It was a couple weeks before anyone actually spoke to you at all.
And you weren't planning it, either. You didn't set out to talk to anyone today, you weren't going to attempt to any time soon, and it's a miracle someone actually bothered.
When she did arrive, knocking at your door, you ignored the call in favour of continuing with your work. Okay, maybe it was a little influenced by your newfound reluctance to talk to people since your best friend left, but you wouldn't admit that out loud.
After about the seventh attempt by this persistent asshole, you grouchily push yourself up from the desk, hobbling over to the door and opening it angrily.
"What. The fuck. Do you want?" you deadpan, right into the face of Axel, who cringes back a bit at the sudden outburst.
"Calm down, curly, I just want to talk," she begins, and you roll your eyes as soon as she speaks, closing the door again. She shoves her foot in front of it, scowling.
"Look," you say. "I don't have time for your prissy problems, whatever they may be. So leave me the fuck alone and go back to the dog shed or wherever the thieves stay."
"Stop acting like a greasy hermit and let me in!" she demands, and you take a moment of fake contemplation before trying to push the door closed again.
She just pushes back, too, and you end up stumbling onto your arse gracefully as she stands over you, giving you an unimpressed look.
"Don't pretend you're not lonely in here," she states, and you look up at her with a cold glare. After a few moments of tense silence, she holds out a hand.
You take it (only because you have to, not because you wanted to) and heave yourself up, moving back to slouch into your chair. "Fine. What is it?"
She sits on your bed, the springs creaking in protest. "It's about him."
"What about him?"
"You have to know why he left. You must."
You glance round at her at that, snorting and then turning your attention back to the project: seeing how big of an ammo magazine you can fit on the hidden gun without making it obvious. "And what makes you think he told me?"
She stays quiet for a second before continuing, and you can hear her fiddling around, nervously. "You were close to him. Nobody else knows, Robinson-"
"Leo."
"What?"
"My name's Leo," you tell her, not looking up from the work. "I'm not talking if you patronise me."
She frowns, folding her arms. "Alright, Leo, then. Didn't he say anything?"
"Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you."
She groans and stands up, putting her hands on her hips. "What is your problem? Did I do something to you?"
"Let's rewind to about two minutes ago, shall we? When you barged into my room uninvited?"
You were just winding her up at this point, and it worked, she walks up and spins your chair round to make you face her. "You didn't answer me."
"He didn't mention anything, okay?" you say, looking impatient. "You're his girlfriend, didn't he tell you anything?"
She seems to falter at that, pulling back tentatively and then scowling in defence again. "Whatever. Why are you suddenly holing up in here after he left?"
You furrow your brow, poking her in the stomach with the tip of your pliers. "Why do you care?"
She swats the tool away, pettily. "Because we're both on the same page."
You spin on your chair again. "And what page is that?"
"The page where we want to get Sam back." she mumbles, and you pause, putting down the various parts of metal you were tweaking.
"It's not my-"
"You're the only other person he really talked to, you have to help me..." she says, softly. "Please."
You rub your temples, grouchily, and then fold your arms. "Do you think I would be sitting here on my own like a 'greasy hermit' if I thought I had a chance of finding him?"
She rubs her arm absently, not looking at you anymore. You take the opportunity to size her up. Come to think of it, for the whole time she's been here, you'd only seen her briefly at a time; and each time she's been tense. Distant.
She's pretty, you can't deny it – her hair is a shade of red just above auburn, matched by pale skin and an accent which could be endearing if she didn't always speak with an intimidating undertone. She's, what, a year younger than you? Yet you've only just caught her up on height (barely), and she's filled out her body well enough, though she still has a way to go.
You can see how Sam was attracted to her. Wait, no. You're not meant to be thinking that at all. Jesus, are you already stooping as low as to start fancying your best friend's chick?
"Leo?" she calls, you snapping your attention back to her face.
"Hm?"
"I said, you shouldn't be in here alone anyway," she comments, getting up again to pluck a paper cup from your bedside. "When's the last time you ate?"
"Two projects ago."
"This cup has mould in it."
You get up and snatch it from her, dropping in into the bin. "I'm fine. Better than ever."
"Well, then," she coos. "Tell me what day it is."
You pout a little, as if it were an unfair question. "Seventeenth?"
"It's the twenty second, Leo."
"Only five days off, I think that's pretty good."
At that comment, you see her patience tick, and she moves over, grabbing you by the front of your shirt.
If she wasn't basically throwing you into your small bathroom at the moment, you could have found that a little attractive. But the thought is quickly eradicated when a towel hits your over the head, her slamming the door once you're in.
"Take a fucking shower, you can only come out when you're clean!" she says, the words muffled but stern. You shove the door as well as you can while balancing on your good leg.
"What the hell?!" you spit, hearing the lock click and seeing she managed to snatch the key.
"We're going to eat! I'm not taking you out if you smell like two week's worth of project sweat!"
You groan like a reluctant teenager, hitting the door for good measure before you start undressing.
As much as you want to hate this trip, you actually are quite hungry.
After scrubbing down as briefly as you could and throwing on whichever clothes you had which weren't dirty, you headed out with her. The café you arrive at is almost empty save for some tourists trying out the tea.
You slide into the grimy booth and glance over the menu lazily, eventually abandoning it and asking for whatever Axel orders. She looks unimpressed.
"I don't get you," she mutters, stirring the tea as it gets served. "Sam talks about you a lot..."
You sip your bitter coffee, ignoring the slight sting of the heat. "He talks about you all the fucking time."
"What does he say?"
"He talks about how ugly you are and how he would much rather have a pet cat."
She laughs, unexpectedly, making you raise an eyebrow. You don't remember the last time you made a girl laugh. Or if you ever made a girl laugh.
"Ha-ha." she drawls, sarcastically. You can't help but let the corner of your mouth turn up in a smile. "Well, he tells me about how you nag like an old lady and that he's sick of your gay advances on him."
You scrunch up your napkin and throw it at her, watching her laugh again as she dodges it, childishly. The food arrives and you find out she'd ordered the generic shepherd's pie, and also that she likes to play with her food; sculpting the potatoes into various shapes.
"Your artistic ability blows me away." you say, eying her work. She puts a finger over her lips as if to shush you.
"Wait, here... And... Look, I made you!" she beams, presenting to you a drawing of a smiley face in her mash with two peas for eyes. When you roll your eyes, she gasps and picks up her fork again. "Oh, I almost forgot!"
With one swift pull, she turns the smiling mouth into a frown that barely fits in the outline for the face, and you snort. "Wow. I'm flattered."
She grins before scraping the entire thing up on her fork and eating it, prompting you to eat as well.
It's a basic meal, and, though you'd never admit it, you kind of enjoyed having it with her.