R had woken with Neil gone, which was stranger more because he was in someone else's house than because of the situation. He'd left a note letting him know he'd gone to Derek's, which was more than fair. Mercifully, the house was empty when he got up. He thinks Neil must have said something to Marcus and Dan, or they simply were canny enough to keep out of it, for they'd let him sleep well into the afternoon, the sort of dreamless, desperate sleep of someone clinging to unconsciousness.

Now, though, he heads back to the apartment. He'd stirred, briefly, to the little ding of the phone when Yona got back early this morning, and apparently managed to text back his relief and love, but he doesn't really recall it as the phone goes off again. good, he messages back, i've no idea what i want.

He still feels pulled apart from his body, but he hasn't eaten since -- he can't remember when. Before Edgar disappeared, for he hadn't eaten anything after and then he'd gone to Neil's, and now -- well, here he is. He feels wrung out and nauseated, but if he thinks about eating his stomach does manage a faint growl. Anyway, the act of sitting and eating dinner with Yona sounds good. It sounds like some kind of solidity in a void of it.

He comes in without any attempt at quiet, stamping the snowflakes off his boots and coat. "It's fucked that it's snowing," is the first thing he says, passing by hello or how are you or any of it, but as he lifts his head to really look at her morosely flipping channels, his whole chest hurts anew.

R flops down beside her on the couch; he isn't sure if it's for her benefit or his that he reaches out to first invite and then wrap her in a hug. "It's not supposed to go like this," he says, which is meaningless, but feels true anyway.