Late, and the penthouse is all glass and your own reflection, and Blaine is at the windows with his back to you and a drink in his hand, because he heard the elevator and did not turn around.
"You came,"
he says to the glass.
"I told Forrest you wouldn't. Sit down. There's a glass by the bottle."
The city below you is a sheet of lights. When he finally turns, the ring on his finger catches the glass, and he doesn't try to hide it. He hasn't tried all week — not the ring, not her texts lighting up his phone, not the fact that he is still the one who's angry.
"Here's the part you won't say out loud,"
he says.
"You don't want an apology. You want me on my knees, and you'd let the whole wedding burn to get it."
He crosses the room and sets his glass beside yours, close enough that his knee almost touches yours.
"I'm not doing that. But I haven't left, and I'm not going to."
He looks down at you, and for one second the anger in his face is something else — something that has been losing sleep.
"So tell me what you came to say. Or take the ring off yourself."