Sleep had been fitful for her, a long night of tossing and turning and staring off into darkness rather than actual rest. Her only sliver of comfort was the knowledge that her roommate wasn't too far away, but even that was waning, thoughts zeroing in on the single subject she'd been actively trying to avoid all this time.
Speaking of time, it had ticked by at a snail's pace, crawling along in long stretches of silence, so agonizing she could no longer stand it.
She zipped her hoodie up, his gloves still tucked so carefully away, and her lips pursed. Hurt still twinged in her chest, but at the very least, she was all cried out by now. She wandered outside, stopping short at the courtyard and leaning against the side of the building, head thumping back against the brick. Everything was still so quiet, unmoving, until something caught the corner of her eye, and her own heartbeat was suddenly too loud in her ears.
Dread wound tight in the tensing of her muscles, and breathing suddenly seemed a struggle. It didn't feel real, he didn't feel real, seeing him breathing, walking. Alive. Months of him missing from her life entirely, and now suddenly he was back, still in that ratty old hoodie with the faded logo and a scowl on his face.
Against her better judgment -- hell, before she could even think, she was calling out to him.
"You're still wearing that old thing."
"I've always worn this."
He said it with a sigh, didn't bother to raise his voice to ensure it would reach her- like he didn't want to be having this conversation in the first place. But he stayed where he was, only shifting his weight off his bad leg and adjusting the milk in his arms. Despite the fact she'd expected as much of him - god knows she'd spent enough time around him to know - that didn't make it hurt any less. The blatant overlooking of the fact she was here, dead. She wasn't sure what expression she was making at the moment, certain he'd be able to see past whatever apathetic mask she might try on, when he was so adept at it himself.
"Yeah," was all she could manage for now, tongue slow to keep pace with every word rattling around in her fretting brain. She didn't want to look at him. It hurt. "Late night snack, huh."
She tipped her head toward the jug in his hand, knowing full well he knew she wasn't here to talk about milk.
"It's the only time I get away from the idiots."
She frowned, shaking her head a little; she couldn't just ignore what Dallas had told her.
"You weren't gonna come back. You coulda."
He raised a brow, looking rather unimpressed and like he'd rather just end the conversation right there. Not that he was really participating in it much, anyway. With another sigh, he averted his gaze for a moment as he shuffled his sleeves down over his hands, bare and cold, though he was quick to look back at her when she kept talking -- like he was wondering why couldn't she just drop it and let him go get something to eat.
"Had no plans to."
"You had seven chances." It did her no good to try and sound cold, not when it was shamefully obvious there was more pain than anger. Her voice had cracked, and she could feel tears pricking at her eyes again, hating it when she'd been certain she had none left. His clear distaste toward her, to even be here talking to her, had her stomach turning. He'd looked at her like this when they first met, and she couldn't help but wonder if all that progress they'd made was really for naught. "You'd rather be here?"
Wincing at her pitiful tone, she turned her own eyes to the ground. She just... didn't understand, and yet somehow felt as though she did. It felt all too clear, his reasons for never making it back to her.
Choosing not to.
"I know I did. I'm almost at eight, too," he shifted his weight again, leg aching. He moved to tug the bottom of his gloves down, despite not having them. It was a habit he hadn't been able to break yet. He rolled his eyes a little at that pathetic note in her last remark, before looking away once again. "No one wants to be here."
His fidgeting didn't go unnoticed, and she produced his gloves a moment later, all but shoving them at him. A scowl pulled at his lips, and he eyed them like she'd done something to them that might hurt him.
"Not everyone gets the chance to leave. Especially not seven," she bit out, refusing to meet his eyes. She didn't know what had happened to him, wondered if it was something specific or if all those nasty little thoughts really were just true.
"Most people's first day is their first mission. Not everyone is given a string of quiet days to wallow in their self-pity and cry about being dead."
"You think I'm whining about being dead? Is that what you're getting at?"
She wet her lips, those tears burning even as she tried her damn best to keep them at bay. She wasn't crying in front of him, not ever again. He wanted to shut her out, so she sure as hell wasn't letting him back in.
Childish. But she couldn't afford to let him burn her anymore.
"And this?" She fished the ring from her other pocket, glaring down at it because glaring at him would have been a battle she'd lose. "Well fuck, Kaz. Don't let me keep you, then."
She could certainly feel his glare. He moved the gallon of milk to one hand and took a step closer to her, free hand held out.
"Give that to me, Beck. Now."
"Why?" She seethed, the anger that had been swallowed by sheer hurt now flaring hotly. She had half a mind to throw the stupid gloves and ring at him, but her hands only clenched. "It didn't seem to mean much to you before."
The words spilled like wine from a glass that had been tipped over, just as unstoppable and messy, staining everything it touched. She'd floored the gas pedal and wouldn't be able to bring herself to a stop until she crashed all over again.
"You don't get to make demands like that when you don't even want it anymore," her voice trembled as she continued, fingers curling tightly around the ring as her gaze finally snapped to his, glassy and fiery. "All that work, stupid shit like trust. All that- all that bullshit about protecting your investments, or whatever the hell bullshit, silver-tongue riddle you like to toss out so you don't have to fuckin' talk about your feelings. Fucking hell- take it, then!"
She dropped the ring into his palm, not wasting another moment facing him as she turned and stalked away.
"Who said I didn't want it? Or that it didn't mean much to me? I'm telling you to give it to me for a reason."
It rarely affected him much when she was angry with him, far too used to people being pissed off, but at the moment he was focused on that little black ring, his fingers twitching during her spiel.
"We're not doing that, we are not talking about me right now." He had to know he sounded cold, as if he didn't care about her feelings. It might have been true, back when they met. Maybe it was a little true now, too. "You've always acted like you know so much about me and everyone else you meet, it makes me grit my teeth."
That stopped her short.
"Yeah? Prove me wrong. Tell me, what's the reason you need it back? Say it."
Why didn't you come back to me.
"Because I lost it on a mission, you idiot. You think I'd voluntarily get rid of this? Do you want me to just throw it out like it didn't mean anything when I was the one who bought the damned things?" His gaze dropped to the little ring in his palm, hard-set glare smoothing into something a bit sadder, something that didn't fit him. But it was gone as quickly as it came, a little flash of emotion.
"Yeah, well. I do know you, and you hate it," she shook her head with a shaky breath, feeling exposed-- raw, like a nerve. "And if you hate it so much, I don't know why you bothered. With that stupid ring or with me, for that matter. Don't act like you cared, because you didn't care enough."
She wanted to stop now.
She really, really did. But he was responding, providing opportunity for her to perhaps make him understand why it hurt so much. She was cracking now, and she despised it.
"I do hate it. I've always hated it. Because it made you think you had a right to stick your nose into my business whenever you wanted, Beck. You'd stick your stupid nose into my business, Dallas', Mercury's, everyone's. Because you thought you were helping, because you apparently knew us."
He pocketed the ring. He should probably have gotten the milk into the fridge soon. With deft fingers, he slipped the ring back onto his finger. It had felt too bare without it.
"Right, of course. I should've known better!" Her voice was growing far tighter than she'd have ever liked it to. "What was I supposed to think, when I come to find you had seven goddamned opportunities to come back, to come back to me and you thought, 'Nah, think I'll stick around.'"
"You shouldn't even be here. Yes, seven opportunities to have my memory wiped of this whole experience and go back like nothing ever happened. You ever think about how scary that might be? To not be able to remember what happened to you in the last several months. No, you know what, it would probably be just fine for you. Just be happy to go back to all your friends, all dumb and oblivious, because you--"
She took an absentminded step closer, unfeeling of the tears. His gaze dropped to her feet, expression souring again and his weight shifting.
"Oh, I shouldn't? Should you? What am I supposed to think, because you had to know I died when you did. God, fuck you--"
"Don't get closer to me."
" -- I have to push, because you never would have wasted a second on me if I hadn't. You wouldn't--" She cut herself off with a shake of her head, taking another step. Daring him, spurred on by his reaction alone. He was reacting and it was more than she had expected to get out of him. "Why not, am I scary, too?"
"I said don't get closer to me."
He backed up, one foot on the second stair leading up to the complex. She scoffed.
"You're a coward, Kaz."
"One would think you'd know how to listen for once, so shut up and stop."
"You still haven't asked me how it happened."
She knew it didn't matter, knew he knew the 'how's' and 'why's' of how they got here were pointless. She was grasping at straws, hoping she'd be able to pull something from him other than contempt. She was close enough she could feel his body heat now, but she didn't dare touch him.
"I don't want to know how you died." He turned his head to the side the closer she got, stepping back to the third step up. He leaned back a little to set the milk on the top step, but never took his eyes off her. He wasn't sure if she'd get any closer.
"I missed you so much, Kaz. I would have given anything to have you back."
This was starting to feel pointless, too.
"Stop getting closer, Beck. I'm serious."
"Did you ever consider coming back? Just for a second?" She searched his gaze with her own glassy one, that sliver of hope lingering.
"And stop asking questions." His grip on the switchblade in his pocket was white knuckle-tight.
"Do I look like I'm joking?" She so desperately wanted this to be different. Why did you have to die? Why did this happen to us? It wasn't fair. Then again, when had life ever been about 'fair' for either one of them. It seemed it applied even in death. "Don't you know if the roles were reversed, I would have returned to you?"
"The roles aren't reversed, so there's no reason to be thinking about it. Would you just drop it already?"
"Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"Stop it." He didn't want to think about how he felt about this, or what it meant to him. This was the exact reason he never left his apartment. And yet she kept coming closer, and closer, and closer despite how he told her not to. She was close enough to have him pulling his hand out of his pocket, blade tucked tight into his palm, hidden by the baggy sleeve. "Just stop it already."
Her anger was dissipating fast, a storm now reduced to mist. She itched to grab at his hands, to feel him again, but they were far past that. She wondered if they'd ever be able to get back to where they were before.
She could see it now. That look that hadn't been directed at her for some time now. It was almost a relief, after having nothing at all for the months she'd mourned the loss of him. The scariest part was that the hole in her chest was still gaping, heart still hemorrhaging from wounds that hadn't yet healed. She had him back, but she didn't have him.
Not like before.
She wanted to argue with him further. The resignation in her expression was sure now. She stepped back, putting distance between them and tossing his gloves at his feet.
Walking away from him was perhaps the hardest thing she'd ever have to do, and the wounds gauged open a little more with each step as she forced herself to.
Speaking of time, it had ticked by at a snail's pace, crawling along in long stretches of silence, so agonizing she could no longer stand it.
She zipped her hoodie up, his gloves still tucked so carefully away, and her lips pursed. Hurt still twinged in her chest, but at the very least, she was all cried out by now. She wandered outside, stopping short at the courtyard and leaning against the side of the building, head thumping back against the brick. Everything was still so quiet, unmoving, until something caught the corner of her eye, and her own heartbeat was suddenly too loud in her ears.
Dread wound tight in the tensing of her muscles, and breathing suddenly seemed a struggle. It didn't feel real, he didn't feel real, seeing him breathing, walking. Alive. Months of him missing from her life entirely, and now suddenly he was back, still in that ratty old hoodie with the faded logo and a scowl on his face.
Against her better judgment -- hell, before she could even think, she was calling out to him.
"You're still wearing that old thing."
"I've always worn this."
He said it with a sigh, didn't bother to raise his voice to ensure it would reach her- like he didn't want to be having this conversation in the first place. But he stayed where he was, only shifting his weight off his bad leg and adjusting the milk in his arms. Despite the fact she'd expected as much of him - god knows she'd spent enough time around him to know - that didn't make it hurt any less. The blatant overlooking of the fact she was here, dead. She wasn't sure what expression she was making at the moment, certain he'd be able to see past whatever apathetic mask she might try on, when he was so adept at it himself.
"Yeah," was all she could manage for now, tongue slow to keep pace with every word rattling around in her fretting brain. She didn't want to look at him. It hurt. "Late night snack, huh."
She tipped her head toward the jug in his hand, knowing full well he knew she wasn't here to talk about milk.
"It's the only time I get away from the idiots."
She frowned, shaking her head a little; she couldn't just ignore what Dallas had told her.
"You weren't gonna come back. You coulda."
He raised a brow, looking rather unimpressed and like he'd rather just end the conversation right there. Not that he was really participating in it much, anyway. With another sigh, he averted his gaze for a moment as he shuffled his sleeves down over his hands, bare and cold, though he was quick to look back at her when she kept talking -- like he was wondering why couldn't she just drop it and let him go get something to eat.
"Had no plans to."
"You had seven chances." It did her no good to try and sound cold, not when it was shamefully obvious there was more pain than anger. Her voice had cracked, and she could feel tears pricking at her eyes again, hating it when she'd been certain she had none left. His clear distaste toward her, to even be here talking to her, had her stomach turning. He'd looked at her like this when they first met, and she couldn't help but wonder if all that progress they'd made was really for naught. "You'd rather be here?"
Wincing at her pitiful tone, she turned her own eyes to the ground. She just... didn't understand, and yet somehow felt as though she did. It felt all too clear, his reasons for never making it back to her.
Choosing not to.
"I know I did. I'm almost at eight, too," he shifted his weight again, leg aching. He moved to tug the bottom of his gloves down, despite not having them. It was a habit he hadn't been able to break yet. He rolled his eyes a little at that pathetic note in her last remark, before looking away once again. "No one wants to be here."
His fidgeting didn't go unnoticed, and she produced his gloves a moment later, all but shoving them at him. A scowl pulled at his lips, and he eyed them like she'd done something to them that might hurt him.
"Not everyone gets the chance to leave. Especially not seven," she bit out, refusing to meet his eyes. She didn't know what had happened to him, wondered if it was something specific or if all those nasty little thoughts really were just true.
"Most people's first day is their first mission. Not everyone is given a string of quiet days to wallow in their self-pity and cry about being dead."
"You think I'm whining about being dead? Is that what you're getting at?"
She wet her lips, those tears burning even as she tried her damn best to keep them at bay. She wasn't crying in front of him, not ever again. He wanted to shut her out, so she sure as hell wasn't letting him back in.
Childish. But she couldn't afford to let him burn her anymore.
"And this?" She fished the ring from her other pocket, glaring down at it because glaring at him would have been a battle she'd lose. "Well fuck, Kaz. Don't let me keep you, then."
She could certainly feel his glare. He moved the gallon of milk to one hand and took a step closer to her, free hand held out.
"Give that to me, Beck. Now."
"Why?" She seethed, the anger that had been swallowed by sheer hurt now flaring hotly. She had half a mind to throw the stupid gloves and ring at him, but her hands only clenched. "It didn't seem to mean much to you before."
The words spilled like wine from a glass that had been tipped over, just as unstoppable and messy, staining everything it touched. She'd floored the gas pedal and wouldn't be able to bring herself to a stop until she crashed all over again.
"You don't get to make demands like that when you don't even want it anymore," her voice trembled as she continued, fingers curling tightly around the ring as her gaze finally snapped to his, glassy and fiery. "All that work, stupid shit like trust. All that- all that bullshit about protecting your investments, or whatever the hell bullshit, silver-tongue riddle you like to toss out so you don't have to fuckin' talk about your feelings. Fucking hell- take it, then!"
She dropped the ring into his palm, not wasting another moment facing him as she turned and stalked away.
"Who said I didn't want it? Or that it didn't mean much to me? I'm telling you to give it to me for a reason."
It rarely affected him much when she was angry with him, far too used to people being pissed off, but at the moment he was focused on that little black ring, his fingers twitching during her spiel.
"We're not doing that, we are not talking about me right now." He had to know he sounded cold, as if he didn't care about her feelings. It might have been true, back when they met. Maybe it was a little true now, too. "You've always acted like you know so much about me and everyone else you meet, it makes me grit my teeth."
That stopped her short.
"Yeah? Prove me wrong. Tell me, what's the reason you need it back? Say it."
Why didn't you come back to me.
"Because I lost it on a mission, you idiot. You think I'd voluntarily get rid of this? Do you want me to just throw it out like it didn't mean anything when I was the one who bought the damned things?" His gaze dropped to the little ring in his palm, hard-set glare smoothing into something a bit sadder, something that didn't fit him. But it was gone as quickly as it came, a little flash of emotion.
"Yeah, well. I do know you, and you hate it," she shook her head with a shaky breath, feeling exposed-- raw, like a nerve. "And if you hate it so much, I don't know why you bothered. With that stupid ring or with me, for that matter. Don't act like you cared, because you didn't care enough."
She wanted to stop now.
She really, really did. But he was responding, providing opportunity for her to perhaps make him understand why it hurt so much. She was cracking now, and she despised it.
"I do hate it. I've always hated it. Because it made you think you had a right to stick your nose into my business whenever you wanted, Beck. You'd stick your stupid nose into my business, Dallas', Mercury's, everyone's. Because you thought you were helping, because you apparently knew us."
He pocketed the ring. He should probably have gotten the milk into the fridge soon. With deft fingers, he slipped the ring back onto his finger. It had felt too bare without it.
"Right, of course. I should've known better!" Her voice was growing far tighter than she'd have ever liked it to. "What was I supposed to think, when I come to find you had seven goddamned opportunities to come back, to come back to me and you thought, 'Nah, think I'll stick around.'"
"You shouldn't even be here. Yes, seven opportunities to have my memory wiped of this whole experience and go back like nothing ever happened. You ever think about how scary that might be? To not be able to remember what happened to you in the last several months. No, you know what, it would probably be just fine for you. Just be happy to go back to all your friends, all dumb and oblivious, because you--"
She took an absentminded step closer, unfeeling of the tears. His gaze dropped to her feet, expression souring again and his weight shifting.
"Oh, I shouldn't? Should you? What am I supposed to think, because you had to know I died when you did. God, fuck you--"
"Don't get closer to me."
" -- I have to push, because you never would have wasted a second on me if I hadn't. You wouldn't--" She cut herself off with a shake of her head, taking another step. Daring him, spurred on by his reaction alone. He was reacting and it was more than she had expected to get out of him. "Why not, am I scary, too?"
"I said don't get closer to me."
He backed up, one foot on the second stair leading up to the complex. She scoffed.
"You're a coward, Kaz."
"One would think you'd know how to listen for once, so shut up and stop."
"You still haven't asked me how it happened."
She knew it didn't matter, knew he knew the 'how's' and 'why's' of how they got here were pointless. She was grasping at straws, hoping she'd be able to pull something from him other than contempt. She was close enough she could feel his body heat now, but she didn't dare touch him.
"I don't want to know how you died." He turned his head to the side the closer she got, stepping back to the third step up. He leaned back a little to set the milk on the top step, but never took his eyes off her. He wasn't sure if she'd get any closer.
"I missed you so much, Kaz. I would have given anything to have you back."
This was starting to feel pointless, too.
"Stop getting closer, Beck. I'm serious."
"Did you ever consider coming back? Just for a second?" She searched his gaze with her own glassy one, that sliver of hope lingering.
"And stop asking questions." His grip on the switchblade in his pocket was white knuckle-tight.
"Do I look like I'm joking?" She so desperately wanted this to be different. Why did you have to die? Why did this happen to us? It wasn't fair. Then again, when had life ever been about 'fair' for either one of them. It seemed it applied even in death. "Don't you know if the roles were reversed, I would have returned to you?"
"The roles aren't reversed, so there's no reason to be thinking about it. Would you just drop it already?"
"Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"Stop it." He didn't want to think about how he felt about this, or what it meant to him. This was the exact reason he never left his apartment. And yet she kept coming closer, and closer, and closer despite how he told her not to. She was close enough to have him pulling his hand out of his pocket, blade tucked tight into his palm, hidden by the baggy sleeve. "Just stop it already."
Her anger was dissipating fast, a storm now reduced to mist. She itched to grab at his hands, to feel him again, but they were far past that. She wondered if they'd ever be able to get back to where they were before.
She could see it now. That look that hadn't been directed at her for some time now. It was almost a relief, after having nothing at all for the months she'd mourned the loss of him. The scariest part was that the hole in her chest was still gaping, heart still hemorrhaging from wounds that hadn't yet healed. She had him back, but she didn't have him.
Not like before.
She wanted to argue with him further. The resignation in her expression was sure now. She stepped back, putting distance between them and tossing his gloves at his feet.
Walking away from him was perhaps the hardest thing she'd ever have to do, and the wounds gauged open a little more with each step as she forced herself to.
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