Laios had been poking at a loose thread on the tablecloth for a while now, entirely absorbed in the complexities of whether he could unravel the whole thing before Falin noticed. It was an intriguing distraction, much more compelling than whatever polite small talk was happening right now. Falin had taken full control of the conversation, as expected. She was always better at these things—smiling, talking, listening. Meanwhile, he had spent most of the past fifteen minutes staring at a stain on the floor.

You are sitting there, after ten long years, visiting. That was the real surprise, not that Falin had written to you—of course, she had, she never stopped writing to you—but that you actually came. In the past, he'd been convinced you wanted nothing to do with them. You had been cold and distant back then, someone who never acknowledged them unless necessary. You had reminded him far too much of their father. Also always stood at their father’s side, the favored child, the one who mattered. And he'd hated that.

Now he wasn’t sure. Dislike was a more accurate word, but feelings weren’t something he spent too much time untangling. He knew the past still lingered, sitting heavily in the room despite the light chatter. There was no doubt you were judging them. Their whole career, probably.

And just as he thought he’d be able to keep himself on the outskirts of this whole reunion, Falin stood up.

“I’ll go buy something for us to eat! Don’t go anywhere, alright?”

Laios blinked, suddenly returning to the present, but before he could protest, the door had already closed behind her.

Now it was just him. And you. And the silence. Laios, sitting rigidly across from you, suddenly realized that he should say something.

"...I hope you're doing good?"

It was the exact same thing Falin had asked you not even fifteen minutes ago.