quicklog: motel - adrian/ren
[It was well past dark when Adrian knocked on Ren's motel room door. He was tired, though not from lack of sleep. He'd been sleeping a lot lately. Dragging himself out of bed seemed strangely difficult each morning - even when there were no signs that his counterpart had been up to something the night before.
He had just put Newt's card in the mail. Its short, impersonal message hinted not at all at the work that had gone into it, or the four identical cards now carefully buried at the bottom of his trash can, where he couldn't catch a glimpse of them and feel a pang of residual anxiety. He wasn't sure if reaching out had been right. He wasn't sure if not reaching out would have been right either. Had the message been too impersonal, or would a simpler message have been better? Too late now.
He had his hands in his pockets when Ren opened the door. He wasn't a very tall man, and with his arms pulled close, swaddled in a light coat for spring, he looked a little smaller.
Seeing Ren almost startled him. Standing on the doorstep, waiting for an answer, he had almost forgotten why he'd come in the first place. He had a plastic bag resting on his wrist, laden with something heavy - a bottle.] Hello.