SomeWhere On... (BXB)

...Pitfield Street

We don't talk on the train ride back. Murph stares out the window while I...also stare out the window.

I try to read the book. But I was right about it, it's way too technical for me.

But he was right about it. It is a little interesting to me.

When we speed through Doncaster, I nudge his foot.

He eyes me, goes back to looking outside, and nudges mine back.

I can't breathe.

He feels so far away.

My stomach twists.

By the time we pull into King's Cross, Murph turns to me as everyone stands up to grab their things. But he doesn't look at me. "I'm...sorry," he whispers.

I stand up and kind of pull him off the train. "I'll walk ya back, yeah?" Because that's what people who like each other do, right?

I mean, I would've done it anyways. Probably.

Murph nods. He swallows. "...okay."

I reach out to hold his hand.

He shies away as we head back into the station.

Something in my chest hurts.

He still doesn't look at me.

I don't know what to do.

By the time we get to his door, it's not that late. But every light is on, the neon signs hum, and it smells like burned petrol.

He unlocks the door to his building. Murph's fingers're trembling, so his keys rattle. "Thanks," he whispers. His ears're still pink. "For..." He points to the door.

God, I need him to look at me.

I nod my head. But now I can't look at him. "...your welcome." And I take a step back.

"Do you – !"

I step out of the street. A biker passes right behind me.

Murph swallows hard, and opens the door wider. "Do you want to hang out? For a little?"

My heart pounds in my ears. I can feel it jump into my throat, but I don't say anything. I walk past him up to his flat's door. I wait there until he unlocks it, and then unlocks his bedroom door.

Which is, as you'd expect, filled to the brim with books.

Like, I'm surprised anyone'll let him legally leave the country with them. There's enough books here to start a small library. They're everywhere – on the windowsill, on the two shelves over his desk, his desk. Murph's whole room is just a collection of books, small gift bags, stuff from his uni classes, pamphlets and brochures from everywhere he's visited, and a stuffed bear from Harrods.

Granted, most of the books he's gotten are from museums, like limited editions and special stuff from exhibits. Y'know, stuff that'll be collector's items someday.

It smells like garlic and cheese. Probably from how stuffy it is inhere.

The window's closed, but the traffic outside seeps in still.

Murph closes the door and flicks on the light switch. "I..." He starts, but doesn't finish. He has this pained look on his face. He's still by the door, like he just can't bring himself to move.

I step closer to him. "Are..."

He takes in a breath, but he doesn't say anything.

Words feel stupid right now.