After that accidental coffee spill encounter, Aria insisted on compensating Dean for ruining his shirt, but he refused again and again.
"I'm fine," he had told her, smiling awkwardly while wiping his sleeve with a napkin. "It was my own fault for not looking where I was going."
But Aria wouldn't take no for an answer. She looked guilty.
"At least let me pay for the dry cleaning," she said, tugging at her bag for her wallet. "Or buy you a new one."
"Really, don't worry about it." Dean tried to shrink into himself. Aria's insistence on paying him felt like they were strangers ready to go their own ways. Did she not recognise him? Was he so bland that he couldn't even leave an impression on her at the hospital?
Dean wished he hadn't set foot here today. Before he could even think of confessing or asking her out, it already felt like rejection. He stepped back, wanting to escape. But Aria reached out and grabbed his wrist before he could flee.
