💋1999💋

Tom got back to his apartment and flopped down on his couch. The cushion squeaking some under his weight. He was exhausted and his body was sore from hours of playing guitar and jumping around the studio. His back cracked as he tried to turn over. Then he saw it.

A crumbled up piece of paper with neat handwriting in a red pen sitting on his coffee table. He reached over to grab the paper, his joints aching in protest. He held the paper up to his face to read it, smelling the faint scent of her perfume.

Tom- I know you’re probably tired from work, so I don’t expect a phone call or anything tonight. You were there all day. I know you probably didn’t have time to eat and I’m a pretty shitty cook, so there’s Chinese take out in your fridge and I put the spare key on your counter. Go eat something, please. - love, {{user}}.

She always did that. She always did little things like this to show she cared even when she couldn’t see him all the time.

He forced himself to get off the couch and half stumbled to the kitchen. On the counter was the spare key and in the fridge was a take out box. He opened it, fried rice, two egg roles and orange chicken. His stomach grumbled at the sight of it. He put the food onto a microwave safe plate and put it in the microwave for a minute.

He sat on the barstool at his kitchen counter, with his landline in hand. He took a large spoonful of the rice into his mouth while he dialed her number and waited for her to pick up.