Waiting for him.

She didn’t let herself fall asleep on the tube train. The lethargy and disorientation she’d feel waking up wouldn’t be worth the rest; even if she was, quite inexplicably, incredibly tired. The taste of coffee and good conversation was still in her mouth, and everything around her was quiet beautiful in the sunlight. It had been a good day; a day of bookshops and tube trains and coffee shops and catch ups. Travelling home that feeling returned, that feeling, not wholly unpleasant, of both solidity and an eerie emptiness. The feeling that she was waiting, and filling time while she was waiting. And this was no bad thing; the things she found to fill her time were fun and she was on the whole happy. And this feeling, it was interesting; she had never really felt this before. This knowledge of his return and that is was near and that it would be so, so good, when it came. And she took out a book and let the tube train carry her home while she was reading and waiting. Waiting for him to come back.