Galaxiatta

“Yeah, it’s- I’m fine,” she reassures him quickly, rubbing at her nose with the back of her hand. It’s wet from snot and she feels gross.

“Where are you?” he asks. She can hear the noise of something in the background, rather like air rapidly decompressing from something.

“Why?” she asks. “You don’t need to- you don’t have to come.”

The sound of a window opening and a deep breath in. “Sam,” he says, his voice dangerously low. “Either tell me exactly what happened or tell me where you are, so I can make sure you’re safe.”

“London,” she says, “Outside a pub. In- the West End? I’m- I’m not sure.”

“Got it,” he says. She can hear the sound of his fingers flying across the screen of his phone. For a guy who only had a flip phone for the longest time, he took to screens really well. “I can be there in five. Is that soon enough?”

A door opens behind her and she holds her breath, taking the phone off speaker and turning the sound down so Evan won’t give her away. “Sam?” a voice calls. “Samantha? I know you’re out here.”

She doesn’t respond.

Faintly, through the phone, she can hear whooshing wind - the sound of him on his broom. Just knowing he’s coming is enough to turn her stomach into knots and make her feel safe at the exact same time. It’s stupid, this is stupid. He’s going to think she’s stupid for calling him crying over something this ridiculous.

“Ugh,” the voice says, the door slamming again as they go back in.

Sam breathes out sharply, peeking out from behind the dumpster to make sure they really left and aren’t just faking it. It’s what Evan would do, if he were here.

They’re gone. She turns the volume back up. “Sorry,” she says. “I -"

“Sam, who was that?” his voice is a little tinny but she can make it out okay.

There’s wine all over the front of her dress and T2’s going to kill her over the dry-cleaning bill. She doesn’t answer. “I’m okay,” she says. “It’s not- I’m not in danger. I promise.”

The sound of rushing wind stops and then his voice comes through clearer. “If it’s safe, can you walk out into the street for me?”

She pushes up from her seat on one of the small crates and brushes off her dress, though it’s a futile effort. Most of her things are still inside, she’d only had her phone on her when she rushed out, and now she’s kicking herself for it. She’s going to have to go back in to get her stuff or give them up and hope someone turns them into the bartender so she can maybe get them back in the morning.

Stepping out under the streetlights, Sam gives the street a quick look around. “Okay,” she says, “I’m on the street.”

“Thank you,” he says politely. “I want you to pick something and think about it as hard as you can. Focus everything you have on thinking about it.”

A little confused, Sam closes her eyes, and thinks about Evan.

After about fifteen seconds, she hears, “I see you.”

When she opens her eyes, he’s walking up to her, his broom already stashed away in his backpack. The final few paces, he jogs to her, reaching out in concern at the stain on her dress. “Is that -"

“Wine,” she says quickly, not sure what to do with her phone now. Not waiting for him to open his arms, she throws hers around him, latching onto him. Her face buried in his neck, she breathes the smell of Evan. Warm, a little like the forest after a spring rain, and perfectly him.

His hand comes up to cup the back of her head, his other hand not so subtly checking her for injuries.

“What happened?” he asks. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, pulling away to sniffle. “I’m sorry- you shouldn’t have- I shouldn’t have called. It’s just -" she stuffs her phone in between her boobs for lack of a better place to put it. “Did I ever tell you about my dad?”

-

With Evan’s coat wrapped around her to cover up the stain on her dress, Sam feels like she’s been wrapped in a spell of protectiveness. They walk back into the pub, him just a few steps ahead of her. “Which one?” he asks, his voice low.

Sam points.

“Wait here,” he instructs, passing over his backpack for her to hold.

She waits.

He strides up to her father, clasping him on the shoulder to get his attention. She’s too far away to hear what’s being said but it’s less than a minute before Evan’s widening his stance and she knows exactly what he’s going to do. Too bad that no one else does.

Her father hits the floor like he’s been slammed into by a cannonball, sliding backwards several feet. He looks up at Evan in a daze.

The rest of the pub falls completely silent, no one daring to move or even thinking to intervene.

Evan steps up over her father, his foot coming down to the man’s wrist to hold it in place. Crouching down, he removes her purse from his grasp.

He opens it, checking to make sure everything she carries is in there, and then digs his heel in for good measure. “Stay the fuck away from Sam,” she hears Evan say, his voice dangerously serious.

“C’mon,” he says, pulling Sam in close with one arm hooked around her shoulder. He kisses the side of her head. “Let’s get you home.”

Sam cries a little again, but for a whole different reason this time.

“Thanks, Ev’,” she whispers.