There was a certain rhythm to Turtle's working, assuming the ever-comforting position of sitting cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by files and folders and stocks reports and plugging away at things on her laptop. It was a very particular type-type-type, flip through things, type-type-type some more, then look up, sigh, and sit distracted for a
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Comments 62
It was a miracle how Jeff managed to sound both upbeat and utterly terrified at the same time, but he managed.
(It was the 80s. They didn't have caller ID)
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If a single syllable word could manage to sound all together too rushed and eager and happy and excited and desperate and lonely and longing and regret in one breath, Turtle came pretty damn close to accomplishing it.
"Hi. It's...me."
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Beat.
"Hi, you."
He was trying, here.
"You're using the phone!"
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She was actually a little worried that he might not pick up, considering how Jeff was with phones and everything. It was a risk she obviously decided to take, even if her depression would have probably sunk tenfold if he hadn't answered.
"So..."
I miss you. So. Much.
"How's it going?"
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