Summer left the door open when she got home. It wasn’t even out of concern for the heat; it was shock, habit, forgetfulness — one of those. She just stood there, in the doorway, for a long time, staring into the dark, arms limp at her sides.
Who did that? Invited their girlfriend to meet their parents and then later that night told her he wanted to take a break? She couldn’t even make herself take another step into her apartment, too many memories mocking her from the corners. Finally she stepped back, and back, and sat down on the steps, head in her hands, and only then realised she was crying.
Ace came back from the club, shoes in hand, jacket drenched in sweat and booze draped over his one arm whilst the other was just about elbow-deep in his pocket, searching for his key.
On the way up, though, he found Summer sitting there, and by the looks of it, their nights were taking two completely different turns.
With a sigh, he used the toebox of his shoe to nudge her own heel-clad one, rousing her from her tearfest.
“Wh—? Oh, Ace, sorry, I’ll just — sorry — ” Apologies spilled out of her mouth while she wobbled to her feet, smearing the tears away. She was sure she looked hideous, makeup smeared, eyes and nose red and horrible. Getting out of his way, she went and draped herself over the rail on the other side of their little entry area.
Staring down, she wondered how badly it would hurt if she just flung herself over the edge. Would it hurt more than she was hurting now? “Can I just — I know you don’t, but maybe — can you just — a hug?” she said, trying to still her sobs and glancing at him over her shoulder.