(Untitled)

[grabmyballs]

One day. That's all the time he's taking to get himself sorted. Job's not done right, not fully, but he'll be damned if he ends up being the one to let Sarah down. This shit -- and he can't even say it properly in his head, how fucked is that? -- is a hell of a lot more important than who snogged who while someone's age has been fucked with

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[knowthyexits]

Sarah checks who it is through the window, setting her knife down and locking up her safe before she heads to the door and opens it by the third bang. She keeps her expression impassive as she takes in her visitor, who is not who she expected at all. "Cook," she greets him. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

[grabmyballs]

"I don't do apologies," he explains without preamble. This is where he should say sorry, right? Do something to break Sarah's expression into something softer? But that's not her and that's not him, so even though he knows there's a proper way to do this, he's not going to fucking bother. They can manage or they can't. But he really hopes they can.

"I don't like shit changing on me either. It's fucking bollocks and I can't deal with it." He can't turn this into a sob story, no matter how much his emotions are still roiling around inside of him. He refuses to make this a heart to heart but shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers and scuffs his shoe on the landing. "But I'm calmer now, or whatever, so if you wanna.. I dunno, something, now's better."

[knowthyexits]

She raises a brow, biting back a sharp comment about how sorry she is that she's gone and changed things in his life by having cancer. It'll do nothing and she's aware of how narrow this line is that she has to walk. "What's something?" is all she asks, relaxing now that she knows she won't have to fight the person on her doorstep -- whether with words or weapons.

[grabmyballs]

"I dunno." His words come with the requisite shrug. People stereotype Cook as a troubled kid for a reason, and standing on that doorstep he looks as out of place and ready to run as anything. "Talk?" he suggests, like the word's dragged from him unwillingly, a slight frown of uncertainty.

This is easier with Freddie and Effy. He knows them, inside and out. Even when they bash heads, he knows. He doesn't know what the fuck he's doing with Sarah.