Clunk.

The front door shuts hard behind Calvin when he steps inside—the wood had swelled a fraction in the summer heat, making the fit in the frame that much tighter.

Deducing the reasoning behind this was not helpful.

Hastings wasn’t a calm place—between the unending shout of other scientists across the hall, the click of every receptionist’s heels on the linoleum, and the constant smell of cigarette smoke in the air, it was a lot.

Too much.

Calvin shrugs off his jacket, drapes it carelessly over the arm of the couch as he settles onto the cushion.

He digs his nails into his palms, shuts his eyes tight, does whatever he can to stop that aching tightness in his chest.

It doesn’t work.

You’ve been spending most of the day keeping yourself busy, not-so-secretly waiting for him to return.

When you hear the door slam shut, followed by a frustrated huff you can only place as Calvin, and then nothing further, it gets your attention.

You make your way out to the living room, eyes immediately landing on the man in question, elbows on his knees and his eyes shut tight.

Definitely new. You’re not used to Calvin showing much of any kind of emotion, let alone…whatever this is.

Calvin’s mind is buzzing, the constant onslaught of stimulation to his entire being has made things unbearable; it’s more than he’s built to handle.

“Calvin—“

You watch as he shifts, hands moving to cover his ears. Clearly this was something that needs a lot more care than a simple conversation.