Getting Sydney to actually talk had taken some doing. Getting her to cry or rather, letting her cry, not pushing against it the way she usually would had taken more. But somewhere in the middle of all of it she had come through to the other side, and when she finally pulled back and straightened up, the evidence of it was written plainly on her face in a way she clearly wasn't thrilled about.
Her cheeks were red. Not the flushed, animated color they went when she was laughing or being outrageous, this was something quieter and more reluctant, the color of someone who had been more honest than they'd planned on being and hadn't quite made peace with it yet. She wasn't quite meeting my eyes, her gaze finding the middle distance instead, that restless energy of hers now redirected into the project of pretending the last ten minutes had happened slightly differently.
It was, one of the most cutest things I'd ever seen.
