It’d become a routine. Jess’d get the key from his mailbox, let herself in, look at the table for any notes, grab two of the couch cushions and making a sort of nest in the farthest corner, away from any neighbors or hopefully the guy who lived downstairs. She’d bring a notebook with her, and sometimes she’d scribble notes, sometimes she’d pay bills - and sometimes she’d sleep.
Always out by one so she could get to work on time, but having the ability to square herself away - to not worry about what she was feeling and why, whose feelings they actually were - and prepare herself for the dull (to occasionally splitting) headache on the bus, and the half-giddy euphoria of work. She wasn’t, she’d realised after she’d figured most of this out, so much happy to be a stagehand at the theatre; it was the joy of the people around her, that people laughed and sang and yes, flying fish - and right now, even that didn’t sit well because she knew it wasn’t her, it was them.
It was enough to drive a girl to drink. That’s why she’d left Mr. Sharpe the note on Tuesday, asking if he minded her drinking some of the stuff in his fridge so long as she paid for it, and when she’d recieved the scrawled approval, she’d moved her cushions (she put them back before she left every day), grabbed her notebook... and a beer. Which turned into two beers. Which turned into four beers, and since it was her day off, her alarm was turned off.
That’s why, when the front door opened at 6pm, she didn’t even stir. No nightmares, no dreams that she’d remember - she was thoroughly - and thankfully - asleep.
It was like living with a ghost.
A ghost that didn't really touch or move anything, sometimes wrote to him during the day and just a while ago started buying alcohol from his fridge.
It was all a very strange arrangement, but he didn't actually mind. Even when he came home to find the ghost to be an actual person - a young lady, snoozing off whatever she'd been drinking - he was careful not to wake her while going through the coming-home routine.
Kicking his shoes off to one side and stepping in, he took off the suit jacket and crouched down next to her, draping it off her shoulders. He hadn't actually noticed how young she was - now that he saw her in the flesh, he wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do, giving a young lady - probably underaged - access to alcohol.
Such thoughts didn't linger long. After all, it was none of his business. He picked up the empty bottles sitting next to her and binned them, and carried on with the usual routine restocking of the fridge before taking the tie, the watch, the cufflinks and the shirt off, disappearing into the bathroom for a five-minute shower.
Jess woke slowly, stretching and curling briefly into a smaller ball before pushing herself awake, yawning as she blinked sleepily. ‘Up’, she supposed, was a ridiculous concept, although-
It was dark.
There were lights on, but it was dark outside, and she hadn’t turned any lights on. “Oh, crap.” She got up, and in a flurry of movement the cushions were back, the beer bottles...
He’d taken care of the beer bottles. And, she discovered, was in the shower.
“Great.” She wasn’t going to cut and run - not and possibly lose this place, on the corner, on the top floor - so she moved, sitting on the couch, the faint buzz of alcohol mostly worn off. Waiting. Yeah. Next time? Alarm. Three alarms. Something. More alarms.
In precisely five minutes he was out of the shower, wet hair ruffled and a towel around his waist. He hadn't noticed she had gotten up until after he got dressed and slipped into the lounge to check in on her.
"Sorry, did I wake you?" he asked, sidestepping cardboard boxes he still had not yet bothered to unpack as he wandered over to her.
"You seem tired. You can stay the night if you want."
“No, I’m- I’ve been asleep...” She scratched the back of her head, squinting up at him. “A while. I planned to leave around one, I just... I guess I fell asleep.” She blinked blurrily, and she shook her head. “Sorry for being here when you woke up. And the bottles. I should have cleaned up.” She bit her lip.
“I guess- Jess Tailor.” She stuck out her hand after she stood up, even though this was fully and completely ridiculous. “It’s good to... really meet you, I guess.” She rubbed at her eye again. “It’s a good thing you’re doing - letting me chill out, here.”
"Alex," he offered with a bit of a smile, though she probably already knew that, if not from the forums then from the name on the boxes and things lying around. He thought it might be a little late for introductions as he shook her hand, but maybe everything was supposed to be done backwards around here.
"And I don't mind." It was an empty house for most of the day anyway - no reason not to let someone else use it.
After all, no flying unicorns. That was always a bonus.
"Have you eaten? I can... get something. Or order on the phone."
“What? Oh, no. You don’t have to do that. I mean, letting me be here is enough.” She flashed a smile, and shrugged up her shoulders as she hugged herself. “Nice place. Good place.” Her brows knit. “Y’don’t have to feel awkward, I can just-” She nodded towards the door, and then paused.
“I’m-” She bit her lip. “I’m not... crazy. Like, you don’t have a crazy person staying in your apartment when you’re not home. Okay?” It was important. He thought she was certifiable, but...
Why did it matter?
It did. Crap.
Awkward? Really? Was it showing on his face? He really didn't mind having her around.
"Okay," he said, nodding. He didn't think it would be something that haunted her. He really did think that she might be a little... imaginative, creative - but that was normal for her age, after all - and maybe he had been a little harsh when they first conversed.
"I'm sorry. But-"
Damn. This was going to come out even more awkward.
"...at least stay for dinner. I'll walk you back afterwards."
“No, seriously.” She chewed on her lip. “Look, okay? I’ll show you.” Like that was going to make it better. “I mean, it’s the least that I can do, so that you know it’s not... ghosts, or whatever.” She nodded once, then reasoned. “Let me show you, then I’ll stay for dinner.”
Although, hopefully, he wouldn’t react the way Adam had when she’d said something similar.
“If.... you want.”
This was slightly ridiculous, and he was on the verge of telling her that she didn't have to - she didn't have to prove anything to him, and he wasn't any sort of professional in mental health services that he would be much good to her anyway. But he was too tired to argue and if it meant she felt better about it, who was he to deny her that much?
"Okay."
A soft sigh. He wasn't sure what to expect.
"Okay. What do I have to do?"
Oh, crap. Well- She could just- No. He’d think she could see her face. “Just- I don’t know. Go in the other room, and- and think of something.” She swallowed. “That makes you feel something. Like, something happy or sad or angry--” She hesitated. “Not angry. But scared or whatever. Makes you laugh. Whatever. Just don’t tell me, just do it, and I’ll tell you what you were feeling. I swear.”
She bit her lip, her voice lowering. “I thought I was crazy for a while, too. I just- I mean, if I can show you I’m not crazy, then...” She trailed off. Then what? She just had a horrible power she could only sort-of control?
... That wasn’t the point, right now. “Go on.”
He stood there and blinked for a moment before there was another soft sigh. So... she was some sort of... psychic?
"Okay. Okay I can do that."
He wandered over to the bedroom, casting a glance over his shoulder at her just in case she suddenly spontaneously combusted or went completely hysterical and started tearing her hair out for no good reason.
When nothing happened, he sat down on the floor, back against the wall, and tried to think of something.
Of course, when you tell a man to 'go away and think of something', chances were the first thing his mind went to was inside some girl's lacy underwear.
And that's exactly where his mind went.
He buried his face in his hands - no no no something else something a little less embarrassing.
Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts...
Oh, god. That... is not... what she had in mind. “You can came back!” She had her hand half over her (very red) face, and just- that was not what she had in mind at all. In the slightest. ... At all.
Did she mention at all?
She didn’t look up when she heard his footsteps, and just pinched the bridge of her nose. “So, I’m not going to mention... that, but just roll into the embarrassment and then super... bouncy... happy. And still embarrassed. Okay? Pizza.” She’d already moved towards the kitchen, digging through the drawer that had menus. Somewhere she’d not have to look him in the face.
He didn't really want to go back. But eventually he picked himself up off the floor and poked his head into the lounge. She seemed... equally flustered. He didn't know whether to try and apologise or compliment her for her magic trick skills.
In the end he settled for shifting the focus onto her.
"How did you... uh... You know? Did you-..."
This conversation was going great.
"Did you see it?" See what? His weakness for strippers?
"You know..."
Okay Alex. Shut up now.
“Not a thing. Don’t see anything, don’t actually want to see anything, just know the feeling. Which is why I sit in the corner of your apartment where the least number of people are near me, because I can’t turn it off.” She wasn’t looking at him, still rifling through the cabinet until she emerged with a menu.
“This place okay? I’ve never ordered from there.” She was resolutely ignoring the subject, mostly because mission accomplished, he knew she could do what she said he could do, and his embarrassment was buzzing at her like a fly against a plate-glass window.
He didn't know if he should feel less embarrassed because she didn't see the thoughts, or if he should feel more embarrassed because all she felt was, well, 'hot and bothered', to put it nicely.
"Yeah it's... fine I guess," he said, clearing his throat, scratching behind his ear. He'd never actually ordered anything over the phone before - just kept the fliers just in case. Not talking about the invisible elephant stomping around the room was working out just fine.
"What do you want?" he asked, heading back into the lounge to grab a phone.
“Do they have fries?” She moved closer, peering over his arm, squinting. “Besides that, anything. Whatever. I’m really not picky.” She’d not eaten anything since breakfast - her own fault, but she’d planned to have some sort of food on her way home... then queue falling asleep. Her stomach rumbled it’s agreement that pretty much anything would be fine, and she made a face, taking a step back.
“Sorry. And... yeah. So. Not crazy, legit. Kay?”
It shouldn’t matter anymore, but she wanted the confirmation.
He picked up the phone and ordered, pretty much, 'fries and whatever'. It was only after he hung up and replaced the phone that he tried to finish the conversation they had started when they first met.
"I... don't know how good I'll be at not thinking around you," he said.
"Not feeling. Or whatever it is you do." He thought he was taking it surprisingly well. But who knew? He just might fall into pieces as soon as she was gone.
"But I'll try."
“Don’t worry about it. Everybody does it, it’s human.” She shrugged, her hands shoved into her back pockets.
“But. Thanks for offering. I mean- nobody else’s... offered.” She swallowed thickly, trying not to think of the disaster that was easily summarized as ‘Adam Morgenstern.
Her head hurting so badly she’d thrown up. “So don’t worry. Really.” She chewed on her lip, shoving her hand back in her hair. “I really can’t thank you enough. For this. Your apartment is sort of the best for this kind of thing.”
Well when he offered to let her come by as much as she wanted to, he wasn't sure why she had made such a strange request, but he trusted her enough even though he didn't know what exactly she was struggling with. He had never really considered, how difficult it might be.
Knowing didn't change anything. He just had to be... a little more braindead around her. Which might not be as hard as it sounded, especially after long, mindnumbing days at work.