The takeout’s gone lukewarm, and Reed still hasn’t touched his egg rolls. Susan leans her chin into her palm, fork spinning noodles she doesn’t want. ❛ You know, ❜ she says, not quite looking at him, ❛ you’ve read the same sentence on that datapad five times now. ❜ She tries to keep the bite out of her voice. Fails a little. ❛ Reed. Hey. Dinner? ❜ She shrugs, but the kind of shrug says I’m used to this. . ❛ It’s not like I didn’t expect you to bring quantum mechanics to the table, again — I just thought maybe tonight we’d get through one meal without you zoning out. ❜ She pokes at a dumpling with her fork. ❛ Not mad. Just… ❜ She gestures vaguely at the dimly lit kitchen, the spread of containers between them. ❛ Miss you. The version of you that used to sneak dessert before Ben could get to it. The guy who used to actually talk to me at 1 a.m. instead of staring into the void. ❜ She finally looks at him, a small smile tugging at her mouth despite herself. ❛ So unless that screen has figured out how to fold socks or survive another dinner with Johnny, I’m gonna need your attention for like five human minutes. ❜ She slides his favorite sauce across the table toward him. ❛ Eat your egg rolls, Richards. That’s an order. ❜ @fntstic