You're the worst, you know that, right?

[man_without_fear]

Matt had things to do tonight. Leads to track down, situations he could be handling, people he should be helping.

Instead, he's wasted a bunch of energy in Milliways and now he's wasting time by returning to his place after, on this side of the door, just a short spell away.

Arriving on the landing, Matt clomps down the stairs, a perforated box tucked under his arm. He has the mask on, but along the exposed parts of his face there are a few lightly bleeding scratches, and he has more beneath the dark fabric of his shirt on his shoulder and back.

Clearly annoyed, he heads straight for the kitchen; depositing the box on a chair at the table and walking to the fridge to pull out a bottle of water.

Comments

[nocturnalmedicine]

To combat the relative silence, Claire's been browsing Matt's record collection; the Alabama Shakes are currently on rotation, medium-low.

♫ some things could be seen from above
thread of design
don't trip me up ♫

This very moment finds Claire fresh from a soak in the tub, hoping to ease some of the lingering soreness from her bruised body before bed.

Despite the now-familiar thunk of Matt's boots on the stairs, her heart rate spikes.

(It's not the Russians.)

Her grip tightens on her damp towel.

(It's not.)

Annoyed with her own jumpiness, she dons a pair of Matt's boxers, and bites down on a wince as she eases into a T-shirt.

One steadying breath later, she pads out of the bedroom.