Fredrick couldn't believe she'd kept up the cold shoulder all night.
No, really, he couldn't believe it. He was going out of his mind with worry. He'd never been a worry wart, and here he was pacing his apartment back and forth so often that his socks had not only turned grey from all the dust they were picking up, but had actually just begun wearing through at the soles of his feet.
They'd had fights before, sure. But like this? She'd never ignored him like this. She'd always threaten to whack him upside the head and storm off and come back five minutes later or sit next to him in stony silence. She'd never taken any of her stuff out of his apartment. And the place seemed bear without protest flyers sitting on his kitchen table and spare sweaters strewn about.
What if this was the end of...them? Us? Whatever you want to call it.
When his owl returned for the 20th time with an unopened envelope, Fredrick threw his pride out, put on a pair of shoes, and trudged towards her apartment in the rain.
An hour later (he had to walk past her door a few times before he worked up the courage), Fredrick knocked solemnly on her front door.
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