Work Text:
It was raining when Ingrid woke up that morning. That ruined everything.
It wasn’t the kind of light drizzle that might mildly annoy you if you forgot your umbrella. It was, instead, the sort of storm that made people pull out the word “torrential” in everyday conversation, with water flooding the gutters and pooling in the corners of poorly-kept sidewalks.
Ingrid glared at the weather app on her phone, which had promised her the night before that she could go for a run that morning. There wasn’t going to be time to make it to the gym and back, and an outdoor run was out of the question now.
She rolled back over to bury her face in a pillow and tried to calculate how much more she could sleep in if she wasn’t going to run and shower.
She calculated wrong, as it turned out. Ingrid was pretty sure she didn’t actually fall back asleep – when she got out of bed an hour later, she certainly didn’t feel better rested. But whether she was better rested or not was of no interest to the bus schedule, and between getting out of bed too late, not being able to find any suitable breakfast in her fridge, and having to run back for an umbrella she’d somehow forgotten to grab, Ingrid arrived at her bus stop just in time to see the bus pulling away.
One of the spokes on the umbrella was bent, she realized as she waited for the next bus to arrive. And she was going to be late for work.
The next bus was late, not that it mattered, but it was at least relatively empty. Ingrid found a seat and pulled out her phone. She scrolled through her contact list and pulled up Annette’s number almost without thinking. It was possible she’d been composing the text since arriving at the bus stop, just without realizing it.
hey, I don’t think I can make it to trivia tonight. Awful headache. Good luck, though!
She changed “good luck” to “I’m sorry” and then changed it back. Then she added the most friendly-looking sad face emoji, which seemed to soften things. The bus hit a pothole as she hit send. Ingrid closed her eyes and told herself the headache thing probably wasn’t going to be a lie by the end of the day.
***
Ingrid got the text from Sylvain an hour after she got home from work. Work could’ve been worse, honestly. She was late, but she arrived looking so soaked and miserable that nobody decided to point this out to her.
It was still raining when she finally made it back to her apartment, and at some point the spokeless half of her umbrella had decided to turn in on itself. Ingrid peeled off her work clothes and threw them in the corner to worry about later, changing into the largest and most faded sweatshirt she could find in her closet. The sweatshirt helped things, she had to admit.
Her phone dinged as she settled onto the couch, and she squinted at a text from Sylvain.
mom ordered too much catering last night
And, seconds later:
you want some?
Ingrid dropped her phone on her chest and contemplated an answer. On one hand, Sylvain was on the short list of people she wouldn’t have to put on an actual shirt to see. On the other, she wasn’t sure he was on the short list of people she particularly wanted to see today, which was pretty close to zero. And it was raining, which had to be lousy to drive even if he could use her empty assigned parking spot. And maybe she should just have dinner and go to bed.
She also remembered, then, that she was supposed to get groceries on her way home from work, and that her breakfastless fridge was also a dinnerless fridge. And that if she went to bed there was no guarantee she’d actually fall asleep.
Ingrid texted back sure and then turned on a podcast to avoid having to think about her decision, or anything else.
When Sylvain showed up at her door half an hour later, he wasn’t carrying the large party tray of next-day cheeses and meats that Ingrid had expected. Instead, he had a bag from her favorite takeout place. He was still shaking off his own umbrella when Ingrid opened the door, but he waved away Ingrid’s attempt to take anything from him as he bustled past her into the apartment and headed straight for the kitchen.
“Your mom ordered pho for her party?” Ingrid asked skeptically.
She caught Sylvain’s faint blush even as he focused on sorting various Styrofoam containers, but he quickly recovered. “Nah, I just was driving by and remembered they have that special on Wednesdays, so I thought, why not.”
“You didn’t leave all your mom’s food in your car, did you?” Ingrid asked. “It’ll go bad; I’m sure she didn’t let you take it just to waste it.”
“Don’t worry about it, Ing. She won’t care,” Sylvain said. He gave her a sidelong look. “How’s the headache?”
“Fine,” Ingrid said automatically.
It was her least favorite game, spot-the-lie. He knew she didn’t have a headache. She knew he didn’t actually have any leftovers to deliver. Neither was going to say it.
Sylvain passed her a bowl of pho silently. Ingrid frowned at it. It was her favorite, and she was suddenly so hungry.
“Did Mercedes tell you I cancelled trivia?” she asked somewhere between her third and fourth bite. She couldn’t see Annette texting Sylvain; the last Ingrid knew she’d refused to give him her number.
“Felix, actually,” Sylvain said. “But I was going to text you anyway, Ing. I know what day it is.” He looked away and added, “You did send me a save the date, you know.”
“You didn’t have to – it’s just a headache,” Ingrid said.
“Sure,” Sylvain said, not taking the argument. “Did Felix call or anything?”
Ingrid shook her head. “We usually do something on his birthday, but . . . well, it’s an anniversary that never even happened, Sylvain. That’s not really anyone’s problem but my own.”
Which was maybe unfair to Felix, to frame it like that. It was their own version of a defense mechanism, between the two of them. Have specific times they talked about Glenn. Leave each other alone for the rest. It was nice to have someone who understood and who left you alone.
Didn’t really mean she wanted to be alone, though. And Sylvain understood that, even if he did maddening amounts of gymnastics to avoid saying it.
He didn’t bring it up again until they’d finished dinner. He sat on the other side of the couch from Ingrid, watching her flip through channels rather than watching for something that would be worth watching.
“Get through today alright, then?” he asked.
Ingrid shrugged. “It was fine,” she said. “I wish it hadn’t rained.”
“I think it’s kind of cozy,” Sylvain said, but the glare Ingrid gave both him and the window behind him put a stop to any optimism he might have added.
Ingrid stopped on some late night talk show they both had agreed once was vaguely funny, and Sylvain didn’t object. She barely followed the monologue, some scandal in Alliance parliament that she’d seen headlines for but not bothered to click to read about.
“You can’t drop everything every time I miss him, you know,” she mumbled, eyes fixed on the tv.
“Don’t worry about every time,” Sylvain said. “Let’s just get through today, okay?”
Ingrid bit her lip and nodded. Sylvain leaned forward and Ingrid caught her breath, but he was only grabbing the remote to turn the volume up.
She heard the rain over everything else, regardless.