"I heard you!" Melpomene called back from the bedroom, as Tragos stepped into the apartment and closed the door behind him with his foot. He raised an eyebrow at Will, who the fuck was this guy?
"Not an Uber driver," he said, giving away nothing that wasn't already obvious, eyes scanning the collection of empties, the greasy pizza box, the coffee cups, his robe, his hair. "Who are you to her?"
In Alan's room, Melpomene was still having thoughts about being complex and unfathomable as she pulled all her things from her drawer, stealing a canvas bag to carry them all in. Angry as she was, she wanted to leave him something. He was going to be so hurt when he came home, and part of her thought good and part of her was wordless agony.
In the end, she sat back down on his bed with the black back of a page of lyrics he'd been working on, and started writing.