Paint the town red

Chapter XX

Sunday morning started relatively early for me, although I thought that I'd sleep at least until lunch. But no - it's not even 8 a.m., and I'm already awake and staring at the ceiling. The room is not so dark, even though the windows are closed with curtains, and I can see the drawings on the ceiling tiles in this semi-darkness. The drawing isn't complicated, because I specifically chose simple patterns. Who'd actually think that they'll become my savior from the stupid desire to take my phone in order to check incoming texts. Damn it, what interesting curlicues!

I don't know how long I lay like this, but when my phone vibrated, thereby notifying me of an incoming message, my heart seemed to do a somersault in my chest. Even though I had a drink yesterday, I remembered perfectly well that I had texted Max before falling asleep. And even worse, I remembered exactly what I'd written to him. But maybe I'm wrong, and it wasn't a text from him, but some kind of spam? It'll be both funny and sad if I'm lying here and going crazy because of my anxiety, and there's just a message about discounts on toasters from some hardware store.

I reached over to the bedside table and took the phone from it, then took a deep breath and looked at the notification. "New message from Max Verstappen." Damn, I wasn't wrong after all. Well, it's time to open it and ruin my day right from the very early morning. Or vice versa? Damn, damn, damn!

Max Verstappen:

"When can we meet?"

Briefly and clearly, this is the whole Max. That is, this is how he reacted to my not-quite-sober message à la "I can't stop thinking about you from the moment I saw your photo in the dossier." Drunk romance master in action, yeap. But what can drunk person do in a fit of courage after a couple of glasses of wine, right? Especially, when the loved one isn't in the sight. But anyway, I have to answer him now, and what's even scarier is that I have to meet him and explain everything. This morning is getting worse with every damn minute.

I was tapping my fingers nervously on the phone screen again, just like last night, and then I wrote a short "Now" and immediately put the phone on the bed with the screen down. Damn it, I'm a detective, so why the hell am I so afraid to get an answer to my feelings from my partner? Oh, yes, firstly, he's my partner; secondly, I haven't been in a relationship for a long time. God, that sounds pathetic, like some kind of dumb excuse.

There were no more messages from Max, and I thought he didn't take my message seriously, so I decided it was time to get up anyway. I got out of bed and went to the window, opened the heavy dark curtains and let the first rays of the morning sun into the room. The air in the room seemed terribly musty to me, so I opened the window and wanted to go back to bed, but I heard the doorbell trill. Did he really come? Although deep down I hope it's not him, and that he considered my answer to be some kind of joke, or else simply didn't read it.

I immediately ran to open the door before the annoying bell woke up my neighbor – I wouldn't like Yuki to witness our conversation with Max, no matter how it ended up. I didn't even bother with my appearance, but just went in my pajamas, barefoot and with disheveled hair after sleeping.

When I got to the door, I took a deep breath again and opened it before another trill sounded. And yet, I hoped to the last that it'd be some postman, or someone had the wrong address, but no, Max himself was standing on the doorstep of my house.

"You wrote that we can talk now."

"I... yes, yes. Come on in."

I nodded and let Max in, closing the door behind him. Max looks like he either didn't sleep well at night or didn't sleep at all. I wonder why? Of course, I can ask that, but what if I'm meddling in something else? Something private?