There was a knock at the door.
Then another. Then another.
Someone kept knocking.
The sounds didn't land right in Azriel's ears—muffled, distant, as if wrapped in wool. Through the glass of the garden door he could see night laid over the city, and, strangely, the stars still pierced the city's light like needles through cloth.
He sat on the sofa and listened to the steady banging. It didn't stop.
"Are you not going to open it?"
"…"
"Maybe look through the peephole, at least."
"…"
A sigh slipped from Leo's lips as he sat beside him, eyes closed.
"Why am I here again?"
Azriel asked without looking at him. A small smile touched Leo's mouth.
"Because you needed this."
"Why would I need this?"
"Shouldn't you know?"
"I don't know."
"Well, you've reached a dangerous stage with your mental health, so this is what your mind decided to use as a coping mechanism."
"A coping mechanism?"
What was there to cope with, exactly?
"What isn't there to cope with?"