lightgunhustler | voicemail/inbox: entranceway

Claire pulled a real bear out of her closet

You're kidding, right?
I didn't even know that was possible.

Guess it is. She was trying to get a teddy bear.

She's not listening to me this thing is going to hurt someone.

I'll talk to her.
I believe in being humane, but I don't want it to hurt anyone, either, and that's in their nature.

This is a wild animal.
Thanks.

I know. I'm on it.

[There's a pause before she sends a second message.]

How are you?

[He doesn't respond for a while BECAUSE BEAR and also awkward. Hnngh here it comes.]

I'm fine. You?

I've been better.

[Awkward is definitely the word of the day, here.]

It feels weird, not seeing you around.

~~Figured I'd leave you alone~~

Thought you'd want some space.

Thought that might be it.
You're not pissed at me, are you?

No. Just a little confused?

I am, too, to be honest.
If you want to stay away for awhile and figure things out, I understand.
But you're always welcome.

[They're still friends. Even so, she knows this is playing with fire.]

[He thinks maybe she's the one who needs to figure things out... And he'd like to know where he stands, if he stands anywhere at all. Maybe she just got swept up and forgot he wasn't Dean.]

Tell me what you'd like to do and I'll do it.

I miss having you around. I miss talking.

[Their conversations have definitely been a high point. As much as she loves everyone from home, making friends beyond them has been good for her.]

[Well. She knows where to find him.]

So let's talk.

[She doesn't bother texting him back. He hates texting. She remembers that much. He's always been pretty quick to track her down in person, instead, and this time, she's more than willing to return the favor.

She knocks at his door about a minute after he sends that last message, waiting.]

[He looks up with a raised eyebrow, but there's little doubt who it is. He only really speaks to a handful of people and considering their last texts, he's pretty sure he can make the guess.

Tom opens the door and steps aside to let her in if she wants.]

Hey.

[His room is a mix of clinical whites and home grown Americana, a glimpse of which she might had gotten when speaking to Claire during the last event. A simple bed with white sheets and comforter, a patchwork quilt on the end, layered over several other pieces of material. It's not made, but it's not particularly messy. Just that he'd been spending most of his time in it. And from the covers being pulled back, his bed looks incredibly comfortable. A few pieces of clothing are scattered around, but nothing offensive. Just jackets and sweatshirts. How a man can survive in so many layers is impressive, but its just how he rolls. Today, however, he's just in a black tank top and jogging bottoms. Bare feet. Nesting mode.

There is a small framed painting of a woodland scene on one wall, another of the mountains hanging just by the door. but decoration is somewhat sparse. It's very much done up in the way someone might enjoy but devoid of personal touch. Like a long stay hospital room or a hotel.]

Hey.

[She manages a faint smile, glancing past him just long enough to get a look at the decor. Most of it she saw when she came to visit him and wound up talking to Claire, but only now does it sink in that it's a strange and almost hollow-feeling mix of soft and absolutely sterile.]

I remembered you hate texting.

[She won't invite herself in, that would be inappropriate, but if he seems game to talk in person, she just might ask him to walk with her awhile.]

[A faint smile he can't help but mirror, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.]

Yeah.

[Quiet, maybe, but he doesn't seem hostile in any way.]

Do you want to maybe take a walk or something?

[She sounds a little hesitant when she asks, and the look she's giving the room behind him is wary, she herself still firmly planted in the hallway.

Maybe a walk is too much of a time commitment. Depending on how this conversation goes, maybe he'll be looking for a quick and easy out -- or maybe she will.]

If you're not busy, I mean.

[She doesn't mean to assume that he's got nothing but free time.]

[Busy doin' all that nothin'. He looks at her for a moment but nods.]

Yeah, okay.

[He gives a light shrug and crosses through his room, scooping up his ever present green hoodie off the pine desk shoved in the corner by the window. Tom pulls it on but doesn't bother to zip it, instead concentrating on finding a pair of slip-on shoes in the bottom of his closet, far too lazy to do the actual shoes and socks thing. Because effort.

Suited and booted he ambles back to the door and steps into the hall, pulling it closed behind him. Awkward conversation walk? He's got that down.]

[She turns to start walking towards the stairwell at the end of the hallway without hesitation, hooking a thumb into her pocket as she goes, trusting him to fall into step with her. She smiles again, and there's something oddly nervous about it, lacking her usual confidence.]

You doing okay? You were in pretty bad shape last time I saw you.

[Before the kissing thing had happened. He'd seemed pretty alright after that.]

[Ow.

He does, indeed, fall into step with her, hands in his pocket as per usual.]

This last thing really fucked me up.

[Plus seeing Harry. Plus dying. You know, the standard.

But he might as well be honest about it. Tom debates telling her he'd reached out to Dr. Lecter for help but decides against it. He's been in therapy for years but it's a lot to dump on someone. And as if things weren't already weird enough between them. He doesn't want her thinking he's crazy, too.]

[It's not meant to sting, but she can see almost immediately that it does, and she presses her lips together as she looks forward, feeling a pang of guilt. Off to a great start, then.]

Sorry.

[She shouldn't have phrased it like that.]

I just worry a lot, you know? Kind of a hard habit to shake.

No, it's fine. I get it.

[Like water off a duck's back, you see.]

But you don't have to worry about me. I'd dealt with a lot of shit. I'll figure it out.

voicemail/inbox: entranceway

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