Page 72 of The Sound of Him

I notice him before he’s walking through my door this time, catching his movement on the camera. He only hesitates for a second before knocking on the door.

I hurry over to the door, paranoid he’ll second-guess himself if I let him wait too long. Unfortunately, that ends with me opening the door a little faster than strictly necessary, the action causing an awkwardly dramatic moment where we both end up staring at each other in surprise.

I make it worse - because I’m me and I’m a fucking mess - by saying, “Hey!” a little too loudly and a little too out of breath.

He doesn’t step back, but he wavers like he’s considering it, his brown eyes going a little wide.

I take a breath and force myself to go back to the calm guy that doesn’t scare him. Hopefully my smile exudesthat energy instead of myI’m-so-glad-you’re-here-please-don’t-leaveenergy.

Not that it matters. He’s having a hard time looking at my face now, his focus turned to the blue notebook clasped in his hands. One of the notebooks I gave him, I realize. With one of the matching pens sticking out of the spiral binding and what looks like the packet of papers from earlier now folded and stuffed in the middle of the book. He doesn’t come in. He doesn’t look entirely convinced he even wants to, his eyes wary as they go over my shoulder toward the office beyond.

Maybe he doesn’t want to come in?

“Just coming to visit?” I ask, trying to be casual as I back up to my chair. Maybe giving him a little space will help him relax. “Or did you need something?”

He fidgets with his notebook for a second, then starts to turn away. I don’t have time to be disappointed before I realize he’s just turning to the doorframe. He uses it as a makeshift table, resting his notebook against it so he can write something on one of the pages. If I tried, I think I could see what it is. That feels wrong, though.Until he shows me what he wrote, he hasn’t decided to say it yet. It’s just his thoughts. Those deserve to be private just like anyone else’s would be.

I grab a pen from my desk, twirling it with my fingers so he doesn’t feel like I’m just awkwardly staring at him. I’m a little rusty. The pen drops twice. The second time I go to grab it off the floor, I catch him watching me. A corner of his mouth is ticked up. I raise an eyebrow in return. “You making fun of me? I’ll have you know, I’m a very good pen-twirler.”

He raises his own eyebrow as if to ask,but are you?

Which is… fair.

“With some practice, Icouldbe,” I amend.

He makes a so-so hand motion before turning his notebook so I can see what he wrote. It’s big enough to be seen from where he still stands in the doorway. Just a single word:HIDE?

“You wanna hide in here? Fuck yeah. Come on in.” I spin my chair until I’m facing my monitors, not wanting him to feel put on the spot. “Just close the door behind you, if you don’t mind? It’s up to you if you want to lock it, though. Doesn’t matter to me either way right now.”

I’ve got my main tracking program pulled up and running by the time I hear the door click shut. I keep my eyes on the monitor while waving a hand in the direction of the hiding spot I’d shown him before. “Wherever you’re comfortable. Feel free to ignore me. Or bother me, if you need something. I’ve got snacks and a mini-fridge here - I think I told you that before. Still worth repeating. There’s salty, sweet, crunchy - I even have some of my favorite licorice, which I am willing to share with you, but only if you don’t reveal my hiding space to anyone, because if those goddamn assholes figure out where I hide my candy, it’ll be gone by morning.”

I fight the urge to glance over my shoulder at him. Wherever he is and whatever he’s doing is none of my business. He came here to hide. I promised to let him. I intend on keeping that promise. Keeping any promises I make to him, in fact.

The promise doesn’t go both ways, though, and I can feel him watching me. There's tension in the air. Maybe tension isn’t even the right word. It’s more electric. A buzzing that works its way beneath my skin. Anticipatory. Exhilarating.

It makes me want to look at him so badly. I don’t want him to feel like he’s being monitored, though. I don’t want him to feel uncomfortable here. I think he really needs this. He needs a place to hide. I want to give him that so badly. I can’t let myself ruin it.

Except, when I let myself look out of the corner of my eye, I see he’s not hiding. He’s sitting on the couch. Unmoving. Watching me.

Is he waiting for something? For permission? For my attention?

He didn’t write,VISIT, though. He wrote,HIDE.

What would make it easier for him to hide here? What had I liked when it was me?

That’s easy enough to answer, since I still use the same thing to this day. The tried and true method that a terrified boy in a tiny closet came up with all on his own.

I can play him some music.

Well, as long as I don’t scare him off first.

I grab my energy drink and lean back in my seat to take a sip. The chair I use can rock a little, so I press my toes into the floor and get the movement started. It’s supposed to make me look like I’m bored. Whether I’m pulling it off is anybody’s guess.

I don’t know if I pull of any nonchalance, either, but I pretend I’m killing it as I slowly roll my head on my neck to look over at him. I give him an easy smile. He sucks in a sharp breath at the sudden attention, eyes going wide, before he quickly looks at the floor. Then the wall. Then the notebook in his lap. I watch as he flutters his fingers along the edges of it, his lips moving soundlessly. I try not to wonder if that’s a nervous tic, or if it’s him wishing he could speak right now.

I wonder anyway.

I overheard Adam telling Jake that no one knows what’s causing his mutism yet. As of that conversation earlier today, Adam wasn’t even sure if it was something Matt has chosen for himself, or if the ability is gone and he can’t control it. If it isn’t his choice, is it a physical issue that we just can’t see yet, or something psycho-emotional?