angelhunter | open post, inbox.

It's not nothing and maybe he deserves to be plunged back into temporary silence for careless lying. The drain burbles as Hap fetches a fresh dish towel from an unsecured drawer and dries his hands. Wiping his fingers, he pivots from questioning why his instinct was to lie, into what tonight's resolution will free him up to do tomorrow morning. It will be good to get back into the swing of things.

At the mention of coffee, he glances to the coffee maker. Just your standard drip maker and carafe, nothing fancy. She could slip something into the grounds or splash boiling coffee in his face. Surely she must understand that incapacitating him is no more forgivable than an attempt on his life. The specter of the lab hanging over them infers there are more dehumanizing ways to keep her.

Besides, he can't go without a cup in the morning.

"Sure. Can't imagine not having it."

Her turn for a self-deprecating smile.

"Me neither."

She puts down the dish with a soft clack, her eyes dropping to the drawer he pulled the cloth from, then his hands, before coming back up to his face.

"Thank you." She leans a hip against the counter, fidgeting with her own dishcloth for something to do with her hands. Wishing vaguely that she still had access to lotion. "For the chance. And dinner."

He tracks her gaze. His hands. She was enamored with them, once upon a time. Her eyes betray nothing of her thoughts on them now. Hap puts it out of his mind. Nothing is better than fear.

"Thanks for the help."

Before his eyes can fall to her hands, or worse, her throat, Hap swallows and says, "I'll go see if I can find that chess set."

"No hurry." She straightens up, hangs the cloth wherever is convenient. "I'm not going anywhere. Well, the bathroom," she corrects herself, "if you don't mind excusing me a few minutes."

Now that she knows he can't see her in there, she wants to take advantage of a few minutes to process. For all that the conversation can't have taken much more than an hour, a lot changed in that time.

Wordlessly, he nods. There's a tightness to his mouth that suggests he might be about to say something but it vanishes in the blink of an eye. Don't take too long in there, he told her less than twenty minutes ago. And he can clearly see she's not taking anything with her.

To that end, he steps aside to allow her to exit first.

Almost enough to make a girl think she isn't trusted.

But he does step aside. She takes the invitation at face value and moves past him. There's a moment where she falters, orienting herself to the parts of the house she's seen before before heading to the bathroom, her thoughts picking up speed with every step along the hall.

How brief is brief? She doesn't have anything to keep track of the time. Can she ask him for a watch? When she was locked into her room, paying attention to the passage of time just felt like a way to drive herself crazy. Will it be better out in the living room, the kitchen? Shit, she should have been paying closer attention in the kitchen. Where did he keep the dish soap? Could she get a fork or butter knife out without him noticing?

Hang on. Something is different in the bathroom.

Did the son of a bitch throw away her conditioner?

Bella wrenches the taps of the sink onto full blast and whispers under the water's cover, "Fuck you fuck you fuck you, Hap, God."

How brief is brief? Too short to exorcise all her feelings fully; long enough to wash her face with cold water and the bar of hand soap. With a few droplets of water still dewed along her hairline, she straightens her dress, sets her face back to neutrality, and goes back out to see if Hap wants to play a game against her.

open post, inbox.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject