𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 ✓

11 • Connecting

CHAPTER ELEVEN: CONNECTING

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He also didn't show up the following day, which left Angel utterly concerned about his whereabouts. She tried calming herself down by repeating over and over again that he didn't owe her anything. However, this thought made her feel worse, for she had thought that he also felt the same connection between the two of them ― hadn't he even told her about that?

The snow was falling slowly, leaving a new thin layer of white over London, and Angel gazed out the window, at the skyline of the city, nipping on her peppermint tea every now and then. A frown was glued onto her face as she was deep in her thoughts, half being worried about Steve and half wishing he would do the things he had done that one night ― and so much more.

When the doorbell rang, she jumped, almost spilling her drink. She never expected company, really, as every acquaintance from campus lived on the other side of the city and certainly wouldn't come by unannounced. With quick steps, she shuffled to the front door and buzzed the visitor in, rescuing them from the bitter cold outside. It was utterly dark already, and she'd just come home from her shift about forty minutes ago. She was still wearing the sweater she'd worn and simply changed into sweatpants for comfort.

She pulled the door open, her hands wrapped around the warm mug of tea, and leaned against the door frame while steps echoed through the staircase and the visitor came upstairs. When the top of their head became visible, Angel gasped faintly and tightened the grip on her mug.

"Steve," she breathed as he took the last steps up, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, snowflakes caught in his messy beard and hair. He looked rough, Angel noticed, like he hadn't slept in the entire time she hadn't seen him. The circles under his eyes seemed darker and deeper than usual, and his eyes almost looked grey in the gloomy lighting of the hallway.

When he reached her door, he stopped. He was simply looking at her out of his weary eyes, waiting for her to react further. She gulped and stared into her basically empty mug while trying to think of something to say. Everything that popped up in her head was either desperate and happy or involved an upset confrontation. She felt her lower lip tremble, and her left foot, hidden in a fuzzy sock, tapped on the wooden floor restlessly. The dull sound echoed through the staircase along with Steve's heavy breath. His cheeks were flushed. It was clear to the young brunette that he was miserable.

"Why don't you come in," she sighed, pushed herself off the doorframe, and turned around, slowly walking to the living room to plop down on the couch. "Leave the shoes in the hall."

A few more minutes of silence followed before he eventually did what she'd told him to do. She heard his heavy shoes hit the tiled floor of the staircase, then the door closing, a grunt as he apparently took his coat and scarf off. Moments later, he entered the living room, where he once again stopped, unsure about what to do.