He misses the phonecall by minutes and taps to his voicemail as the panic begins to well within him. It soothes as he listens to Alex's voice-- he's pissed off, and stressed out, but he doesn't sound hurt. It's short notice and he doesn't really have the time to make anything homemade but he's already rerouting to the grocery store to pick through the remains of the frozen aisle as he tries to text back.

Hey, sorry, I was working.

Where do you need me?

Nah, that sounds funny. He deletes it.

Where do you want me?

Nope, toooooo suggestive. He deletes that too. Third time's the charm:

Am I meeting you at your place?

Satisfactory, at best.

He stares at his phone for longer than necessary, working up the courage to work up the courage to do it.

Hey!

Innocuous. He was trying not to raise alarms.

Are you home? And, like, unbusy?

And not holding any sharp or heavy objects. And sitting down.

(Alexei Ivanov)

A swell of panic spiking up his trachea makes his voice go ever so slightly squeaky when he answers.

"I, um. Was just wondering if I could drop by. I'll bring ice cream?

It isn't a lie.

(Alexei Ivanov )

He's already in the air. Beneath him, Sibella purrs, her high-powered hearing able to follow the conversation.

"You-- you can always say no."

It is important that he knows this.

"But.... maybe now?"

And ever so slightly, the top layer of his voice peels back, like skin parting from a wound. The tail end of his last word hikes in a crumbling burst of static, his resolve plummeting even as Sibella rises. It's as close to coming apart as he's ever been, around Alex, save their traumaparty in binary land.

"Please."

(Alexei Ivanov )