agirlwaiting | (no subject)

It's been about a week since Maggie found herself here in this city instead of back at the station the way she'd originally planned, but she's trying. She prides herself on being the kind of girl who can adapt and change for a new set of circumstances, but she knows it wouldn't be half as easy as it is without him here. Living on her own, though - that's something that takes her back a little, back to the morning she'd spent in that tiny little apartment smoking her way through a pack of cigarettes and trying to cover up bruises as best she could.

She goes to see Forrest every couple of days, though, even as she wonders if she should be coming around more often. She worries about him, living by his lonesome, especially given he's without even a single one of his brothers. She even wonders if it would be a good idea for her to address trying to get a closer room with him, though that seems a bold suggestion to make and one she isn't sure she's even entitled to think about.

It's plain reasoning that brings her to his apartment tonight, despite having received an invitation to a party in the mail. She ignores it in favor of standing on his doorstep dressed all in green with a basket full of food - there's a bottle or two in there as well - and knocking, waiting for the sound of movements from within.

"Forrest? It's me."

If he's in there, he'll answer.

Threaded | Flat

As a general rule, Forrest didn't skulk around his apartment, unless absolutely necessary. He preferred keeping busy, in whatever way he could. That evening, it just so happened he was keeping busy by fixing a leak in the faucet. When he heard the knock on his door, he was under the sink, sleeves rolled up and a wrench in hand. He might've left it unanswered, if not for the sound of her voice drifting softly through the room.

Climbing to his feet, he wiped damp hands on the handkerchief hanging from his pocket.

He'd gotten more than enough practice in being alone with her, but in the confines of this apartment, without the possibility of customers and kinfolk traipsing in and out, it took on a different tone. An intimacy, perhaps, if he'd been the type to think such things.

Which he wasn't.

Opening the door for her, he said, "Maggie," and with a glance at the basket in her hands, added, "Whatchu got there?"