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She had come to expect his gracious gifts at her front door, the home cooked meals or warm take outs nicely packaged and waiting for when she opened the door. Part of her was guilty for it, but the other part felt comforted every time he stopped by.[break][break]

The door sounds with a familiar knock and she springs from her sprawled out position on the couch. She takes a minute to calm her flyaway hairs, not that it helps her look less disheveled, like she'd totally been lounging all day being lazy.[break][break]

But her smile is bright and full of relief as Oz's face appears on the other side of the door. Theres a deviousness to her grin, however, as she tugs him through.[break][break]

"We don't have to start cleaning right away.." she pouts, though has already detected in the weariness in his voice that he's too tired to even probably help put the house back in order.[break][break]

Still, her attention falls back on the broken picture frames and she sighs, scratching her head. Those really needed to be cleaned up before she hurt herself.

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He protests and she loosens her grip on his hand immediately, her tug growing slack as she turns to look at him.[break][break]

Of course, he's speaking sensibly. The house needs to be cleaned and it's what she had invited him over to do. She's quiet as he takes off his shoes and squeezes her hand. But she breaths in a quiet gasp as he leans down to her ear, whispering.[break][break]

Colour fills her cheeks momentarily as she turns her face away, a smile playing on her lips.[break][break]

She slips her hand out of his to pull her hair up into a bun so it didn't tickle her face as she worked. Then she'd disappear to the kitchen to find the broom and dustpan.[break][break]

"Alright, alright. You've convinced me."

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It only takes her a moment to pick up the broken pieces with her broom, sweeping them to the side and gathering it into the dustpan. The larger pieces of glass she picks up delicately to place in the trash, along with the picture frames themselves. [break][break]

Meanwhile, Oz kneels down with pieces of bread to pick up the remaining tiny pieces that the broom couldn't pick up.[break][break]

He asks her a genuine question, because, after all, she'd asked him to come over to help her clean. But she swallows the pit in her throat and she suddenly feels overwhelmed and annoyed with herself as she takes a quick scan of the livingroom that was still in shambles, in the kitchen full of unwashed dishes.[break][break]

"Everything. It's time to purge. I'm tired of moping and grieving."[break][break]

She takes a deep breath to steel herself because now is absolutely not the time to cry.

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Stormy breaths in deeply as he pulls her into a hug. There's still a skittishness to her movements, that subtle and unshakable willingness to keep him at arms length. But her insatiable desire for closeness, for affection, for him makes it hard for her to decide.[break][break]

So she doesn't really hug him back and instead opts to breathe in his familiar and comforting smell before he pulls away and informs her of their game plan. He's offering to do the dishes and make her dinner and she feels immense guilt and relief at the same time.[break][break]

"Okay. Thank you."[break][break]

She suddenly feels breathless and overwhelmed as she takes a look at the state of her living room, but she steels herself toward the kitchen. Underneath the sink, she finds a large garbage bag and recycling bag and she promptly makes her way around the kitchen plucking garbage and recycling to organize.[break][break]

Slowly but surely, the house begins to smell a little less rancid and a little more fresh. Stormy had, along the way, also lit a few scented candles (all the same, because she was obsessed), that were both warming the rooms but filling them with the heavenly smell of Macintosh apples.

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Stormy has hesitated next to one of her candles, eyes closed as she leans against the cabinet to just absorb the warmth and smell.[break][break]

She's pulled away from her trance at the delightful suggestion of apple pie, and she tucks a strand of blonde hair behind one ear.[break][break]

"Apple pie? I didn't know you could bake."[break][break]

She peeks around the corner to spy on him rummaging her fridge. She's smiling, crossing her arms in front of her to lean her chin on as she watches him.[break][break]

"I wouldn't say no to some homemade apple pie."[break][break]

At the mention of the bathroom, however, she begins tugging on her hair. It takes her only a moment to disappear into the one crowded, cramped bathroom in her apartment. The door closes, mostly, because it's probably broken and doesn't close all the way without getting stuck.[break][break]

Inside, she's fuddling with what looks like a box of dye. With gloved hands, she dives in, painting her impossibly long hair and making a whole mess of it.

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Stormy stops, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. She stops what she's doing, gloved hands covered in what looks like black dye.[break][break]

"I'm putting myself back together."[break][break]

He starts to laugh and she feels a squeeze in her belly, uncertain if she wants to join his laughter or feel upset that he thinks her misery is funny.[break][break]

"I did, but I hate it. I don't even know why I did it."[break][break]

Oz takes the bottle from her and she reluctantly agrees, sitting down more firmly on the floor while he takes a look at the massacre that is her hair.[break][break]

"I'm sorry."