He was not going to let this be easy. She knew that perhaps before she had even come, he'd always had a degree of pride about him that she could sense in their first meetings would be an obstacle to overcome were things ever to go awry between them. Of course, her geniality hid it well, but now that had been put aside, she found herself faced with a very bitter Leathan, who seemingly wore his wounded pride on his sleeve, if not his his acidic tongue.

She worked her mouth open at his first remark, but shut it, unable to say anything to defend herself. The callous way with which he mentioned the fact stung more than she thought it would, and she had to count to five silently to calm herself enough to stay put. She was there, that had been the big step, but it was far too easy to still walk out as he was so obviously pushing her to do so.

"I know I look like shit. I have for months, Char. If you cared so much, you could have looked me up long before now."

Wringing her hands, Charlotte closed her eyes before lifting her gaze to him. There was a silent plea in her expression, for one moment, one chance he could afford her to speak her piece. Of course, that was only if she could get it out herself.

"I deserve that," she admitted quietly, turning away from him and staring across the living room. She needed to put some distance between them, if for no other reason than to remember that this mean, bitter man before her was not the man she had developed feelings for so seemingly long ago.

Walking to the couch, her eyes widened when she caught sight of a familiar Liverpool scarf peeking from underneath some cusions. Reaching for it, she couldn't help but bite her lip to herself, the memory that it brought forth enough to color the ears of any that could have thought of it. Twisting it gently between her fingers, she spoke with her back turned to him, her voice tremelous as she focused on the fabric in her hands.

"They lost, you know. It was dissappointing, they were doing so well," she mused, almost as if speaking aloud to herself. A catch in her throat then as she realized the distance that had grown between them, but she quickly surpressed the feeling. Glancing at the television set, she attempted lamely to inject some lightness into her tone, "There should be a match in a bit, I think. Tottenham, and someone."