Mask or Menace ☂ IC Phone Post

[numberthree]

INBOX Voice | Text | Call | Video | Surprise Me A flat computer automated voice comes on and states in monotone: "This is the voicemail box for Allison Hargreeves. Leave a message at the beep."

Luther

Diego

Klaus

Five

Ben

Vanya

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[numberthree]

[ Allison knows she's tired because the answer inside of her -- the one she knows is only her, and very much not Vanya or for-Vanya -- is Luther. It's that undeniable, unforgettable ache in her chest that is only Luther. It's that truth that answers his first question with only wanting him from home. To see him. His face. What exactly that face is. Where exactly they are. Even this much talking is somehow more than she ever expected.

She wants to see him. She thinks just one look at him, his face, his eyes, his posture, his tone of voice, could tell her more of the truth of where they are than fifteen hundred of these messages. She doesn't want to let go of what she has, she never expected this much when he let go of her at the door, but she wants more -- which might as well be a treatise on her traitorous heart. ]

Probably not yet. I'll tell you if it changes anytime soon.

[obediences]

Got it.

[ And he, obediently, pulls back until asked-for. Because she's too far away: inaccessible, squirreled away and dealing with a situation that he's itching to get involved in, to fix, but it's not his place anymore. He fucked that up royally, the last time he tried.

In the meantime, there's a work shift to rearrange, swap with someone else if he can, go grudgingly lug furniture if he can't. ]