✓ Chaos Theory | Diego Hargreeves [1]

【CHAPTER TWELVE】

—chapter twelve.

  ❛ I wish I was not so alone. ❜  

ELODIE WAS QUITE GOOD AT MOVING ON. 

Or so she would claim. She had adapted to the mindset of abandoning her problems the morning after, leaving them to rot under her bed so she could continue on with her life. It was how she had gotten through life, and it seemed to be working out for her so far -- if one ignored the mental strain and tragedy, as she so adamantly had.

And so she went to her new work with a light step and friendly enough smile, and ready to plough forward into whatever came next. Just as she had a hundred times before.

And the next day, when she returned to her apartment, he was already there.

Diego was slouched on her couch, idly flipping through a book that had rested on her side table. He had moved when she walked in, but only slightly - he seemed to know she was coming, at least expect it. As he saw her, his lips curled up into a smirk that always made her heart squirm. His eyes did not move from the novel in his hand, but it was obvious he had abandoned it the second he heard her footsteps in the hall.

She could not help but wince at the shiner on his face, half pressed into the indent from that mask he wore. A remnant of his Umbrella Academy days, she could only assume. His exhaustion didn't help the battered look, either, and she wasn't too hesitant to call him out for it.

"You look like you've seen better days."

He shrugged, barely a rise in the black-clad shoulder as though the back of the book was the most interesting thing in the world. "S'fine. Been worse."

"Eh. True."

He finally looked up to her, setting the book down beside him. His expression grew a little softer. "How was work?"

"It was...eh, work. Seven hours of watching people come in and out either returning books or getting some. Or just stopping to make out in the rows."

"They do that?"

Elodie nodded her head. Her coat went to the same hook as always, boots sliding off to fit underneath, her toque sliding into the little shelf it belonged. "Mostly teens. But sometimes they're older. Honestly, it's kind of cute, unless I'm walking by and get a glimpse of someone shoving their tongue back down a poor girl's throat."