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Jeno spent the rest of the evening and the next morning in his room. In that time, Miren played with the Uber app on her phone, scheduling and then unscheduling rides to leave. She'd probably be banned from the app at this rate, but she was in an emotional impasse. It was hard to know whether or not listening to Jeno's obvious non-verbal cues made her a bad girlfriend - if he still wanted her to be his girlfriend.

But that was the problem, right? Everything about their relationship was on his terms, no matter how difficult he thought she was or whatever. And she wasn't going to continue to wait around in a guest house (although, an arguably luxurious guest house) like some indecisive prisoner. So she started for his room and knocked furiously against his door once she reached it. Dr. Rutherford had left earlier that morning to the hospital to save lives, the least she could do was try to appease her blockhead son.

When the door didn't budge, her efforts grew more aggressive and she opted to turn the doorknob. To her surprise, it opened.

She stepped though, immediately sizing up the space. Her bouquet was poised on his dresser in the corner, and wellness cards and trinkets and even more flowers littered every other available surface in the room. But there was no sign of Jeno--until she heard water running from the bathroom. Miren walked through the room, before placing her head on the oak wood door and fighting the urge to beat her head against it. Instead, her hand molded over the door knob. It was locked.

Goody.

"Jeno. Let me in," she said firmly, before knocking furiously. "I know you might want space right now, but I need you to tell me that." The water stopped, but the pessimist in her was confident she still hadn't gotten through to him. When she heard him brush his teeth, she fought the urge to break the door down. "JENO."

The faucet was on again, and Miren gritted her teeth from the other side. She was a relatively patient person; she could wait out his immaturity. Then again? Her eyes scanned the room in a haste, and she found a pin-shaped decoration sticking out from one of the bouquets and started to use it to pry the door open. When the doorknob clicked, she turned it and stepped in with zero regard for his personal space.

Still more or less clothed, he had a moist towel in his good hand, which he used to wipe his face rather nonchalantly, as if she wasn't even there. She blew a raspberry before stopping in front of him, trying her best not to glare at him. So instead her attention focused on the towel his hand, the aggression in her eyes fading.

"Let me help you." She took the towel from him, which he let go of without a fight, and ran it under warm water. She strained it, then proceeded to cup his face with her free hand and wipe it with the other. She resisted the urge to watch him as he watched her, eyebrows furrowed, expression tense but empty. She carried on, mindful of the two bandages on his face - she'd have to change them later. She wiped his neck, his upper chest, before placing the towel down and searching about the space. "I'll find some plastic bags to wrap around your cast so you can shower--"

He grabbed her arm before she could leave the room. She turned around and her eyes landed on his lips. She just blinked at him until he spole.

"Go home," he finally got out. His voice was coarse and devoid of any appreciation toward her.

"I'm going to attribute your behavior to the accident and not take offense," she decided, shifting from his grip. "Do you keep plastic bags in the kitchen? Can you tell me which pantry? Because there are at least thirty--"

"I'm not doing this with you, Miren." He spat out her name with such disgust that it was hard not to refute back with even harsher words. So she pressed her lips together, her hands balling into fists.

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