Edit 1/3/2014: Yay, it's back online, after a lot of requests from you guys. I've fixed some grammatical errors and reworded some phrases.
"I could die now and die happy," Diana moans around a mouthful of chow mein. She points a pair of chopsticks at Sam's plate. "Are you going to eat that?"
"What?" He's locking and unlocking his phone, one foot jiggling nervously. "Oh. Oh no, you can have it."
She scrapes up the last of the coconut shrimp, then abandons all civility and licks the sauce straight off the plate. "What's up with you?"
"Astrid said she'd be home at seven."
Diana squints at his phone screen. "It's seven fifteen."
"Exactly. What if something happened to her?"
"Seriously?" Diana snorts. "What, do you think she's getting mugged or something? Maybe lost? Ooh, or I know. Maybe she's found a guy who's actually hot, and–"
"You're so annoying sometimes."
"Well that must be terrible for you to endure," Diana shoots back.
There's the sound of a key turning in the apartment lock and Astrid enters the living room, shoulders slumped.
"Hey," Sam holds out his arms. "Rough day?"
Astrid surrenders herself to them without hesitation and Sam pulls her onto his lap.
"Do you really want me to say?" She starts. "Well, first I had to go to the makeup and hair department before my interview because apparently I don't look enough like Astrid. Then the publisher calls and says that I need to 'tone down' the book in order to appeal to a wider audience. And then..." She trails off and smiles. "Never mind. I'm happy it's over now."
"I can make you happier," Sam suggests, lifting her chin with one hand and kissing her.
"Ew, barf," Diana pretends to retch. "Go get a room."
"Gladly." They stumble into their bedroom without breaking their kiss. The door slams and there's a giggle - Astrid, probably - and then a low moan. The unmistakable clink of a belt buckle and, worst of all, silence.
Diana turns on the televison set anyway. It's playing reruns of some show she used to love, but she can't make any sense of it now. She's not jealous, not of either of them, she tells herself. No, no she's not. Diana Ladris doesn't care about anything.
For the hundredth time since the FAYZ fell, she lets herself imagine what could have, might have, almost had happened. Would Caine's eyes light up when she came into the room? Would he worry for her when she was running late? Probably not, she decides. He was always a self-centered jerk. But he was herself-centered jerk and she's lying if she says she doesn't wish he was here. He'd probably slouch in the armchair, mocking her taste in TV shows. And then they would argue back and forth for a while and eventually he'd come over and try to kiss her. She'd roll her eyes and push him away and he'd pin her to the couch, his firm lips insistent, his...
No. Stop. She can't let herself go on like this.
Against her own will, she takes the paper from her pocket, falling apart at the creases and warped by tears. The letter crackles as she unfolds it and runs her fingers over the water-stained words. Love, Caine. Love, Caine. Love, Caine.
So stupid and brave. She loves him so much she hates him.
Then, angry with herself, she stuffs the letter back in her pocket. Wipes away the tears, because she's stronger than this. She turns the TV to its full volume to cover up whatever's going on in the next room and prays for the cheesy dialogue to drown out her loneliness.