Packing for Seattle

The ticket lay on his nightstand, a barren nightstand, hard paper plastered with the emblem of an airline, stamped with the text of the flight number, a straight line to Seattle, his home, to his childhood home where he hoped he didn't have to end up with bad news. He thought he'd beat it before then. Now he was relying on human means and the durability of his lungs. He felt a cough come on and attempted to hold it, catching it on his breath until he tried to take in oxygen and spurt it all back out. A few hard coughs and silence. He went on packing to leave.

He didn't tell anybody. What could he possibly say? He spent the night with Jane in Paris, he'd spent countless nights with Sophia. Lamia, Ethan. All the people he came across in the infirmary. It made his stomach hurt to think about leaving the school after a what seemed to be no time at all. At that point, he didn't have time to say goodbye to each of them. He left a note in the infirmary the night prior, and a taxi cab was coming to whisk him away in a few hours.

He'd come back. He'd fight the whole world to come back. If he didn't, at least the helicopters would see him from the rooftop, where his initials sprawled themselves on the top of the rooftop staircase. Maybe if he died, he'd get his own plaque. He smiled at the idea of his face plastered in history on pyrite plastic, adorning a hallway for years where many would pass his face and never know who he was. Did they do that for dead students? There had to be a lot of dead students. He hoped that if they were to erect him somehow, they'd at least choose a good photo. He didn't have many of those to begin with, except for maybe the one of him in Paris.

Yes, the ultimate obituary photo.

A cockroach zipped by him, dodging the light and causing him to stumble back. The box he held fell on his foot, and he jolted up in pain, cursing to himself. "Fucking thing, fuck!" He didn't see where it had scuddled off to, and maybe it was for the best. It wasn't like he'd do anything about it; it was huge.

Sophia was happily painting in the other room. A paint covered apron sat over a worn, but still cute t-shirt, and sweat pants. The clothes had some old paint covering them, but it wasn't much of a concern. Dried paint covered the girls fingers. He hair was pulled back into a small ponytail, though some stands still sat at the front of her face because they were too short.

The spring girl was standing back observing her painting to see if it was the way she wanted it when she heard Logan's shouting from the other room. Curious, and slightly concerned as to what was happening, she set her paints, and paint brush down on the tarp that covered her floor. She briskly walked over to Logan's door, and lightly knocked on it. "Is everything alright in there Logan?" She asked through the closed door.

Logan heard the knock as he craned his neck to look under the bedframe, nonchalantly, as if he didn't care what he was leaving the future tenant. He straightened up. "Yeah," he looked at the door, hand on his forehead for a little while as he thought. "Listen, Sophia," he called loud enough to permeate the door clearly. "I'm, uh. I'm gonna be moving out for a little while." He thought about leaving a note, but now saw how awful that seemed. He had to tell at least his roommate.

He was moving out for a while? Where was he moving too? Was he leaving the school? "Oh.." She stated, her voice softening a little, though she didn't intend for that to happen. "Does this mean you are leaving the school?" She asked through the door. She didn't want to open it if he didn't say for her to do so. If he was leaving the school, then she would respect his wishes, but she would be losing a friend, and the only person that could reverse the effects of her gift. The dorm wouldn't be quite the same.. She let a silent sigh escape her. She could be happy for him.

Logan gave a pause. He stretched his back, putting a hand it his head and wincing. Having a barrier was nice, but even with it he could hear the disappointment in her voice. He breathed, slow and calm, hand now on his chest with the rise and fall. He turned, opening the door, and looked down on her. Even with his being a small guy, he was still a few inches taller than her. He outreached his arms, smirking and inviting her into a hug.

He didn't answer so she assumed that she was right in her assumption. A frown etched her features. Sophia didn't like the silence that seemed to go on forever. Was she supposed to leave him alone now? Was she supposed to go back to painting like nothing ever happened? She let out a small sigh, and turned to go back to her room when she heard the door opening. She looked back up to see the boy, and his basically empty room behind him. She looked up at him for a moment unsure if she wanted to accept the hug, but after a few seconds, she wrapped her arms around him completing the hug he offered.

He hugged her for a few moments, even giving her a complimentary pat on the back as they stood for a little bit. "Don't worry," he whispered. "I'll be back."
When they separated, smile still on his face, and put his hands together. "Well," he said, "While you're here, maybe you can help me bring these out by the door." The taxi guy said he would help lift them to the car for ten extra dollars, which is something Logan agreed to pay for. He didn't want the guy walking through the dorm, however, and it would be easier to take them closer. If he could employ some labor to help him get them out, however, he wouldn't pass that up. "Come on," he said, suddenly filled with an energetic spryness, an attempt to cheer her up. He squatted down to pick up what seemed to be the heaviest. "There aren't many here."

He would be back? For some reason she didn't trust those words, well that was because she had a hard time trusting any promises. But this was Logan she was talking about. He hadn't hurt her at all. So she could trust him. Well she could trust him to an extent.

Once they separated, he had a smile on his face. How could he smile? She didn't have it in her to smile at the moment. So like a majority of the time, she forced a smile. It looked almost perfect. If someone knew her well enough they could tell it was forced but no one knew her that well. "Alright." She said with a slightly more positive tone. She walked over and picked up a box. She was finally used to not wearing gloves again. She would just follow him over to where he wanted to put the boxes.

Logan noticed her lack of gloves. It seemed that she had been working hard at that, and after he hobbled over to the living room with the heavy box, he settled it by the door and said, "Looks like you've gotten those taken care of." He grinned, wiping his forehead on his sleeve despite it not particularly being sweaty. It eased his back, raising his arm like that, but he needed something to guise it with. "It seems like just yesterday you were singing through gloves in the lounge." And he was trying to stop his lungs from dying. He walked past her briskly, going towards another box titled: Logan's Books

After she sat the box down she looked at her hands for a moment. "Heh yeah.. I had some help, but I finally don't have to deal with those gloves anymore." She said, before going back to get another box. "Still haven't gotten rid of the recoil damage my gift gives me.. I don't know if that will ever go away." She said. He was only one who could heal her after those formed. What was she supposed to do while he was gone? She would probably have to wear gloves again to hide them until they went away she supposed.

Logan knew that meant him, and swallowed, picking up the next box. "Keep believing," he said, a motto he used to say to himself. He dropped it on the pile, a pile that revealed itself to be rather large. He took a brisk walk toward his room, and saw it empty. That was the last box. He looked at what he was leaving behind, staring for as long as he could without raising too much of an alarm with his friend. He then breathed, and turned. "I've got a few hours, if you want to...get coffee or something."

She placed down her box with the others, she turned to get more when she saw he didn't have anymore, so she assumed they must be done moving boxes. "I'm good with getting some coffee, I could use a break from painting. I was starting to run out of ideas.." She said, recalling the painting that was unfinished and sitting in her room at the moment. It would be a good mental break for her, and then after that she supposed it would be time to day goodbye, and then she would return to painting like nothing happened.

Logan left, half sentimentally. "Well, all right," he said. "One more coffee run." They had walked there in semi-silence, in the sparkling late-afternoon sunlight. He walked into the coffee shop, savoring the chime of the bell and waving the the waitresses that knew him.
"The usual?" one asked.
"Nope," said Logan. "I'd like to try some coffee. Surprise me."
He never liked coffee, but it was always described as an acquired taste. Maybe it'd be something he could acquire. He found a booth and sat down at the far side, waiting for Sophia to call her order as well.

Sophia didn't mean for a silence to fall between them as they walked to the coffee shop, it just sort of happened. She couldn't find any words to say which was sort of rare. The occasional thing they said to one another on the way there made her feel a bit awkward, and because of that the trip seemed to take longer than usual. She was happy once they finally got there.

She waited on Logan to order first, and then spoke up to the waitress as he walked away. " I would like a Mocha." She told the person, and then quickly went to join her friend. She sat with her back straight, and her hands were followed into her lap. It was kind of a formal way to sit, but she was comfortable sitting that way. "So how long are you going to be gone?" She asked.

Logan cast a sideways glance to the window, smirking simply because he always found it appropriate. Deliberately making a moment glum was not something he liked to do. He smiled whenever he got the change, even if it was a small one."I don't know," he said, hoping she wouldn't inquire further. The waitress quickly returned with their drinks, and he sipped his, immediately giving a sour face, but nevertheless putting it to his lips once more. "Augh, this is horrible..." he murmured, before going, It might be a short time, it might be long. Very long." Forever long. He didn't want to bring up the real possibility of him dying. He didn't believe it much himself.