Leroy discovered very quickly that Zachary was a terrible texter. His messages were short and blunt, and he answered painfully slowly. Sometimes Leroy would text him on the bus to work and receive a reply sometime in the afternoon. Most of his responses were hours apart, and sometimes some would come through a bit faster. Which for Zach meant after thirty minutes or so.

At first, Leroy thought he was simply shy, but it was definitely more than that from what Leroy could observe. The man hadn't had much of this interaction with anyone else, and it was not far-fetched to assume that he simply didn't know texting etiquette.

There was a much more charitable reason Leroy didn't think about until much later when he remembered something Zachary had told him. A week or so after they started texting, Zachary mentioned that he slept a lot throughout the day and didn't look at the screen much because it hurt his eyes. Reading the text, Leroy then remembered Zachary mentioning how hard it was to get into long-form writing because of his condition.

Zachary simply couldn't look at the screen long enough to type out satisfactory texts that matched Leroy's long-form essays that had only gotten longer since Zach's responses were spaced, and a lot would have happened between the hours.

"Fuck," the younger man said, starting at the text Zach had sent only minutes ago. He felt his head buzz and his chest buzz with something—guilt maybe? Why did he suggest texting in the first place if Zachary could barely look at his phone most days, and why had Zachary accepted without saying anything? Maybe the older man had underestimated the gravity of the issue, or he had just sucked it up wanting to be nice to Leroy.

Leroy felt bad.

He should have known better.

He sighed, staring at his phone for a bit before looking up at the clock just above the flat-screen TV propped by the wall of his bedroom. It was late. The clock read a little past eleven PM, so he couldn't do what he wanted to do. A call would probably startle Zachary, considering the man replied to the text when he's gotten up to take a sip of water.

I'll do it tomorrow. Leroy reminded himself, locking his phone screen before plugging it to charge by the foot of his bed. He went to bed, hoping that working from home the coming Friday wouldn't be much of a headache.

When morning rolled around and his alarm went off at seven, Leroy crawled out of his bed, with a minor headache and aching back.

Yeah, heading to bed that late hadn't been a good idea at all.

He stretched, squinting at the sun's rays making their way past his shutters before getting up and heading to the bathroom.

He lived in a three-bedroom house with a basement with his mother and sister. He had one room, his mother had the other, and the third, which used to be his sister's, had been cleared out to use as a centralized office. His sister lived in the basement with all her craft, hair, and nail equipment. It was a reasonably large space. When given the ultimatum between simply using the room that could pass off as two walk-in closets taped together or the basement when their mum complained about her also using the basement, Fraye chose the basement.

When Leroy was in the bathroom, he brushed his teeth and took a quick shower—something you grew accustomed to when three people shared one central bathroom in the hallway. When Leroy stepped out, his sister was standing by the door in a towel shawl and a frown on her face.

"I was supposed to go in first. You know I was heading out today," she said, watching her brother with mild annoyance. Fraye looked a lot like Leroy. In fact, Leroy could vaguely remember someone calling her the gender-bent version of him. They had the same dark eyes, hair, cupid bow-shaped upper lip, full brows, and thick eyelashes. They both also shared a heart-shaped face and a similar height. It worked well on Fraye, but not so much on Leroy. The combined features made his sister attractive, while the combined features made Leroy look like a rather effeminate man.

Ah, insecurities.

"Well, I'm working, and I'm not doing work while I can still smell myself," Leroy announced whilst his sister made a gagging motion before walking past him into the bathroom. 

Leroy made his way to the kitchen, starting to feel a bit peckish. When he was in the middle of making himself an omelet, his mother walked in. He knew it was her because of the brisk steps that seemed to hurry everywhere for no reason.

"Make me some too, will you?" she asked from behind him, making Leroy turn to look at her. She'd sat on one of the chairs by the dining table. She looked a bit out of it, but that was normal for her. Well, it has been normal for her ever since her husband passed away.

"Sure, what do you want on yours?" Leroy asked while plating his eggs.

"Just some salt and black pepper," she said, with a pause. "Oh, also onions please."

Leroy nodded, opening the fridge before taking out the ingredients and going through the motions of making an omelet again. Conversations with his mother had always been short. He'd been a daddy's boy for most of his life. His dad had been the glue that had facilitated conversations between family members. Regardless, conversations with his mum now, seemed even shorter—more strained, because of her aloofness and spacing out. He knew it was her way of dealing with the grief. He couldn't fault her for that, but sometimes he wished she'd just suck it up like the rest of them and get better already—leave that headspace of grief. He wasn't coming back. That was a terrible thing to feel, Leroy knew it, but his mother's general gloom brought him back to those very early weeks after his father initially died, and he hated feeling how she felt via proxy.

"Thank you," his mum said in a small voice when he dropped her plate of omelet and toast in front of her.

"No problem," Leroy said, taking a seat across from her. They ate in mostly silence, with the occasional comment about work or groceries.

"Can you do groceries next month? I think I might go see your dad's mum just around that time—"

"Why?" Leroy asked, cutting his mum off. The older woman blinked, staring at him with the blue eyes neither of her children inherited. Her hair was a very dark blonde that had started to grey from the front.

Leroy watched her brows knit into a frown. "Why what?" She asked. "You don't want to do the groceries?"

Leroy shook his head. "I mean, why are you visiting grandma? You saw her last month."

His mother blinked, shrugging her shoulders as he played with a piece of bread. "I think she needs company. It's been hard on her. You know..." she trailed, and Leroy understood the unsaid words, but he didn't agree.

No, you need the company. It's been the hardest on you. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he didn't want to start an argument or make his mother cry—fuck no. He already felt like shit since he couldn't really be there for her and had moved on like his sister. None of them were still deep in depression three years later. They had moved on—his mum wasn't ready to, and constantly visited the only other person who hadn't let go.

"Okay, say hi to her for me," Leroy said instead. The smile on his face hurt, but he showed it to his mum, anyway. The woman smiled, nodding her head.

"I'll text you the list of stuff to get, feel free to add to it, or ask your sister what she'd like."

Leroy nodded. "Of course."

The rest of breakfast was had in silence. When Leroy's mother was done, she got up, thanked him for the food, and left just like she'd come in—walking away briskly like something was on her tail. Leroy cleared the table and washed the dishes before dragging himself upstairs to the spare bedroom turned office. He had his laptop there already from last night sitting on the desk. He loaded it up, signing into his slack office group before loading up his email and going to work.

There wasn't much to do today, and if Leroy was being honest, he spent at least four hours of his eight-hour work commitment, flipping through comics and looking at reels and means on Instagram. When the day had come or a close, he signed out and dragged himself down to the living room. His mother wasn't home, and neither was his sister, so he had the space to himself for what he guessed was at least a few hours.

He was going to settle down to watch a few episodes of a show he'd been keeping up with when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He blinked, fishing it out of his pocket before staring at the notification.

Message from: Zach.

I haven't heard from you all day. Was work busy?

FRI, 5:36 PM.

Leroy stared at the text, realizing he hadn't responded to the older man yesterday and had been so consumed by his mum's gloom this morning that he had forgotten to call like he'd told himself he would.

Message to: Zach.

No, it wasn't busy. I wasn't just in a good headspace today.

typing...

How's your day been? Sorry, I forgot to reply yesterday.

typing...

Hey, can I call you? Typing is a bit slow.

FRI, 5:37 PM.

In true Zach fashion, a text back didn't show up until thirty minutes later.

Message from: Zach.

I've been good... well as good as I can be. Same old, same old. Sure, you can call!

FRI, 6:12 PM.

Leroy called as soon as he saw the text. The phone rang for a bit, creating anticipation. Leroy's heart felt like it was stuck in his throat, and he had to remind himself to breathe.

It's just a call. He reminded himself and just at that moment, Zach picked up.

"Hello?" The familiar voice he hadn't heard in a while rang through the room.

The sound made Leroy's chest flutter and the edge of his lips curl into a smile.

It made him happy.

Fuck, he hadn't even realized he'd been sulking all day.