It's separate beds (separate rooms, separate buildings, separate streets) for the night. Annie feels bad for neglecting her roommate, and Jeff goes along with it, joking as if he needs his space, even though there seems to be an unspoken agreement between the two that, though it might feel slightly inconvenient, sleeping apart for at least one night during his stay is necessary.

Still, Annie finds herself missing him.

And it's pathetic, really, because she's managed to go most of the summer without seeing him. And she was fine, then. But now - it's like some part of her has just up and left.

So she's staring up at her phone, held precariously above her head, and the clock blinks 11:42, and before she really has time to think, she's typing.

TO: Jeff

hey

She sets her phone face down on the bedside table, not expecting a reply until the morning.

However she's woken from her semi-dozing state 10 minutes later when her phone vibrates, loudly.

hey

And even though she's just been woken up, she blearily grins up at the screen.

Sleep can wait for one night.

The air on her bus is warm and sticky and jolts off as soon as she takes her seat. It's bright enough that she can see the dust and the fingerprints and other smudges on the window, obstructing the view of the passing houses and buildings and trees.

Annie kind of regrets staying up so late last night, but then again, no she doesn't. She'll be repressing yawns for the rest of the day but she can't say she'd take their late-night texting session back. To an outside eye she supposes the whole situation would sound rather promiscuous, but in reality it couldn't have felt more innocent. Like staying up all night with a friend, or texting with a crush back in middle school, except even better.

She's grinning when she walks to her desk, just under an hour later. Simultaneously hoping and not hoping for one of the other interns to ask her about it, because God, she just feels like she could burst with happiness, excitement.

Alas, no one does, but it's okay because she has plenty of time to unleash her good spirits on Jeff when he calls during her lunch break. He's kind of vague on what he's been up to so far - leading her to believe he's slept most of it away, and really, she can't blame him - but agrees to meet her when she finishes up with work.

(This at least puts a spring in her step when she gets back to the paperwork and filing that makes up most of her work day.)

They meet up as promised and walk around aimlessly for a little while - her hand in his, the heat radiating from his arm when it brushes against hers. The shared sense of being acutely aware of their lack of time together currently. He's leaving in a day.

Annie reminds him so, staring at her feet as they stroll, the white rubber tips on her shoes. It comes out - well, not unintentionally, per-say, but certainly not as a conscious decision. But it's on her mind, and has been since yesterday, and for all the talking they've been doing since they met (in the train station, like the old-timey romance novels she used to pretend not to read) it's not something that's came up organically.

And she sort of expects a longer response, something emotional and eloquent and indicative of everything, their whole relationship so far.

"Yeah," he confirms. It's all he really can say.

But somehow that just. Alleviates the tension. Because, yeah, duh, he's leaving. But then she'll also be leaving (later, yes, but still) and they'll be together again and she's not quite sure why it feels like such a huge deal. It isn't. Or, it doesn't have to be, at least.

So she makes a silent promise not to think about it until it's actually happening, swings their hands between them, and continues.