A/N: Tiny bit angsty, but what can you do? This is what watching Gossip Girl does to me, so I can only apologise. Reviews are love as always, so read, review and enjoy.
"You've been avoiding me." She's blunt and to the point, because it's true, he has.
"Is it any wonder?" He's busy and is inundated with paperwork because he's spent far too much of his time thinking about her. He doesn't want to be rude, but there's too much at stake here. He's had his heart broken in the past and the tape he used to mend it with just isn't that strong anymore.
"Smithy, I don't know what you want me to say." Stevie falters because he seems so desolate and it's partially down to her (though she remembers he was the one who turned her down all those months ago.) He wants to reply 'Well don't say anything' but it's too harsh and he's not that person, even if he wanted to be.
"You're happy, Moss. That's all that matters."
*
His office becomes his sanctuary, his home away from home. It holds everything he considers dear because he swears he spends far too much time here. But, admitting defeat, he packs up and returns home, dressing down to a towel and running himself a bath. The front door goes and he can't begin to imagine who it'll be at this time. So he runs sheepishly to the door, clutching his towel tightly as not to reveal his modesty.
"Knew I was coming?" she asks, a playful smirk and a raised eyebrow dancing on her face as she notices his towel. His cheeks turn a brazen pink but he lets her in anyway. "Go have your bath, I can wait."
He scratches the back of his head awkwardly but she insists so off he goes, deciding against locking the door. He doesn't want to appear rude after all. Fifteen minutes later he emerges pink and shrivelled and, adorned in baggy, checked shorts and an old football shirt, joins her in the lounge feeling slightly underdressed.
"I don't even know why I'm here," she admits, pacing about his living room in her bare feet. "Bored, maybe? Desperate?" She catches his eye and smirks, "No offence. I guess I needed a chat," she settles on and is more than happy to discover he's a more than willing listener, and it turns out he's got a lot to get off his chest too, so it was beneficial for them both.
*
As she walks to his doorstep, ready to leave, she turns and pauses for a minute. "Are you in love with her?" she asks, not that it makes much of a difference to her, but she suspects it will to him. She watches as he thinks, as he dares a glance at a photo of him and the woman in question.
"No," he certifies some minutes later, "I'm not in love with Stevie." Because he's not, not properly. He cherishes her, most certainly, but being in love suggests it's reciprocated and that's a definite no-go.
The woman at his door merely nods, then leans forward and places the most gentle kiss on his cheek. "You're a good man, Smithy."
And with that, she walks off into the darkness, leaving Smithy watch her vibrant, red hair bounce into the distance. It was clear, Smithy mused, that he'd never understand women, and would probably die trying.