he's got a lot to learn about the world beyond his screens. she's willing to show him the golden beaches and every secret corner of the city she loves. they just have to work out how they're going to survive when his existence is a secret from publi...
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"How long has it been?" George asks softly. Irena shrugs glumly, moving her hand up to rub her eye.
"A week."
"Nick says he hasn't left his room much."
"I would go there if he was alone, you know. At least...at least he has Nick, you know? I'm worried, George, I really am."
"He's a dick sometimes and you know that."
"No but he wasn't trying to be mean. He was trying to...to protect himself. I'm just worried he's going to withdraw so far none of us can get back in."
The call chimes with the sound of someone else joining. Nick's quiet greeting is cautious. George asks for her.
"So?"
"Came out to get some fresh muffins from his mom and to feed Patches then he went back upstairs."
"Does she know?"
"I told her, yeah. He wouldn't open the door for her either. Oh-What?"
She hears his voice. Rawer than she's ever heard it, even from a distance.
"Going out."
Irena chews her lip. Glances at the time. It's almost eleven. What the hell could be doing? There's a scuffle from Nick's end, the significant clank as his headphones drop onto the desk. She's just about certain he's either convinced Clay back inside or joined him when the door creaks.
"Left," he curses. "Probably to just drive. He's been doing that a bit."
"I'm gonna go. Late night drive sounds good right now too."
"You don't have a car."
"A walk, then."
"Be safe," George warns. Irena nods once, though they can't see, before leaving the call.
She doesn't walk. She falls onto the open floor of her apartment and stares at the pale ceiling. Reluctant tears slip from the corners of her eyes. She's quite literally torn in two. On one side, she's berating every single time she tried to understand him. The other side is tugging her so ferociously up the state to him that it hurts to lay still.
Neither can win. So her insides wage war and externally all she can do is slump in place with exhaustion.
She must be there for hours when the doorknob rattles and a rapid knock accompanies it. For a split second she panics before assuming it must be one of her neighbors.
But peering through the peephole ruins her. The for is open in the very next second.
There are no hellos. No touches of greeting, anxious after being apart. There is only one watery sentence, falling from chapped lips like a testimony to his turmoil. Repeating until the words blur and his eyes are red from unshed tears.
