Ashcroft arrived at the library earlier than usual.
Iris was already there.
She didn't look up when he sat down, but he caught the small lift at the corner of her mouth. Like she'd been waiting. Like this wasn't just routine anymore.
He opened his book. Flipped to a random page. Didn't read it.
"You alright?" she asked, still not looking up.
He paused. "Yes."
"No, I mean... like, really."
He looked at her. "What does that mean?"
Iris shrugged. "You've been blinking slower lately. That's a red flag."
Ashcroft let out a breath that wasn't quite a laugh. "You monitor my blinking now?"
"I'm thorough."
-
She passed him a folded piece of paper halfway through the session. He hesitated.
"Read it later," she said.
"What is it?"
"A study of your tragic behavior. A warning label. Maybe a poem."
He raised an eyebrow.
She didn't explain.
-
Later, they sat on the steps outside, watching people pass by with their collars turned up and their arms tucked tight against the wind.
"I ever tell you about the time I tried to drop out?" Iris said suddenly.
"No."
"I wrote a dramatic letter. Three pages. Quoted Auden. Ripped it up before I got to the second paragraph."
Ashcroft looked at her. "Why?"
She blinked. "I didn't want to be someone who ran away from difficult things."
"And now?"
"I guess I just make them laugh instead."
Ashcroft was quiet. He looked down at his gloved hand.
"You know," he said, "people always assume I'm alright just because I'm quiet."
"I don't."
He looked at her. Really looked.
And for once, he didn't look away.