front half dipped out of view behind the door as she ducked to reach inside. With a toss of her bangs, a roll of her eyes, and a smirk on her lips, Claire threw him a bottle. Despite his surprise, he caught it perfectly. She reached for the drawer beside her.
"Do you need a…" Chhkt! Owen cracked the cap off before she could even offer him the bottle opener. She drew a breath as he took a brief sip. "Of course you don't."
Once he pulled his lips away from his beer, he paused and furrowed his brow at the bottle, contemplating, before he looked back up at Claire, who'd ducked back into the fridge for another. He couldn't help doing a little double-take at how good she looked in those jeans. Granted, he wasn't entirely acclimated to the change from skirts to jeans yet, but he also couldn't help but thinking she might've filled out a little bit since he'd last been with her. Claire popped back up from the fridge, bottle in hand, to find Owen staring at her, a goofy, endearing look his face.
"What?" She asked, shelling the cap off of her beer and taking a drink.
"Soo, is this the kind of diet that doesn't allow tequila, but does allow beer?" He quipped as she made her way over.
"I've been…" She sighed, sitting down next to him, tucking her knees up, and moving her ponytail over her shoulder. "… a little more laid back lately, you could say."
"I could tell," He said, a little smile tugging at his lips.
"What's that supposed to mean?" She said, sounding more defensive than she'd intended. He chuckled into the lip of his beer bottle. "I-is that a good thing?" She pressed.
"Well one, you got beers in your very own fridge. Two, you're wearing jeans. You got your knees all tucked up instead'a crossing 'em like the Queen of England the way you used to…" He took a sip, mostly just wanting to pause and watch her react. Her mouth hanging slightly open, she was weirdly impressed; He had her down pat. He continued counting out his list on his fingers. "Your obvious change of shoes. You don't straighten your hair anymore. You don't even cut it all…" He made an awkward-looking gesticulation in the shape of the specific director-of-operations-bob-cut she used to wear. She couldn't help but chuckle.
"And, Claire," He paused to set his beer down so he could more effectively lean back and motion at himself to illustrate his point. "Board shorts guy, remember? You know I think it's a good thing!" She fought off another eye roll as she slipped a coaster underneath the bottle.
"Of course I remember." She mused, a fondly exasperated expression lighting up her face.
"Plus," He shrugged. "Since you've been doing this whole laid back thing…" He smiled a smile that was somehow both devilish and sweet at the same time, and then gave her a clear head-to-toe once-over. "More than your skin is looking really good."
"Owen—"
"Seriously," He threw his hands up, as if to assert his genuineness, punctuating the sentiment with a subtle but unmistakable squint that furthered his point. "You look damn good."
Claire seemed taken aback on some level, mouth hinged open as she struggled to pull better words out of thin air.
"I mean it," He said. She crinkled her nose in response. "I really do." With the tiniest shake of her head, Claire set her beer down as well. "Claire Dearing, do not make me have to prove my point," he warned playfully, scooting closer to her.
"Owen—" He pressed his lips into hers, his stubble rough against her skin, and his hand warm against her cheek. When he pulled back, she had to struggle for air this time instead of words. Well, words too, but air was an obvious priority.
With a smirk on his face, Owen simply gave her a quick wink and a, "You're welcome." He laughed a warm, low laugh under his breath as he picked his beer back up and took a drink, still eyeing her as he did so. She knew all too well what he was thinking about now. And admittedly, she was thinking about it too, but she also knew better than to make such choices when they were both so mentally compromised.
"Well," She sighed, standing back up before she did anything regrettable. "We've been awake and on the verge of dying for nearly forty-eight hours, and I, for one, am exhausted. There are pillows out already, and you remember where the blankets are—"
"But you just sat down," Owen whined. He knew she was right to call it a night; He was exhausted too. But he'd just missed her too much to forfeit her to sleep. "What about that whole laid back thing?"
"Good night, Owen." She said more firmly as she began walking toward her bedroom. He'd already made it nearly impossible for her to go, but all it took was one more sigh to warrant one more glance from her.
"Night, Claire." He said. She shouldn't have turned around at all, and she definitely shouldn't have looked him in the face. She couldn't leave him out here.
"Fine." She surrendered. "Look, I'm going to take a quick rinse-off now, and whenever you're done out here, you can come join me in my room if you want." She tucked a loose strand of hair back behind her ear and smiled at him. "But you know, just because I won't able to sleep alone." While she didn't actually do it, there was a wink in her voice that lit him up like a flare.
"I guess I gotta finish this quick, then." He said, nodding toward his beer.
"Guess so," she agreed. And then she was gone.
