Trace hesitated a moment, calculating if he was taking too much, but gave into Vanessa’s logic. He sheepishly made his way up the stairs as directed, and a moment later, a soft rainfall of low-pressure water drummed on the worn groove in the bathtub. She stood for just a second, staring at the ceiling with a vague smile, before heading into the kitchen to clean up his plate. The kitchen was small, with outdated tiles and cabinets that were in sore need of new hinges and some paint, but her fridge had the water dispenser on the door, so who was she to complain? She rinsed the plate off and noted with dissatisfaction that the dishwasher was full, and she didn’t particularly feel like emptying it out just to put the plate in. That would take more energy than she had on hand at the moment, she needed to conserve that carefully with a guest to look after now. Abandoning the plate in the sink, she sighed and dried her hands off with one of the dishrags hanging off the cabinet handles.

Vanessa walked down the narrow hall to the two-quarter-winder staircase, skipping the second-to-last step that creaked too loud every time you stepped on it. She paused by the first doorway on the left, which was closed as Trace took his shower, and wondered if she’d left him any towels. To be safe, she left two folded outside the door, then took the door on the right. The door was still carved up and busted from when Tony used to draw on her door when they were younger. Well, jokes on him, because now she got the bigger bedroom after he moved out, and his room got turned into a guest bedroom, stupid door and all. Ha. ..That used to feel like more of a victory. Standing in the quiet room with its green and red walls, Vanessa missed her brother more than ever. Had she really stayed in this room before? Had she really gotten so old..?

She shook herself out of it. Thinking about it wasn’t helping. She took a deep breath and turned to the closet, pulling the door open. The handle didn’t turn anymore, but that was fine, it didn’t get jammed like her bedroom door could. Catching the vacuum quickly before it toppled over, she flipped through the various shirts Tony had left behind. A few dress shirts, but those weren’t Trace’s style. No sweaters, and that was a shame, because Vanessa was kind of hoping to get him in something warm. She settled on a short sleeve shirt that said “big issues” like that was something people didn’t already know, and a sweatshirt from a ski bar they had been to once for a school field trip. Of course, none of the kids had been allowed to order drinks, but Vanessa had insisted on souvenirs. She left the clothes on top of the stack of towels, and went back to her room to get dressed as well.

It felt like torture getting out of her pajamas. She didn’t want to be ready for a day, this day had already been too much. Clothes meant that somewhere down the line, she’d have to get out of them to put on pajamas, and that was a commitment she didn’t make lightly. Still, she had to be in the right head space for Trace. It was time for the other Vanessa, not the one that’d been hiding in her room since senior prom. However, she allowed herself to put on yoga pants, not jeans, and a soft cotton shirt, not one of her itchy ones. There was no need to be too serious. She glanced in the mirror, but as always, she hated who she saw there. She ran her hand briefly over her curls, but gave up before she got her hopes up. Trace didn’t care that much about what she looked like, anyway, he never had.

Vanessa treated herself to a moment of lying on her bed while she waited for Trace to finish his shower. She exhaled softly, feeling her body sink into the softness of her bed like she’d just worked eight hours. How did she make it through high school? She stared at her popcorn ceiling, calculating the hours spent at school, then the hours spent working after. How had she done it? Where had she had all that energy? How could she get it back? She was tired of carefully calculated days and always sacrificing something that made her happy to make sure she could still get up and feed herself the next day.

She looked up as she heard the shower slow, then turn off. The knob was always fussy, she knew the strength it took to pull it closed, and was glad Trace had figured it out instead of leaving the faucet dripping. She heard the door open, then close, and eventually open again. She pushed herself out of bed, taking a moment to blink away the dark clouds that came over her vision when she did, and leaned in the doorway to watch him fuss with his hair. He was looking a bit better, some of the warmth back in his skin. His hair hung in a dark mop over his eyes, and she smiled and shook her head as he searched through the cabinets for something to slick his curls out of his face. He caught her looking, and gave her a sharp smile, all of his boyish charm blossoming at once. She wondered if he was playing men's heartstrings like harps down in the city, or if he just looked that good for fun.

“Do I look okay?”

“I thought you liked the scruffy look. Besides, we aren’t going anywhere.”

“Yeah, well…”

Trace didn’t finish his statement, just turned to look at her. Leaning as she was, they were fairly evenly matched in terms of height, and for a moment they simply looked at one another. Comparing their battle scars and the time passed. Speaking honestly to herself, he looked better than she did. At least he wasn’t gathering dust.

Silently, she turned and led him into the room he’d be staying in, closing the door with her foot before any cats could sneak in. She climbed onto the bed, soon simply sprawling out with a defeated sigh. He soon followed after her, groaning as he stretched out. The dust motes whirled in the air above them. For just a moment, Vanessa felt thirteen again, sneaking Trace into her room with the door closed so they could sit together and talk about middle school life. Even if she couldn’t remember the exact words spoken in hushed voices, she knew she had entrusted Trace with her deepest secrets. When he moved away, it felt like part of her was being torn away. Again.