Hannibal's space-age coffee machine has a very distinctive gurgle. It just takes Neph a few beats to pick it out, against the steady drip-drip of water eking out of the showerhead behind her, the creaking of the pipes in the old walls. The fixtures are all new in this place, but the building's bones go back a ways.
There's at least one person in the kitchen. Two, maybe, with the drawers rattling counterpoint. Neph swabs the towel around inside her ear and follows the sounds. Her feet, overheated from the shower, leave steamy little footprints on the refinished hardwood.
"You're back," she says as she rounds the corner. That 'you' transforms into a plural mid sentence, when she clocks that it's both Hannibal and Will poking around the counters. Neph's only surprised that she's not surprised; she doesn't exactly have a frame of reference for this stuff, for the points in a friendship where it's normal to start hanging out in each others' spaces for non-emergencies. She thinks it might be a case-by-case thing, since she can't imagine wanting to chill at Will's apartment, especially not if his dad's gonna be around. Here, at least, the only awkwardness that might pop up is the stuff they carry around with them every day already. She quirks a smile at Will, a thank you and a good job not letting him get punched or initiate punching all in one. It's possible he won't catch all the subtleties, there.
Ear sufficiently dry, the towel flops back down around her neck. Neph steps onto the tile, grimaces at the cold, and hastily tip-toes her way over to the little rug in front of the sink. "There's coffee?"
Obviously there's coffee, but there's an equally palpable uncertainty in the air. Hesitation, hovering over everybody's shoulders. If she's learned anything from the past almost-year of living with Hannibal (proof she lacks that frame of reference: she went from babysitting the guy to moving in with him in the span of a year, and it's been like eight months since the living together thing started) it's to put on blinders and bull ahead through the Awkward. He appreciates it more often than he doesn't.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2017-02-08 01:34 am (UTC)There's at least one person in the kitchen. Two, maybe, with the drawers rattling counterpoint. Neph swabs the towel around inside her ear and follows the sounds. Her feet, overheated from the shower, leave steamy little footprints on the refinished hardwood.
"You're back," she says as she rounds the corner. That 'you' transforms into a plural mid sentence, when she clocks that it's both Hannibal and Will poking around the counters. Neph's only surprised that she's not surprised; she doesn't exactly have a frame of reference for this stuff, for the points in a friendship where it's normal to start hanging out in each others' spaces for non-emergencies. She thinks it might be a case-by-case thing, since she can't imagine wanting to chill at Will's apartment, especially not if his dad's gonna be around. Here, at least, the only awkwardness that might pop up is the stuff they carry around with them every day already. She quirks a smile at Will, a thank you and a good job not letting him get punched or initiate punching all in one. It's possible he won't catch all the subtleties, there.
Ear sufficiently dry, the towel flops back down around her neck. Neph steps onto the tile, grimaces at the cold, and hastily tip-toes her way over to the little rug in front of the sink. "There's coffee?"
Obviously there's coffee, but there's an equally palpable uncertainty in the air. Hesitation, hovering over everybody's shoulders. If she's learned anything from the past almost-year of living with Hannibal (proof she lacks that frame of reference: she went from babysitting the guy to moving in with him in the span of a year, and it's been like eight months since the living together thing started) it's to put on blinders and bull ahead through the Awkward. He appreciates it more often than he doesn't.