( she hadn't expected the message. truthfully, she couldn't be so sure exactly what it was that compelled her to respond in the first place. since she's gotten back from the quiet of sokovia it's been an adjustment, learning to keep company with the constant klaxon chatter of the city and creaks of the aged floorboards in her brick-front. she'd made a suitor of the silence she'd sat with for so long that she often finds herself restless here, unsettled and on edge, always trying to find some way to keep herself busy — hands, mind, always stirring. more often than not she leaves her phone tucked away in the cushions of the couch, downturned on some stray end table and silenced like some daunting thing that only made her bloom with guilt whenever she addressed it, unanswered messages and voicemails left unplayed glowering up at her.
his name sits foreignly in her chest at first, glancing up across her dimmed apartment. she doesn't know how long it's been since she's seen him, years in the least, it's all dazed — but all of that time had come with so much chaos, rubble, hurt. seeing him after so long, seeing anyone after so long, it's only bound to unearth it all, isn't it? there's no way to say what he knows and what he doesn't. but maybe it's that distance that makes her more comfortable with the idea — being a little more stranger, a little more displaced. an unknown when she could see it all in the eyes of anyone that'd once been close to her; everything she's done.
it's only so long she allows herself to fuss over her hair and dig through the monotonous, cotton-piled of clothes that she digresses with a frustrated huff, left in the same pair of sweatpants and little tank top she'd started her night with. as if attempting to make herself look a bit more put together would change anything, change the fact that she was so clearly split into sharpened pieces.
she tries not to overthink it. why her, of all people. why now. one of the others could've reached out and put him up to it, or maybe he'd read about new jersey — she's left a flurry of thoughts in disarray, turning on one of the small lights in the living area to give a bit of warmth to the space just before she hears the hollow echo on the window pane. brows pull to a tuft, and a glance over her shoulder paints him there perched on the fire escape, moonlight catching at the cape that whips behind him in the crisp, late-winter air.
before limbs carry her toward the sight, she spots the bag held in his free hand, grease saturating through its sides invitingly, and her stomach gives a tiny grumble. the way to her heart if there ever was one. the slightest smirk greets her lips once she's managed the window open, frigid air let in with an eager breath. )
Is this some new food delivery service I haven't heard about it?
no subject
his name sits foreignly in her chest at first, glancing up across her dimmed apartment. she doesn't know how long it's been since she's seen him, years in the least, it's all dazed — but all of that time had come with so much chaos, rubble, hurt. seeing him after so long, seeing anyone after so long, it's only bound to unearth it all, isn't it? there's no way to say what he knows and what he doesn't. but maybe it's that distance that makes her more comfortable with the idea — being a little more stranger, a little more displaced. an unknown when she could see it all in the eyes of anyone that'd once been close to her; everything she's done.
it's only so long she allows herself to fuss over her hair and dig through the monotonous, cotton-piled of clothes that she digresses with a frustrated huff, left in the same pair of sweatpants and little tank top she'd started her night with. as if attempting to make herself look a bit more put together would change anything, change the fact that she was so clearly split into sharpened pieces.
she tries not to overthink it. why her, of all people. why now. one of the others could've reached out and put him up to it, or maybe he'd read about new jersey — she's left a flurry of thoughts in disarray, turning on one of the small lights in the living area to give a bit of warmth to the space just before she hears the hollow echo on the window pane. brows pull to a tuft, and a glance over her shoulder paints him there perched on the fire escape, moonlight catching at the cape that whips behind him in the crisp, late-winter air.
before limbs carry her toward the sight, she spots the bag held in his free hand, grease saturating through its sides invitingly, and her stomach gives a tiny grumble. the way to her heart if there ever was one. the slightest smirk greets her lips once she's managed the window open, frigid air let in with an eager breath. )
Is this some new food delivery service I haven't heard about it?