you're real enough to me

It's sweltering. They've been home with the baby for less than a week, and already Anna feels restless. The apartment has two window air conditioners, only one of which works, and so of course they've moved Annika to where she can be most comfortable.

The whole thing has Anna in a less than cheerful mood. She's managing the baby as much as she can stand to, though to Alex's credit he's been waiting on the both of them hand and foot. For the first time since she confirmed her pregnancy, Anna's wishing she were elsewhere. At the moment, however, she's pretending to nap on the couch.

Alex has been doing job interviews all day, but the day is over and about three places have made very promising noises about hiring, so by the time he finally drags himself back to Anna's apartment he is at least feeling fairly positive.

He uses his key to let himself in, throws his jacket over a chair, and goes to pour himself a drink.

Anna takes her time walking home from the subway, carrying a bag of what passes for groceries. Just the most basic necessities, as well as cigarettes and the rum she knows that Alex likes, even though she finds it sort of dreadful.

It's been six weeks and she's given him a key to her apartment. She loves him, she thinks, and this is a poor decision on her part. But it's been so long, too long, since she allowed herself to have anything like this. It can't last, she knows this, and she shouldn't let it go too far. Perhaps it's gone too far already.

She reaches the apartment building, and fishes out her own keys. It's one of those old, poorly tended buildings but it's cheap and no one asks questions or looks at you too closely and this suits her. She goes quietly up the stairs, half wondering if he'll be there, waiting for her.

Alex is only twenty-one, still a young man, and his beard has just come in decently enough that his friends have stopped making fun of him--which is, honestly, ample justification to celebrate. He's still in his self-destructive phase; at least, he hasn't yet admitted to himself or anyone else that he's limited by his illness, and he pulls all-nighters and drinks with his friends and pounds coffees on exam nights, unmindful of the consequences.

It's Friday night and he's in a nightclub in the college district, three sheets to the wind and fully willing to embarrass himself at any opportunity, and for any pretty face. He's got his balance astonishingly well, all things considered. A man his own age flirts for a while at the bar, and Alex reciprocates, but after a while the man moves on, and he subsides, leaning with his back and elbows against the bar, watching the dancers.