not in a straight line, but all in pieces

Running into Charlie on her walk from school led to going to his house instead, which in turn meant she’d hung about long enough that it only made sense to stay for dinner once Newt and Kavinsky were home, and while she’d made sure to let Neil know where she was her phone had found its way back to the bottom of her bag before his reply--if there would be one at all, he was probably busy with school or work or Harry--flashed up on the screen. All of that means she doesn’t know, not until the evening is at its end and she’s digging through her bag again on the way to the bus stop.

When she pulls up the messages on her phone, reading them once, twice, even a third time, she turns and all but runs back to the Kavinskys. If one of them brings her home, it’ll at least be faster than the bus, but it still feels like it takes forever.

Rosie murmurs a distracted thank you as she gets out of the car and shuts the door, pushing into the Candlewood lobby and waiting--and waiting and waiting and why is it taking so long--until the elevator doors slide open at her floor. She fumbles with her keys, her hands shaking as she tries to fit them in the lock, and when she finally does get inside, she nearly leaves them hanging there in her distraction. That she even takes off her coat, once she sees Neil slumped miserably on the couch, is a miracle in itself.

“Both of them?”