Page 27 of Spring Awakening

“I need you to just go and fucking check on her, De,” he says, his voice as low as he can manage, but it’s a struggle. His brother lists off a load of excuses, and Zach knows that no matter what he says, Devon’s not going to go. Still, he tries.

“Look, I need to go look at another apartment tonight. I don’t have time. It’s your day. Devon?” He moves the phone from his face, and sure enough, his home screen looks back at him. “Fuck.” Even without traffic, he’s not getting to the flat before five forty-five. He was supposed to be there by five thirty. He could leave now, but then Mali would have to walk home in the rain. His phone rings again, and he sighs.

“Hello?”

And it’s his landlord. Of course it’s his landlord. Asking him when he’s getting his stuff out like he doesn’t have another four days.

“It’s not the twenty-eighth yet,” he replies. “If you throw my stuff onto the street, I’m going to sue.” His landlord is a prick—he’s always been a prick—but threatening to get rid of his stuff is something he’s not even thought about. Zach pinches the bridge of his nose so hard he thinks it might crumble beneath his fingers as he hangs up. His chest hurts. His chest hurts, and his shoulder is still throbbing from this afternoon. His chest hurts, and he’s going to have to live in his car. His chest hurts, and he’s going to get a call in a few weeks that Devon is back in jail. His chest hurts, and he’s standing in the pouring rain, alone.

“Zach,” Mali whispers, her hand lightly against his wrist. She pulls his hand away from his face, and he’s barrelled through three two-hundred-pound men before, but now, he’s rooted to the spot.

“Hey,” he mutters. He doesn’t look at her, but she holds the umbrella higher so it covers him too. He takes it from her, stepping closer. She’s so pretty under the yellow glow of the streetlight.

“What’s going on?” she asks, her hand still against his wrist. Her brow is furrowed, and she looks sad. Zach racks his brain for anything that’s made her smile before. “Honey,” she says. “Why are you in the rain?”

Honey. He lets it soothe his chest. “I… I’m having a bad day.”

Mali frowns, then holds his wrist tighter. “Come on. I’ll make you a tea.”

Zach drives to her house, and she doesn’t say anything, but he knows she’s watching him intently. Like she thinks he might have a breakdown or something. He walks behind her into her house, and he doesn’t register anything at all until Buffy wraps himself around his legs.

“Hey, buddy,” he mutters. Buffy jumps onto the kitchen counter, and Zach’s not sure if he’s allowed up here, but Mali isn’t here right now. Zach can hear her moving around upstairs, and he wants to know what the rest of her house looks like. Her kitchen is nice. Fancy looking bottles and a spices in matching jars. There’s not even a hint of purple, but he’s seen this room already. He wants to know what her bedroom looks like. What the front room looks like. If it matches what he expects from her—bookcases and a fireplace, maybe a wooden beam if the outside of the house is anything to go by. Probably neutral colours, even if her hair suggests otherwise.

“Here,” she says, when she’s halfway down the stairs. Zach turns to look for her. She’s changed into other clothes, and his throat gets tight at the tightness of her leggings and what he thinks is a pyjama top, but his name is on it. It sits against her chest, and he’ll blame that on the reason he knows she doesn’t have a bra on. She hands him some clothes.

“Is that mine?” he asks, and she blushes as she looks down.

“Uhm, well, no, because I bought it, but if you’re asking if it’s your old rugby team, then yes.”

He smiles. That is what he was asking.

“You can change in the back room,” she says, avoiding his eyeline. “Or there’s a bathroom at the top of the stairs, or you can use the ensuite in my room…”

He wants to use hers just to see her house, but he steps into the back room. Zach leaves the lights off and takes a deep breath as he pulls her clothes on. He tries not to inhale, but it smells so much like her he feels criminally insane. He spends at least a minute wondering if he should take his wet boxers off. He decides he should, but he’s not sure Mali will thank him for it. Thankfully, she sleeps in clothes that are too big. That or they’re her boyfriend’s clothes. Wait, does she have a boyfriend? He frowns, but he pulls the too-short tracksuit trousers on anyway.

“Thanks,” he says, when he comes back into the kitchen. He makes a note in his phone to pick his clothes up on the way out. Mali turns to smile at him, then pours the milk into their mugs, and Zach realises she knows how he takes his tea. It’s not a difficult task, but she remembered all the same.

“Sorry if they don’t fit,” she says. “You’re like twice my size.”

Zach smiles. Not her boyfriend’s. “My ankles are freezing.”

She laughs, and he feels all the better for it.

“I was going to bring you down some socks but I think we'd be pushing it." Zach let's the use ofwetravel around his body as Mali grabs a pen from the drawer. She writes on a notepad stuck to the front of the fridge. He leans as subtly as he can, but really, he wants to know all the thoughts in her head. Luckily for him, she tells him anyway.

"There. Now I'll remember to get some bigger ones." Zach wonders if she's getting new socks because she thinks she'll need to save him from being a loser again, or if she's just hoping he'll be here. He tries his best to force his brain into believing the latter.

"Where are your clothes? If you want, I have to do a wash tonight anyway, so I can throw them in for you.” Maybe she does pity him. He looks over at the wide eyed, hopeful look on her face. Maybe she just wants to take care of him. He wonders if he’d let her if she tried.

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Sure. Let’s sit in the front room. Buffy is raging that I’m not on the couch already.”

Zach follows her and tries to avoid how comfortable he feels here. The walls are somewhere between white and cream—probably what his mum would call beige, but he thinks it looks nicer than that. There are floor-to-ceiling bookcases, a wooden beam on the ceiling, and a fireplace. If there were a quiz show onMali Okeye, he’d do well. The couch swallows him a little bit, and he lets his head rest against the back cushions.

“How’s your shoulder?” Mali asks. She tucks her feet underneath her, turning to face him on the other end. He wonders how to get her closer without actually touching her, because she held onto his wrist earlier and the weight of her fingers is still in his mind.

“It’s alright.”

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