It was late when I finally made it home from my photo shoot. I kept strange hours, since I was moonlighting almost literally as an alternative model, but it was mostly because of the photographers I worked with. They held day jobs, just like me, only their schedules kept them in their studios until five and six in the evenings. My day job was normal. I was a teacher. My current position as a twelfth grade literature teacher kept me busy enough, but let's face it. The pay really isn't the highest out there. My heart was in it, though, because I knew how badly our education system needed teachers who cared genuinely about their students.
After entering the empty studio apartment that I shared with a roommate, I walked into the corner of the apartment where the beds were, dumped my train case by my tiny closet and threw my ankle-length coat onto my bed. It was around two in the morning on a Sunday by now. I desperately needed a shower and a few hours of sleep. I had papers to grade and a weekly lesson plan to go over before Monday morning.
My roommate, Brian, had also been my best friend since grade school. He and I met on the playground in first grade, when the school bully was busy dragging me around by my long, brown hair. Brian broke it up by hauling the kid off of me and hugged me, told me his name and he'd never let anyone hurt me again. Brian was the sweetest kid, awkward as he was. He'd kept his word, mostly. We were adults now, and I had dated a few guys in high school and college and none of them ended well for me, which angered Brian from time to time.
I stalked into the bathroom and stripped, showering quickly. I brushed my hair and put it into two braids so it'd be wavy when it dried. I had one of my favorite towels wrapped around my torso, a cushy, thick navy blue towel. When I walked out into the apartment, I wasn't expecting Brian to be home. Seeing him sitting on the bed with his head in his hands startled me and I yelped, which scared him. He jumped also and looked up at me, his dark brown eyes wide with fear. His usually carefully disheveled hair was mussed, like he'd been messing with it.
"Jesus, Garcia, scare me half to death, will ya?" Brian said on a nervous laugh. Brian had started calling me Garcia as a joke, because he'd always call me when he was away to have me look things up for him. He joked that I was his own personal Penelope Garcia, only not as blonde or flamboyant as the Criminal Minds character. It stuck with me ever since, and to Brian's unending delight, everyone had started calling me Garcia.
"Sorry, Bri. I didn't know you'd be home tonight. Hey, what are you doing home, anyway? I wasn't expecting you until at least Monday afternoon," I said as I shuffled over to my narrow chest of drawers. I retrieved a camisole and pair of boy shorts, dropping my towel to pull them on. Even though Brian's bed was only eight or so feet from mine, he respectfully kept his eyes on the ground.
"Honestly? I was just tired of being away from home, my own bed, my best friend," he said. I walked over to his bed and dropped myself heavily on my back right behind him, shifting around until I was curled around his hips, pressing my legs into one of his, draping one arm across his lap.
"I missed you, too, but that doesn't tell me why you look like someone just kicked your puppy," I pressed.
"It's really what I just told you, Mags. I just missed home." Brian looked down at my face in the dim light coming from his bedside lamp and smiled, reaching down with one of his hands to pat my cheek. I was skeptical. Brian wasn't usually so somber, so this change in his demeanor was a little disconcerting. I watched from where I was curled around his hips as he took his sneakers off, stuffing them into one of the cubbies built into his bed. His socks were next and then he stood up. I grumbled and shifted back on his bed so I wouldn't fall, watching him carefully.
"How was your tour?" I asked as I sat up on his bed, pulling one of his pillows down from the headboard, hugging it to my chest.
"It wasn't bad. Different, but not bad. Can we talk about it after we both get some sleep?" Brian sounded tired and troubled. I was beginning to wonder what had gone so terribly wrong on this much anticipated tour with his band. He shuffled to the bathroom and shut the door quietly behind himself. I heard the water turn on and a few minutes later he came back out, the smell of his cinnamon toothpaste filling the small space. His face was clean now, free of the eyeliner he wore almost all the time. He stopped at the foot of his bed and waited until I put his pillow back where it belonged and moved before he literally faceplanted on his bed. I laughed and went to my own bed, crawling under my fleece throw, snuggling into a pillow. Sleep finally claimed me some time later.