𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐄 for ian mckinley. a way he could 𝐃𝐎𝐂𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 his thoughts, get 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐔𝐓, and then 𝐒𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐒 or 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄. after the 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒, ian got 𝐀𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐑 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘 from mckinley as he could, moving to the bustling city life of 𝐒𝐀𝐍 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎, trying to make it as a 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑.
his apartment was in 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐘. 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐓 sat on nearly every surface. both 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 and 𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐍 clothes littered the floor. the 𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐒 were overflowing. the faintest hint of his 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐍𝐄 lingered beneath the stench of burnt 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐃, 𝐏𝐎𝐓, and 𝐂𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐒.
he’s so 𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆, documenting another 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄, that he doesn’t hear the knocking at first. it’s timid, 𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓 almost. ian groans, placing the cigarette between his 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒 as he set his things down, and kicked the towel away from the door.
‘ i’m not 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 in whatever you’re sell - ‘ he froze, the cigarette nearly 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 from his mouth. in his door stood a person he’d never thought he’d see again - 𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐘 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐍.
a 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐘 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐇 leaves him, and he glances around the apartment, before 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 slightly more, inviting her inside. a clap of 𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 rumbled overhead, the 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 pattering softly on the window. he didn’t even know what to say, 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓. the last time he’d seen wendy was when he was 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐓 on taking her life, nearly 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 ago.
‘ half expected to see 𝐅𝐈𝐒𝐇 walking up with you. ’ he scoffs, pushing piles of 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒 off the couch, and onto the floor, so she may 𝐒𝐈𝐓. he wanders over to his 𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐎, flipping it on. it instantly 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄, 𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊 filling the 𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 that had built up between them. he slowly walks over to wendy, sitting on the coffee table in front of her. he’s quiet for a 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄, a slender hand raising to pull the cigarette from his mouth, his head tilting slightly as he 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 her. ‘ … the 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋'𝐑𝐄 you doing here, wendy ?? ’
𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 for 𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐌