Declan had a list, and it covered the reasons he stayed in a relationship with Ellen for all those years. One of the top three points on his list marked the most prominent feature in Ellen’s personality. It was actually what made him notice Ellen first, the day they met. They might never have crossed paths, or talked to one another, had Declan not left the campus in search of a new pair of shoes. It was strange because he rarely left campus, except for emergencies like this. The university was a stickler for uniforms, and he just so happened to be wrapped up in a lab incident that involved chemical on his shoes and the teacher panicking and chucking them into an acid-proof disposable waste bag.

So Declan didn’t have shoes. Great. And the problem wasn’t even his fault—it was the kid across the lab table who was the idiot, not Declan. He was clear on putting that point across. It wasn’t his fault.

There was a shuttle that came infrequently to and from the university, so he was in a rush to catch it after classes. As he paid the fare, the driver gave him a subtle once over and a disapproving look. Declan figured it was because he was in socks. But thankfully, the “no shoes no service” rule didn’t apply here. It was a public bus after all.

Declan’s backpack was about as dense as a black hole, so he dropped it onto the ground between his feet and, for the remainder of the bus ride, read up on his organic chemistry textbook for the midterm coming up next week.

That said, he wasn’t great at organic chemistry, or chemistry in general. It was a wonder he was even able to understand romantic chemistry later on in life. Sometimes, if he thought about it long enough, he stressed himself out enough to vow never to deal with the emotional crap that came with a relationship. So, he just never had one before Ellen. Platonically or romantically.

His stop came so he zipped up his backpack, book under one arm, and stood. It was nearing dusk, so the lighting in town was a warm autumn yellow, and just chilly enough to warrant a jacket. The town was a small one, but a college one, which meant that a lot of the people up and about were students. The fact that it was a Friday night also meant that Declan exited with several other students in front of him.

The university kids left the bus and happened to stop right at the curb where Declan intended to exit. Distracted, as per usual, Declan mused irritably, staggering to the side to avoid colliding with them. They were talking loudly and laughing, and one guy happened to swing his arm in just the right angle to slap Declan’s book right out of his hands and off the curb.

It landed as one would expect 1200 page textbook to land—hard and loud enough to gather the attention of all those assholes standing too close to the curb outside of the bus stop. And they all saw as the bus rolled away, its wheels pushed right over the book and completely dented the spine, the edges of the covers, and broke the binding.

“Are you kidding me!” Declan exploded, turning on the kid who slapped the book out of his hand.

“Holy shit—I’m so sorry,” the guy said, and he actually sounded genuinely apologetic.

“That book cost me two hundred dollars!” he exclaimed. “What the hell!”

“Look man, I didn’t mean it—I’m sorry—Jesus!” the guy screamed like a child when Declan came at the collar of his jacket, only to be reeled back by the guy’s friends. They weren’t aggressive about it, but Declan shook away from them anyway and shoved them back. A girl got down off the curb and picked up the book.

“You piece of shit. You better pay for half of it unless you want my foot up your—”

“Hey,” his friend said, holding the book. “He said he was sorry. This is for OC, right?”

Declan stared at her, seething, fists bunched up at his sides and backpack sliding off his shoulder. “Yeah, and I have a fucking midterm next week—”

She glanced around her friends and pointed to a wide-eyed girl in the back. “You still have your OC book from last year, right?”

“Yeah, I was gonna sell it but I mean, I could lend it to you for the rest of the semester,” she said with a shrug. They all looked a little guilty, or maybe they all just naturally looked like that.

The girl handed Declan his demolished textbook and said, “What’s your name? We’ll get you the textbook tomorrow or something.”

Declan took the book and adjusted the strap on his backpack, glancing at all the eyes watching him. “Declan Birtchnell."

The guilty guy said, “I’m real sorry about your textbook. I swear we aren’t those awful upperclassmen freshmen hear about.”

“I gathered that,” Declan shot back sourly. “What are your names?”

The helpful girl reached out a hand and said, “Eleanor Hollington, but my friends call me Ellen so you can too.” Declan accepted her hand and thought nothing of it as he moved on to meet the others. The guy who dropped the book was Pierce, a fellow studying astrophysics. The one who opted to lend Declan her OC book was studying atmospherical sciences and meteorology, which explained why she kept the OC book in her possession—her name was Meredith.

After finishing his rounds, Ellen raised her eyebrows at Declan and pointed to his feet. “Are you… not wearing shoes?”

Declan scoffed and said, “Maybe.” It got a laugh out of her friends, so he explained that he was on his way to get new shoes. They suggested a shop down the street, since they were more familiar with the town than Declan was.

He realized that he really appreciated Ellen then, and, although grudgingly, admitted that he admired her for standing up to Declan. She cared about her friends enough to stand up for them. She cared about strangers enough to offer assistance when needed. 

It’s why Declan put this in the second spot on his list: Protects The People She Loves.

. . .

Declan’s freshmen dorm was reluctantly shared with an awkward fellow whom he wished not to associate with his second meeting with Ellen, but again, reluctantly, his roommate was involved. Declan thinks his name was TrollhouseCookie because that was his League of Legends username and refused to give it up for real conversation. He shortened it to Cookie because he couldn’t deal with the Trollhouse part for the life of him.

Cookie was stuck with the mindset that being in a space exploration program would improve his overall performance in MMORPG games, specifically under the science fiction genre. Declan was certain he lost half his hearing to cranking up the volume on his headphones all day, just to avoid Cookie’s rage-quits.

It was because Declan’s headphones were blaring so loud that he missed the sound of someone knocking on their door. He saw Cookie get up from his setup after a while, and looked up from his homework in time to regret letting him answer the door.

“Hey, this is Declan’s room right?” It was a girl’s voice, and Declan winced as Cookie was instantly in panic-mode and floundering more awkwardly than usual.

“O-Oh hey! Yeah, yeah, this is Declan’s room—our room—we’re roommates how do you know Declan? Are you in classes together? I-I really like your hair,” Cookie blurted out with zero self-control, but Declan instantly realized that wasn’t out of the ordinary. Cookie usually had no self-control—hence the several PS3 game disks shattered in the garbage.

In retrospect, they were actually really similar, if Declan was super into MMORPG games, which he wasn’t.

Declan bolted out of his chair and pulled Cookie back from the door. He opened it a bit further, and rapidly took in the sight of Meredith holding the OC textbook up. Behind her was Ellen, who waved, and Pierce, who offered a weak smile.

“Thanks for bringing this by. Are you sure you won’t need it?” Declan asked, sounding just as awkward as he felt. He could feel Cookie breathing down his neck, so he closed the door a bit further.

Meredith eyed Cookie warily and offered a smile that was on the verge of being apologetic. “No, not really. If I do I’ll just text you.”

“O-Okay,” Declan stammered. He elbowed Cookie in the side and hoped he got the hint. “If that’s it then I’ll just…”

“Actually,” Ellen interjected, “you mentioned the OC midterm. We all took it last year so if you needed someone to study with, we’re available this afternoon. Pierce got a perfect score.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say perfect. I got one wrong,” Pierce said, leaning in from behind Ellen.

“The curve made it perfect,” Meredith added, “and also screwed the rest of us over. But we’d really like to help you out so you’re the Pierce of the class.”

Holy shit, Declan’s brain screamed. He couldn’t really function—it’d been an entire month and he hadn’t managed to hold a conversation this long with anyone in his classes unless it was related to school. This was related to school. As soon as he realized that he cursed himself for thinking otherwise. “That sounds… perfect.”

They arranged for a place to meet—the study room on the third floor of the upperclassmen dorms. So that afternoon, Declan had to navigate the upperclassmen halls. They were more up to date than the freshmen dorms, with polished walls and fresh carpet that didn’t look like it came straight out of the 70s. The doors were powered by card, and slid open with gentle hisses. Declan didn’t have to deal with doors until he reached the study room, which required card access. His card didn’t work with it—he wasn’t an upperclassman.

From the window he recognized Pierce’s bleach-blond hair, with Meredith sitting across from him. Ellen’s back was to him, but when he knocked on the glass, she turned to look and leapt to her feet.

The door hissed open and Ellen welcomed Declan with a simple, “Did you get lost at all?”

“Not really,” Declan confessed. “Your side is better than ours by far.”

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly,” Meredith said, waving a pen in the air. “Everything’s automatic except the toilets.”

Declan stared at her for a minute before realizing she was being sarcastic, so he settled for: “Again, your side is way better than ours.” Ellen laughed, stepping around from behind Declan and took a seat at the table. It was a six-person table, so he took the one next to her, and wondered if he’d seem standoffish to Pierce, like he was holding a grudge (which he was, but he wasn’t going to admit it). Thankfully, the man didn’t give him a weird look.

To his surprise, they all brought old class notes with them, and were collaborating on problems for Declan to solve. Meredith even had her old exam handout, and while they worked on their own homework, Declan set to work on their makeshift exam.

He focused entirely on the problems at hand, brow creasing inwards and pen tapping against his cheek as he thought through the mathematics of compound chemical structures. It took ages to complete the individual problems, as it always did for Declan, but all that time must have paid off because as Ellen checked the answers and the work, Declan only got one wrong out of ten.

“Don’t get frustrated—this is really good. Your work’s right, but some of the numbers are wrong. Try it again,” she told Declan, passing him the paper.

After he convinced himself that he admired Ellen for her initiative the day before, Declan spent the rest of the day trying to convince himself otherwise. It was ridiculous—how much of a cliche could he be? A freshman looking up to a junior. It was childish and Declan loathed to think that he had to have someone to look up to. 

Declan hoped both Pierce’s and Ellen's OC skills would rub off on him. He just wanted to pass organic chemistry and not have to retake it next semester.

. . .

Declan did pass the organic chemistry exam. In the middle of the week, when their classes swamped them with homework, Pierce and Meredith dropped out of two of the sessions to study in the privacy of their dorms. It left Declan with only Ellen.

It wasn’t until their first time alone that Declan realized why he was so jittery before every meet up. Being around people seemed to cause his adrenaline to spike, and his anxiety to shoot up with it. Sometimes he would psych himself out so much that he wouldn’t even make it to the study room and he’d already be sweating and hyperventilating. Of course, it always came in short, brief spurts and he thought it was just one of the many things introverts had to deal with.

Once he was with them, though, that anxiety vanished. They were so calm and collected and seemed as though they genuinely cared about how Declan was, and how he’d do on his exam. He wondered if they ever looked forward to seeing him like he did with them.

That feeling he’d get, like someone had just taken his heart and squeezed it like a stress ball, would peak the second he approached the study room and found Ellen alone. It registered that Ellen was the reason for it. Ellen was the reason Declan lost his shit every day getting overly thrilled by the idea of hanging out.

I’m completely insane, he rationalized as he stepped into the room. I’m not that obsessed with her. “Where’d the others go?” Declan asked, approaching the table.

Ellen looked up and smiled at him. “You made it—I thought you skipped out too.”

Declan frowned and look at his phone. He was a bit late—seven minutes exactly. “I got distracted,” he lied, and took a seat. “What do you mean ‘skip out’?”

“Pierce had to finish a lab and Meredith needed to study in quiet,” Ellen explained. “But I can still help you out if you need it.”

He was surprised to find the grip on his heart starting to twist. God, he really didn’t need some phantom hand giving him a snakebite right now. “If you have to study for something, I don’t mind working in my own room.”

Ellen huffed a laugh, leaning back into her chair as if prepared to say something, but thought better of it and shook her head. “No, no—I’m fine here.”

“What were you going to say?” Declan asked, dropping his backpack onto the table.

“Nothing, it wasn’t nice.”

At this, Declan scowled, and the grip on his chest vanished. “If it’s about me you damn well better say it to my face—”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Ellen said, now bursting out into laughter. “You said you’d be fine working in your own room, and I thought to myself: ‘With TrollhouseCookie?’”

Declan was so surprised that he lost his composure, and managed to snort instead of laugh. Ellen, still giggling, tried to explain herself: “I mean, I’m sure Cookie’s a good kid and all, but from what you tell me…”

“He’s fine. I figured everyone gets a quirky roommate at one point or another,” Declan said, waving his hand.

For the first hour all they did was talk. They weren’t personal topics, but the subject of Cookie transitioned into the article Ellen was reading, which led to their obvious shared love of space travel.

“Do you ever think about how the universe is just constantly expanding,” Declan asked her, and Ellen, who was now leaning against the table with her arms folded over one another, nodded her head vigorous.

“Oh yeah. Also the fact that Andromeda is moving towards us instead of away, which means that eventually—far far from now, nothing we need to worry about yet—”

“Andromeda’s going to collide with the Milky Way,” Declan finished, smiling a little. “It is incredible. A professor of mine thought it was mind boggling how it’s a complete anomaly, going against Newton’s first law of motion. That is, if you believe in the Big Bang Theory.

“But my point about bringing up universe expansion was that… If everything is moving farther away from each other, by the time we master space travel, it will take twice as long to get anywhere other than our solar system. Yeah, we might be able to colonize one of Jupiter’s moons and all, but what about studying the other side of the universe?” Declan asked, and shuttered a little. “It freaks me out, thinking about how alone we are out here. Sure, Andromeda will be closer, but imagine all the stars disappearing from the sky because they’re too far away to see.”

Declan hummed in agreement, and felt the distinct urge to lay his chin down on his hands and listen to Ellen talk more about her classes and her ideas, her beliefs. The study room was small, and empty except for them, as it was most nights. He had his feet propped up on the chair at the end of the table, and Ellen had her book pushed to the side, all attention on Declan.

“I like talking to you,” Ellen confessed after a moment, and a heartbeat later it felt like someone punched Declan directly in the ribs. “But we really need to get back to studying.”

. . .

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to stay together. We’re both swamped with work, with me still being in school and exams coming up. You should really just focus on the Mars Voyage since it’s so important to you, and it’s the greatest opportunity you’ve gotten. So I’m not asking you to decide between me or Mars—I’ve thought about it and I shouldn’t have made you think that I was against you going. And besides, after you get back, I’ll be at an internship somewhere, so… it’s fair to assume we might not even see each other again—ah, for Christ’s sake. ‘Fair to assume’, what am I a lawyer or something?”

Declan crinkled up the paper in his hands and stared at himself in the mirror and realized that his eyes were getting red. He cussed under his breath and looked down at the sink, gripping the edge of it and wondering how long it’d take for him to get his shit together and just say it.

He decided winging it was a terrible, terrible idea. Whenever he did that, he ended up exploding into a million pieces and just upsetting the matter further. He didn’t want their breakup to be devastating. He wanted it to be logical. Rational.

He was interrupted by two knocks on the front door, and the handle turning. Instantly he rushed to the bathroom door and shut it, and locked it.

There wasn’t much noise on the other side of the door, but maybe that’s because his rapidly beating heart was masking it. He braced his hands over his chest and tried to pace his breathing. Dear God he didn’t want to feel like this again. It’d been years since he felt like this and it was suffocating him and he couldn’t breathe and—

“Declan?” Ellen’s voice was on the other side of the door, knocking gently on the wood. “Are you all right?”

He had the words right on the tip of his tongue, something like, “Yeah, I’m just taking a piss,” but it didn’t come out. They lodged in his throat like the air he was trying to take in. His hand scrambled to hold onto the sink, dropping the words he wanted to say on the floor.

“Declan,” she repeated, this time urgent, knocking again. Everything was conflicting—he was just preparing to break up with Ellen and now he wants to seek comfort in her? How will he be able to do this? He can’t do this, he can’t break up with Ellen if he can’t get his shit together—

Still, he went to the door and fumble with the lock until his shaking hands finally managed to unlock it. Declan stepped away, gasping as if he just ran ten miles and suddenly feeling all the moisture on his cheeks and how puffy he felt from crying unknowingly.

The door opened slowly, and Declan tried unsuccessfully to breathe again. It was crippling and hot and devastating all at once, and when he saw the look on Ellen’s face, seeing him like this, it sent Declan to his knees sobbing.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me,” Ellen said, opening the door fully and stepping into the bathroom. “How long have you been here like this?” she asked as soon as he was able.

“J-Just when you came th-through the door,” Declan said, breath hitching at the start of words. “I-I was thinking a-and—I can’t say it. I can’t say it,” he gasped, shaking his head. He pulled one of his hands free to point to the paper on the ground, the one he bunched up after reciting the words he thought he’d tell Ellen.

“I-I can wait until you can say it,” Ellen said.

“No,” Declan pressed. “Read it now. I-I can’t say it.”

Ellen held Declan’s other hand as she reached over and flattened out the paper on her lap. She sniffed, pushing the back of her hand under her eyes. Hardly a second into it, she murmured, “Declan…” under her breath.

After a moment, Ellen read it out loud, voice uneven and wavering until the end when she finished with, “‘—might not even see each other again, and I love you too much to deny you the happiness someone else might offer you without compromising the future you spent your entire life working towards. I’m sorry it has to be this way, and I wouldn’t take back a day of our relationship… no matter how annoyed you get when I tease you and argue with you. I do it because I love you.’

“Is this what you want?” Ellen asked after a moment. She didn’t sound opposing or argumentative. She just wanted to know.

Somehow Declan found the strength to stare her in the eyes and say, “It is. Is that okay?”

At this Ellen, already red and splotchy in the face, burst into tears and pulled Declan towards her for a hug. “Is it okay? Declan, you don’t have to ask if it’s okay,” she said, laughing a little but mostly it sounded like she was sobbing against Declan’s hair. 

“If you don’t want to stay together, that’s perfectly justifiable. A-And I’ll be okay with it. Only if you’ll be,” she said, rubbing her hand up and down Declan’s back. He tightened his grip around her abdomen and nodded, because he was so thankful that he could finally breathe again.

. . .

“You piece of absolute shit.”

Meredith was on a rampage. Her hatred for Declan came in the form of Reader’s Digest magazines, National Geographic, and a hardcover coffee table book that her friend shrieked at her for throwing—“That cost twenty dollars!”

“A small price to pay for someone I thought was a friend!” Meredith started running around the island counter, and Declan took off in the opposite direction. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have come!” he shouted over their screaming.

He ran for the door, and just as Meredith’s flatmate shouted, “Duck!” and the coffee book crashed into the front door. Declan staggered to the side, staring back in terror where Meredith seethed down the hall. “I—I’ll come back later,” he suggested, diving out the door and shutting it behind him.

He didn’t stop running until he was halfway across campus.

But Declan didn’t end up coming back to Meredith’s apartment for another week. It gave him enough time to try and figure out what her goddamn problem was. For someone analytical as Declan, it wasn’t hard for him to figure it out. Meredith was Ellen’s best friend, even after the launch. Ellen wasn’t around anymore, that much was clear, because the Mars Voyage took her away from them all. But before that, before the Mars Voyage, Declan was gone from all of their lives.

It just… felt wrong. Like he was torturing himself every second he spent with her after his breakup proposal.

“Declan?” Meredith’s voice startled him, and he remembered to be afraid. He recoiled back from her, an arm raised. “I don’t have any books on me,” she confessed.

She was holding a satchel by its handle, and gently gestured it behind her. “I was just getting back from work. You… want to come in?” She didn’t seem to be in the mood for book-throwing, so he agreed.

“I’m sorry about… attacking you, earlier. I'm just... really upset,” she confessed as she fiddled around with her ID card that would swipe them into the flat. Meredith tossed her badge on the counter, along with her satchel and then folded her cardigan over one of the stools by the counter. “I just don’t see why you never contacted me, or Pierce even. He claims you haven’t even called in over a month.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me!” she cried out, but instantly faltered. “Well, yes, I’d like an apology. But not about that.”

“Then what is it? I know I’ve been a bit distant lately—”

“A bit?” she repeated, exacerbated. “A bit distant? You come into my flat, leave saying you’ll come back, and I’m expecting a day at most. People don’t just drop off the face of the Earth like that, Declan. You can’t just… leave like that. Like how you left Ellen.”

She seethed, voice rising, “You tore her heart out, Declan. I hope you realize that.” He wasn’t able to look her in the eye. He kept his gaze to the countertop, and kept himself steady by leaning against it. 

“The way you acted…” she started, but broke away to shake her head with a sigh. “It was like you suddenly turned off a switch. And it really hurt, seeing you act like a stranger to us—not just Ellen. But… she really tried, Declan. She really tried to stay on good terms with you, but you were such a little dip shit, going around ignoring her, moving out of the apartment. When you started ditching Movie Fridays, you know she came to my door in tears.”

Still staring at the countertop, Declan tugged the fabric of his shirt, wishing he could claw through his skin to stop his chest from hurting so much. But he knew that physical pain didn’t take the emotional pain away.

His throat felt swollen. “I didn’t know. Ellen agreed with me—we had a mutual understanding over our breakup!” he countered. “It didn’t make sense to stay together!”

“You’re thinking too concretely!” she shouted. “Even if you broke up because of the Mars Voyage, you didn’t break up because of the emotional aspect! Jesus, Declan, it’s not like you weren’t still attracted to her, or cared about her. But you acted like you didn’t! You acted like you didn’t and that made Ellen rethink everything. She thought you didn’t love her anymore because you didn’t even give a damn about how she responded to the breakup.

“It’s hard for people to take that, Declan, especially Ellen. You know how sensitive she is about those subjects,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck as she sighed shakily. “We both knew there was more to it than that, but… she couldn’t stop thinking about how, maybe, the timing was perfect, and convenient for you to admit that you didn’t like her anymore.”

. . .

The first time Declan saw Ellen after their break up was nearly nine years later. It just added to the number of reasons why they broke up: they never would have crossed paths otherwise. Being with her again gave him the urge to say whatever was on his mind, like he felt when they were together. So he did. 

“Did you have a list?”

Ellen tilted her head. “A list for what?”

“Of all the reasons you stayed in a relationship with me,” Declan explained. The question must not have been on her radar, because she answered with a look of surprise. Declan’s entire face felt like an oven, and rambling just seemed to let the steam out. “I mean, if you didn’t, that’s fine. It was just on my mind—”

“You had one for me, didn’t you?” she interrupted, and he nodded. “That sounds like something you’d do. And yes, I had a list. I spent a lot of time in a spaceship. And a lot of time thinking about Earth, and thinking about you.”

“What were your top three reasons?” he asked. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

She was still smiling as she stared down at her lap and ticked them off her fingers. “Number three was: Having someone to make coffee for, and number two was: Brings up bizarre, unrelated topics I wouldn’t have thought of otherwise, and number one was: Having someone to watch movies with.”

“Holy shit,” Declan exclaimed. “Your number one is my number three.”

“Really?” she laughed. “What's your number one?”

"The Epitome Of Support, which is just a fancy way of saying that you… were the only person I depended on with things I would have just kept to myself.” Like studying for organic chemistry when he was a freshman, like helping him through his anxiety, like the sort of person he could stand to live with.

She was the sort of person he could stand to be in a relationship with.

The apartment in which Jane resided was plain, and reflected her in the simplest of ways. It was comprised of bare white walls, bland textured carpets, and here and there she had touches of home incorporated. There was a rug in the living room, regardless of the fact that it was carpeted to begin with—it was mostly there to cover up a wine stain from the previous tenant. There was just a bean bag from her room back at home, though that room hardly felt like hers anymore ever since her parents moved the washer and dryer up from the basement to the spot where her bed once sat.

Her bed was also her living space. It was up against two walls, with a pillow cushioning one end so she could sit for hours pretending that the mattress and pillow were a couch. From this spot she had a perfect vantage point of her half-empty refrigerator. She couldn’t remember the last time the damn thing was full.

Jane was well aware of the consequences of becoming an adult too early in life. She could sacrifice a few meals to continue living here, away from her parents. They thought enough about her to move the washer and dryer up to Jane’s old room. She thought enough about them to keep their picture mounted on the front of her refrigerator. The photograph was from a trip her mom and dad took to Spain, when they were younger and less inclined to settle down.

It took approximately ten minutes before she realized that she’d been staring at the refrigerator long enough to start even thinking about her parents. Now that was a strange topic—one she hadn’t encountered in several days, even weeks. She couldn’t follow the thread that connected her previous thoughts to that of her parents, and the longer she thought about it, the more her head ached. She could see her computer screen highlighting the blanket thrown over her legs, which meant that it was getting dark outside. Eventually she would have to get up and turn on the lights.

She didn’t get up off her couch-bed until a knock sounded on her door. She checked her phone briefly and sighed. No messages. Which meant she knew exactly who was at the door, arriving unannounced.

Jane pushed her laptop aside and scooted off the bed. As soon as the blanket slid off her legs, a chill threatened to sweep her straight back under the warm embrace of her couch-bed. She fought the urge—but then again, her lights were off, the apartment was quiet, ergo, the visitor would have no reason to think that she was home.

She slipped back on to her bed and pulled her laptop back on to her lap. As soon as she started typing again, the second knock sounded. She kept at it until the third knock, and then the handle being tried.

Her heart momentarily stopped, realizing that the door was completely unlocked. She had no reason to be scared of the visitor; he was her neighbor, but it was still weird that he even tried opening the door.

It pushed open a crack, and he seemed put off by the fact that the apartment was pitched in darkness. He opened it a bit further, pushing it open and blocking his view of Jane sitting on the bed. When he finally peered around it, her wide eyes dropped into a glare.

“Milo, what the fuck?” she snapped at him. He recoiled against the door, but stepped aside anyways to close it.

“I knew you were home!”

“Don’t tell me how you knew that.”

“I never saw you leave this morning—which either meant you stayed over at someone else’s place, or you just didn’t work today,” Milo explained. “Clearly, you didn’t work today.”

“Fuck off, Milo—don’t you have a girlfriend to pester?”

“Yeah, but she’s reading and I figured she didn’t want to be bothered,” he sighed, and began wandering in the direction of Jane’s kitchen. On the way there, he flipped on the lights and struck Jane with the sensation of being blinded and betrayed. She rubbed her eyes, sweater slipping down to her elbows as she glared at where Milo was scavenging around her half-empty refrigerator.

“I should really take you grocery shopping because clearly you don’t know how to shop for food,” Milo commented, dipping out of Jane’s line of sight. The island countertop only managed to show his fluff of black curls where they rose approximately two inches from his head.

“You come into my house and criticize my shopping skills?” Jane complained. “Get out of my refrigerator, you utter dingbat.”

“You have interesting ways of insulting me,” he said, reemerging from below her eye level. When he popped back up, his goofy grin reminded Jane of all the reasons she despised letting him in her apartment. She should have locked the door.

“Why are you here? I’m kind of busy,” she complained, gesturing wildly at her computer.

“I’m just checking up on you,” he said. “You don’t get out much, and Quinn’s been worried about you.” Jane could hate Milo all she wanted, but his girlfriend was another matter. Quinn was a goddamn angel and Jane respected her for it. For one, she was apparently reading on a Friday night when she could be doing what Milo was doing just now.

She felt flattered to know that Quinn was thinking about her, until she realized that Milo could have just used Quinn as an excuse. He often did that ever since Jane told him off and kicked him in the shin when he as if she was “all right” a while back. Of course, the circumstances weren’t the greatest at that time.

She leant her head back against the wall, eyes closing. “I’m fine, Milo. You can go home now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am absolutely certain,” she answered. “Contrary to your belief, I am perfectly capable of understanding my own emotional wellbeing. Thank you, Milo, for treating me like I’m not.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but Jane raised her eyebrows right back at him. Instead, he floundered before pursing his lips and saying, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

The computer screen blinked at Jane, so she looked down at it with a muffled groan. “I’m sure you didn’t,” she mumbled, and proceeded to type until Milo got the message. He approached the door and grabbed the handle, but she could still feel his eyes on her. She rubbed her knitted sweater sleeve against her forehead and looked up at him expectantly, silently insisting that he get the fuck out of her apartment.

“Have a nice night,” he said, and she muttered the same as he opened the door, left, and shut it behind him.

Jane stared at the screen in front of her for some time before realizing that she had no idea what she was looking at, much less trying to comprehend. Spacing again, she mused in annoyance. She gingerly pulled down the sleeve that had fallen to her elbow before folding the ends up three times. She would never understand Milo. They were just neighbors. She could never understand people who thought they had a right to care about her situation. People should mind their own damn business. That’s what she always did.

It took her a moment to realize that it was the lights bothering her, and not the sleeves of her sweater. She never asked Milo to turn the lights on, but he did anyway out of his own convenience. She huffed as she scooted off the bed for the second time.

She got to the lights and flicked them off before finally looking at the time on the microwave in the kitchen. It was nearly eight at night, and she hadn’t eaten dinner at all. “Unbelievable,” she moaned, throwing her arms down. Why did she have to think about food? Up until then, she hadn’t thought about it, and therefore, didn’t feel hungry. Pizza Rolls sounded excellent now.

Jane’s feet, clad in fluffy striped socks, padded around the island counter as she made her way to the freezer. She was nearly there, reaching for the handle, when her sweater caught on the corner of the countertop. A thread snagged and puckered.

She cursed, twisting around and tugging at the sweater to see the damage. She could feel it where the loose thread and tightened knots touched her bare skin. Pizza Rolls forgotten, Jane pulled off her sweater and looked for the loosened stitch. It was too obvious to ignore.

She cursed aloud, folding her hands over the massacre and resting her forehead on them. She’d need crochet needles—her mom had crochet needles. There was no way she’d call her mom up for crochet needles.

Jane hated the fact that she thought about food, thought about eating Pizza Rolls—if only she just hadn’t gotten up to turn off the light. Perhaps then, by the time she realized what time it was and how hungry she was, there was the chance she never would have ruined a perfectly good sweater on the corner of her goddamn countertop.

She picked at it and tried to tug the loose thread back in. No matter how much she stretched and plucked at it, the loose thread never shrunk. It only seemed to get bigger. In a matter of minutes she began panicking over it. How could she not be able to fix this? She went over to a drawer and frantically rummaged around for a pair of scissors. If she couldn’t put the thread back in, the least she could do was diminish the size of the damage.

She snipped the loop in two and tied it in a knot. There was a lump somewhere in her chest that seemed to pulse as she pulled the sweater on and tried to convince herself that it was fine. This was fine. Look, she could hardly notice it now. In the bathroom she twisted and turned around in front of the mirror looking for the damage.

It was still there.

Damn Milo for entering her apartment. Had he not turned the light on, she never would have felt the urge to turn it off, look at the time, realize she was hungry, go to the damn freezer to get food—

Jane ripped off her sweater again, breathing hard, feeling as though her tank top was constricting her chest. This is unbelievable, she thought, and plucked at the knot until it came free and she pulled at the threads with her shaky fingers. She dropped onto her bed in the light of her laptop screen and pulled the thread through the other loops and knots and knitted patterns of the sweater until she had an arm-length thread, and an indent running across the middle of her sweater. She pulled and pulled at it until the arm-length thread became twice as long, and began pooling on the navy carpet of her apartment.

The next day, Jane didn’t leave her apartment. She didn’t realize it was daytime until she found herself blanking again, staring at the floor where her sweater was, letting the sunlight collect on the ball of fabric lying there. Now, it was one, continuous line of string—untangled, impeccable, perfect.

The bulge that once pulsed in her chest stopped aching, and she sighed in relief, looking up and blinking away the burning sensation in her eyes. How long had she been staring at it?

Eventually, some time during the middle of the day, Jane woke to the sound of someone knocking on her door. “Hey Jane! It’s Quinn and Milo,” a perky feminine voice said. “We have pizza!”

Jane sat up and slid down from her bed just far enough to hiding the remnants of her sweater before calling out, “Come in!”