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"Scale of one to ten," Remy started, sputtering the words out, "how mad are you?"
She was pacing the floor of Lisa's living room, around and around the couch where Lisa sat—poised, still, waiting, infuriating. Remy made sure not to look her in the eye, lest she actually was angry at her. She wasn't sure how she'd take that.
Lisa pursed her lips, eyes following as Remy made her rounds. "I'm not angry," she said, her tone was stern yet indecipherably so in a way that Remy had learned made her uneasy rather than intruiged. At least when it was used in this context.
Remy paused in place, her fists clenched unconsciously and eyes shooting Lisa a pitiful look, "Just answer the question."
Lisa didn't respond to her question directly. She simply patted the spot next to her, a silent invitation; one Remy had grown accustomed to. After a moment of collective eyes darting, she finally beckoned her—telling, not asking—with a simple "C'mere."
Remy couldn't argue with that.
She weakly fought herself to stand her own ground, to run the way back to her apartment, to bolt away and avoid any potential mess. Despite herself, she meandered over and sunk into the couch next to Lisa. Leaving a few inches of space between them.
"Why do you think I'm mad at you?" Lisa asked flatly, turning her whole body—not just her head—towards Remy. As if she deserved her full, undivided attention. Her head tilted to the side.
Remy could feel her eyes on her in a way that felt unnerving. Vulnerable and utterly unattractive. Her own darted downwards, the rest of her head following suit. "I never said you were mad at me," she scrambled to answer—a cop-out, they both knew.
Lisa sighed, "You only ask if I'm angry if you think I'm angry at you," she asserted, her eyes never leaving the crown of Remy's head. "Ergo; you think I'm mad at you. Why?"
"I just-" Remy started, her mouth moving before her brain. She paused for a second, trying to retract her own unfinished statement. "I don't know. You seemed angry," she answered lamely.
A small scoff came from Lisa before she could catch it. She cleared her throat before quickly retorting, "I always seem angry," there was a hint of a chuckle at the end of her sentence; some degree of self-deprecation in her tone, "I always am angry."
Her words must have struck a nerve, as Remy's breath hitched. Lisa brought two fingers to the bottom of Remy's chin, gently forcing her eyes met hers. Exchanging a pitying glance before her hand found her shoulder; squeezing it firmly, but nowhere near hard enough to hurt. Never hard enough.
"…But not at you," she finally finished, shaking her head as if the idea was completely out of the question, her hand on Remy's shoulder falling back down to the space between them. "If I was angry at you, I'd tell you," she insisted, her voice softening, slowing, as if she were reassuring a scared patient, "alright?"
Remy only nodded in response.
"We good now?" Lisa asked for extra reassurance, trying her best to make sure Remy wasn't just placating; that she did understand. Her hand searching for Remy's, immediately finding it at her side.
Remy finally really looked Lisa in the eyes, "Yeah," she nodded.
Lisa's lips upturned. Her hand moving up to brush fallen hair out of Remy's face, then to cradle her cheek. She pressed a kiss to the center of her forehead, "Good," she murmured against her skin.