seveninchmotto | Room 301, Sunday Late Afternoon

"Thanks," Flick mumbled, stepping through her door and rubbing his forehead and eyes. He felt tired and angry at himself for the whole possession thing.

"Would you like a shower?" Isabelle checked as she closed and locked the door behind them. "Or something to eat?"

"Probably both," Flick admitted, wincing. "I don't remember the last time I ate and I haven't showered since Thursday."

Which. Gross.

Yeah, Isabelle wrinkled her nose at that. Then she pointed towards the shower. "Okay, you go take a shower," she said. "And I'll go get you some food. And I guess you could use a fresh set of clothes too. Do you want me to go get some, or should I just give you your things I wore at home?"

Well, it was a convenient set of short and tee shirt. Plus they smelled like her and she thought he might like that, even if she didn't feel like spelling that out.

"The second one's probably the easiest," Flick said after a moment of thought. "I don't know if my roommate's dealing with anything so I'll let her have the room if she is."

He nodded.

"I'll give the clothes back before you leave again."

"Okay." Isabelle nodded, then pointed at the bathroom again. "Off to the bathroom with you."

Meanwhile, she started for the bag on the floor by her bed. It looked like its contents had exploded out of it.

Because that was her idea of unpacking.

Nodding, Flick walked over to her bathroom and disappeared inside. He shut the door behind him and stripped out of his clothes. The water got turned on to a very hot setting and he stepped inside.

He was just going to stand there and let the water redden and soak his hair and skin.

Isabelle got him his shir and his shorts and laid them out on the bed. Then she disappeared out the door to go get him something to eat.

Don't worry, she wasn't going to cook anything.

Flick might have actually eaten something she'd cooked considering he was hungry enough. But he wasn't thinking about that right now.

He had his face turned up to the water and he was scrubbing at his arms with her soap. So, he'd be smelling like Isabelle for a bit.

Isabelle smelled the best, anyway. So that was just good in her book.

She re-heated some of her leftover Chinese food from the night before – because what you needed when you'd been struck with a dumbbell and a hammer was a takeout delivery – and also grabbed him an apple and a bottle of water before leaving the common room again.

Right about that time, Flick was washing his hair. The water had turned his skin a bright red color and he was good with that. He kept washing his hair and sighed.

He definitely smelled better now.

Isabelle came back in and set the food on her desk for the time being.

She also added a piece of chocolate from her stash. Because she was nice like that.

Flick stayed in the shower a few moments longer before he finally stopped the water. He stepped out and reached for one of her towels, drying off, before wrapping it around his hips.

He pulled the door open, letting the steam come out behind him. His skin was still red and his hair was matted against his head but he smelled good, at least.

"You look better," Isabelle complimented him, looking over. "Clothes are on the bed, and I have your feast right here."

"Feast?" Flick repeated, walking over to the bed and pulling on the shirt first. He dropped the towel and then got the shorts on. "I had to use your soap and shampoo. Sorry."

"Okay, leftovers," she amended with a little shrug. "Plus an apple and some chocolate." And also water. "I figured it's gourmet enough for someone who can't remember when he last ate."

"It sounds good," Flick told her, wandering back into the bathroom to hang up her towel. "Probably'll eat it all and still be hungry."

But probably not. There was a lot of food there, after all. "You sure you don't want to go...help?"

He figured there had to be others like him.

Isabelle shrugged again. A deceptively simple gesture for a slightly more complicated thought.

"If it looks like they're not handling it."

Flick nodded and took a careful seat on the edge of her bed. He put his elbows on his knees and bowed his head, taking a few breaths. She'd told him it wasn't his fault but he could still see everything in his head and it was killing him.

"Hey," Isabelle said softly, pushing away from the desk and padding towards the bed. "You okay?"

"Yeah." He nodded slowly and looked up at her. "It's just all in my head. I'm sorry that I hurt you. I really am. Are you bruised? I know you had to heal but are there after effects?"

Isabelle could answer that by pulling her shirt up to show off her side and stomach. No bruises. Not even the ones from the demon last week.

"I'm fine."

Flick reached up and touched his fingertips to her skin, letting out a shaky sigh. He blinked up at her.

"Sorry." Couldn't help saying it one more time.

She let her shirt fall back into place, and tried to take his hand.

"Apology accepted," she told him. "You didn't mean to do it."

Flick squeezed her hand and nodded.

"Didn't even expect to see you back here," he told her after a quiet moment. "How's home?"

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