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Homesick

Meg stirred and slowly opened her eyes a crack to look out the window. The bed next to her was empty, but she knew exactly where he'd gone. It was still dark, after all. She crawled out of bed and wrapped the bedspread around herself – it was freezing in the bedroom. A freezing she would have regarded as warm in Philadelphia, but was ice cold for California. She crept toward the window and looked out to the alley between this building and the next.

Sure enough, he was leaning against the next building, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. She smiled. He smoked at the same time every night and in the same place. When she'd shown up at his doorstep and walked into his bare apartment, she'd been able to smell the smoke, but ever since she'd arrived, he'd taken it outside. She hated the smoke. But when he came in and crawled back into bed, careful not to wake her up, the smell of it lingering on him was comforting to her. It meant that things hadn't changed that much.

He reached up with his left hand to take a drag and held the end of the cigarette near a piece of paper he was holding that he'd fished out of his Levi's. He was careful not to burn the piece of paper, but she could see the frown on his face in the moonlight.

But then he smirked and looked up at the window. She smiled and he raised a hand to his forehead in a kind of salute. He'd be back up in a few minutes, she knew.

It was a good thing, too. She was tired and had classes and work the next day. But as she watched him put the paper away in his pocket and take drags off his cigarette, the familiarity of the act struck her. And the pang she felt that she was barely able to identify as homesickness.

That was ridiculous. She couldn't be homesick; she was at home. This place had become her home. She sighed as she padded to the bed and climbed back in. She'd gone all of these months barely thinking about the family and friends she'd left behind when she took off, and one simple act made it all come rushing back.

And she knew Chris was hiding something from her. That piece of paper in his pocket that he'd been staring at so intently.

That piece of paper would change everything, Chris knew. He hated it. He hated what it would mean for him and he hated what it would mean for her. More than anything he worried about her. It was new and strange for him. He'd moved around a lot when he was a kid, from place to place, girl to girl. None had ever stuck the way Meg had. He'd never thought that he, of all people, could care about someone as much as he cared for her. He couldn't believe she put so much trust in him. He'd left her once; how could she be sure he wouldn't do it again?

He'd asked her that before, one night when he was feeling particularly insecure – something he felt often but rarely showed – and she'd shrugged. "I can't be sure. But I trust you," she said softly, standing up and kissing his forehead before walking way. That love, that blind trust, had left him with a warm feeling he'd never felt before.

A feeling he wasn't feeling now.

She trusted him, believed he wouldn't leave her, and that's exactly what he was going to do.

The fact that it was through no fault of his own was little comfort. One way or another, she was going to be heartbroken and alone.

He took a long drag on his cigarette and stomped it out on the ground amidst the cigs from the previous nights before going upstairs to join Meg and try to get some sleep.

She looked the same as she always did when he walked quietly back in the room: on her side asleep, tangled up in the blankets. He smiled at her and tossed his jacket onto a chair, slipping into the bed as carefully as he could so he wouldn't wake her. He kissed the side of her head before rolling over to fall asleep.

"Chris?" she murmured.

He turned to face her. "I didn't mean to wake you. I thought you'd fallen back asleep."

She shook her head. "I hadn't. Chris, I miss the snow."

"You miss your parents."

"I'm sorry. I just want to go home for a week. Maybe a weekend." she said, propping herself up on her elbow. He turned all the way over and watched her. She looked like she felt guilty. "I'm sorry," she repeated.

"Hey, it's ok. I didn't expect you to want to stay here forever." He didn't voice what he was really thinking. I didn't expect you to want to stay with me forever. He turned his head away from her.

"Chris." The tone of her voice made him turn back. "I'm not leaving you. I just need to see my mom. My nephew. Will." She paused. "Look, let's just go to sleep and talk about it tomorrow. You look tired." She kissed him and rolled over.

Chris shook his head, but knew there wasn't anything he could say at this point.