there'd never been a routine. not for them. though common ground was always a tight-rope's walk away and he'd done it enough nights to know where the wobbles came hardest, roman had let the distance grow. he'd let time swallow up good things.. and bad. forge a gulf wider than the combination of their egos and, only when the quiet sat heaviest, an unfortunate anchor around his neck, did he bother to second-guess himself. check a phone so quiet these days. bask in a flash that strikes out in an otherwise darkened room and scroll, down.. down.. — there weren't enough L's to hide her.
not a year ; not quite. but one month had habit of tasting like a hundred when bitter words were the last shared. a blame game. a verbal pointing of fingers and roman's thumb hovered over his own expletives without course where else to go. not to hell like becky'd told him to. reread, it warrants his scoff. warrants indignation. it warrants a hasty, long overdue reply he just as soon erases. nothing'd fit back then.. it doesn't fit, now, either. childish and beneath him, three sucks to his teeth and he's tossed the cell onto the cushion beside him.
...and picked it back up right after.
outgoing message to @biiigtime ╰┈➤ you know, hell been awful cold the last few months.
if he expects a response, it doesn't show. faced back down, the light dies and roman sits, instead, in the glow of a television long-muted. sports center ain't hit right in weeks. tongue counting his teeth proves more entertaining, rolex flicked right-side up, the minute hand trailed by steady, dark eyes. it moves like the second, a harsh rotation turning patience into impatience into a snarled, more forceful renewal of tapping ;
╰┈➤ oh, but you already know that don't you. ╰┈➤ got me out here fucked up cause you still playin.
that'd earn a rise out of her, at the very least.
