the finer things

HANNAH: “Did you ever consider leaving?” She pointed out the more reasonable option, rather than breaking into her apartment and proving, her again, that he had no issues committing criminal activity. At the mention of the lamp, her eyes glanced at the object, having forgotten its existence in her hand entirely. “I might,” She retorted, but ultimately set the item on the nearest surface.

She was floored, completely taken by surprise, as she hadn’t heard from him in months and, really, didn’t think she would ever again. While Hannah knew that he loved her, she also thought she’d made it pretty damn clear that she never wanted to see him again. She was done with him, done with letting him crawl back into her life and earn forgiveness. It was exhausting.

“What part of leave me alone didn’t communicate well?” Hannah asked, her tone full of sarcasm and frustration.

Her eyes settled on the bottle of wine in front of him and she gave him a fake grin. “Well, at least you were smart enough to bring wine.” Grabbing the bottle and a cork screw, she wasted no time in popping the bottle open, and purposely grabbed a single wine glass from the cabinet to fill.

JEFF: Months. That was how long it had been since he had seen her last. How long he's been moving around from place to place in an attempt to evade the hand of justice trying to clench its fingers round his throat. He could feel it still, the shadow hovering above him, the feigned fingers bringing goosebumps to his neck without ever touching him. It was exhausting. It escaped his memories just how terribly exhausting it was to not feel safe, to not know where the night would have you end. And the last time he had felt that safety was with Hannah. Could you blame a dying man for wanting one last whiff of true freedom?

"It crossed my mind," he said with a crooked smile, one corner inching up for a fleeting moment before easing back into its usual relaxed line, a confidence he no longer felt as intimately as he did before. "I appreciate it," he smiled as she set the lamp down, a breath of relief fleeing silently through his nostrils.

HANNAH: It had been a long day for Hannah, between recording a new episode of her podcast, meetings with sponsors and producers, and a lunch date with a guy she’d met through a friend. Now, all she wanted was to get home, kick off her shoes in exchange for slippers, and hit the couch to catch up on the numerous shows and movies stocked up on her DVR.

When she reached her front door, Hannah was surprised to find it unlocked. She could have swore she remembered to lock it that morning and was mentally kicking herself for letting an entire day pass with it wide open for any thief to enter. However, she couldn’t be too hard on herself. She had a busy month, and she’d been overwhelmed with so much that things tended to slip her mind easier than usual.

Entering the apartment, Hannah took a quick glance around the living room to make sure everything was in order - that nobody was there, really - and dropped off her bag on a decorative table in the hallway on the way towards her room. She wasted no time in stripping off her clothes in favor of leggings and a tank top and then proceeded to make her way towards her kitchen where a bottle of wine awaited.

Except, to her complete surprise, it wasn’t waiting alone.

She spotted the figure before registering who it was and instantly grasped the nearest object her fingers could locate - a lamp - holding it up as if she were seconds from smashing it against his head.

“What the fuck, Jeff!?” Hannah exclaimed upon putting two plus two together. Of course. She never left the door unlocked. He managed to sneak his way in - quite illegally and creepily, in fact. “You’re going to give me a god damn heart attack. Are you kidding me!? Who gave you the right to break into MY apartment!?”

JEFF: The itch in his fingers crept back into the crevices of his pounding heart, the beats of which he could feel in his throat, a rhythm so unsteady he could have sworn Hannah could hear it as well as she entered the apartment. Steadying his breath, palms laid open on the wooden table, he listened to the patter of her footsteps, wondering when it was that she would come into the kitchen to find him there. Wondering how it was that the door he left unlocked hadn't raised any red flags─ to his fortune, as she could have had the place crawling with policemen in no time.

Questioning his decision to come there─ what assurances did he have that Hannah still wouldn't call the police when she saw him there?─ Jeff was robbed of that last moment to slip away unnoticed when her feet finally carried her into the kitchen, a weapon of self-defense in her hands. In that moment, seeing her in her comfortable clothes, hair falling over her shoulders, a heavy lamp clutched in her hands, something swelled in his heart, powerful and undeniable. The thump of his heart changed its tune from one of fearful excitement, to that of sheer joy to have laid his eyes upon her once more.

JEFF: This was becoming a pattern, he was aware. For a man such as himself, one unbound by the conventional ties, patterns were a dangerous thing. Patterns were what got you caught, killed, or worse ─ imprisoned. That last was the one he tended to steer clear from the hardest, which was exactly what had driven him out of Chicago some odd months ago. Away from his works in progress, away from the woman he loved and was hoping to be with again, and back into the arms of Runaway, the cruel mistress that had her claws so deep in him he wasn't sure he could ever break free, not now.

And still, he found himself picking the lock of a familiar place, after he made sure the hidden spare key was no longer in its usual hiding place. Clever girl, that Hannah Wallace, he thought proudly as he slid inside, mindful that no nosy neighbors spotted him, getting ready for another long round of explanations and reasonings which would surely be demanded of him. That is, if he managed to move past the point of yelling and being told to shove off, which would undoubtedly kickoff their unexpected reunion.

HANNAH: You have to earn that with time.

HANNAH: That’s because I don’t trust you right now.

JEFF: You're right, you shouldn't.

HANNAH: I've been talking to you, /Andrei/.

HANNAH: I need to go now.

HANNAH: It was.

HANNAH: No.

555-555-0134.

Alright, beautiful, I’ve got it memorized.

HANNAH: Which is?

Oh, of course. My mistake.

HANNAH: He took it much better than she thought he would, and she was grateful that he didn’t try to convince her otherwise. She’d had enough pushing from him for one day, and it was about time he give in and let her be free. Although Hannah knew this wouldn’t be the end of them. He loved her, that she did know, and he would be persistent about getting her back. For now, however, she needed her time, and he was respecting that.

“I’ll walk you out,” she said, already standing and making her way over to the front door. When he joined her, Hannah wrapped her arms around him in a hug and kissed his cheek. She had no idea what compelled her to do so, but she felt it was a necessity, just in case she didn’t get another opportunity to.

“Take care of yourself, okay?”

JEFF: One of the skills he picked up in his time as a criminal was to know when to stop. To pick your battles and not be greedy. She had bailed him out, agreed to listen to him─ even if that was her own stipulation. The least he could do was respect her needs when she had done the same for his own. It wasn't an easy pill to swallow, not even a little bit, but he knew that pushing things even an inch further could end up breaking them beyond repair.

So, he stood up when she did, grabbed his things, put his shoes and coat on, and joined her at the door. All the while, the cogs in his head turned, trying to figure out what to say, anything to salvage what little trust and care was left between them, but coming up empty. Empty until her arms wrapped around him, and he pulled her in closer to his body, breathed in her scent, her warmth, committed to memory the softness of the small of her back, the gentle brush of her lips against his cheek as she pulled away.

Could he push it just a little bit more?

"You, too," he muttered and decided to take his chance. To put everything on the line and draw her in one last time, forehead pressed against hers, lips a whisper away before they collided with her own, cautious and desperate all at once.

HANNAH: Because I have a heart.

Well, I’m flattered. How many women have I beat out for the title?

HANNAH: She remained silent, for once completely out of words. Somehow, though, she believed him when he said it wasn’t planned. The look on his face, the tone of his voice, it was all very believable.

Her heart sunk fully into the pit of her stomach when he mentioned being in love with her. She so desperately wanted to say it back, to continue saying it for the rest of their lives, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t be with a con artist. How would that even work?

“This is just... a lot to take in. And I think I need some space. Some time... away from you.”

JEFF: Whoever said that silence rang louder than words was right, Jeff thought as he sat there, waiting to hear so much as a sound leave her lips, for that final verdict. Her face, the features he knew so well, had mapped out with lips and fingers, remained a closed book to him, and for the first time in a long while, he knew his silver tongue couldn't save him from whatever was running through her head.

[hours later]

HANNAH: It’s not fun being a bitch to you, you know?