#m:todd

“ah, hades,” she’s lucky to get a nod in greeting, “you just missed persephone; I think he just finished weeping, if you wanted to swoop in and take him back to your lair in the underworld.” he’s perceptive enough to be able to tell something is off about her, but doesn’t care enough to think about it any further than that. “i’d actually really appreciate a quiet night tonight, if you’d like to do hephaestus a favour.”

"Sir, with all due respect, I think it's fairly obvious I don't have time for this right now." The nurse behind the counter is right not to tell him anyone's whereabouts, but that doesn't make it any less frustrating. Between that, the blood in his mouth and the stinging, well, everywhere, he's sure he must sound ( and look ) insane. "We're old friends, hang on." He digs into his pocket for his phone, knuckles brushing on the denim. It must've cracked when he fell. One of the times anyway; he just hopes it's all the screen protector. He's about to give up on his photo gallery and just start begging when he spots her, coming out into the lobby with a coworker, and for a moment, he regrets coming. "Thanks." He gives the nurse a tight lipped smile, struggles with both that and literally swallowing down his worries. She's going to see him like this, but at least she'll hear what happened from him. "Winter... Have you got a minute?"

Todd's been sitting on this for too long, letting his rage fester. And he'd tried to let it go, he really had, but every time he thinks of Winter crying, opening up to him of all people, white-hot anger rushes through his veins again and before he knows it he's marching down to Little Theater, the only place he knows to find him, and catching who he assumes to be Brett leaving work. He steps in front of him, blocking his path, jaw tight. "Brett, right?"

"What the fuck is this." It isn't a question, partially because he already knows what the fuck she's handed him, and partially because he doesn't really want her to actually answer and make it real. If he pinches himself, is there a chance it won't hurt? That he'll wake up safe and sound in his apartment, face stuck to papers at his desk? He peeks into the gift bag again, what little hope he had left of this either being a nightmare or a head injury dwindling away. "Bea, why have you bought me this?"

TODDNELSON JUST POSTED TO INSTAGRAM !

"If your arms worked as hard as your mouth, Kai would be all settled in by now." Todd snaps, lips thin as he passes Winston. Not that he's keeping score, but he hasn't seen the oldest lift a finger yet, but he's heard plenty of him, bumped into him enough times on his way to and from the moving van to know he's there, welcoming Kai in with his hospitality and charming personality. Todd's careful when he stacks his current box on top of the previous, hands out just in case until he's confident it's secure. "First rule of this house, by the way," he announces after patting down his jeans, points a stern finger at his pre-existing housemate whilst looking over at their newest, "it's always justified to tell him to shut the fuck up."

Todd never likes to assume that not finding his novel on the shelves means it's out on loan. After all, there's a non-zero chance they just don't hold it — although, if that were the case, he's got a shameful box full of them in his bedroom he could share a few from. Still, he finds himself looking every time he steps foot in a library, bookstore, even secondhand stores (where he has the most luck) because it's still so surreal to think his work is out there with his name on this time, in the hands of readers and on the shelves of libraries.

He glances at the woman next to him, tries not to fool himself into thinking the cover in her hands looks familiar. "Hey, any recommendations? Kinda struggling to decide what to read next."

His neck cracks with how fast he double takes. It’s stupid, thinking he recognises the back of her head, how her hair falls down her back, but there’s that sinking feeling in his gut, the same one as every time he thinks he hears her laugh in the distance, watches a girl’s nose wrinkle, and he’s chasing her out the theatre before he can question himself. He’d arrived late, found his seat in the dark— Had they been sitting twenty foot from each other for the past two hours?

She makes a quick exit, hurried, pauses outside as if she can finally breathe. Maybe she’d seen him. Regardless, she’s about to. “Winter?”