Lazy Day

Ivy approached the door, knocking politely a few times. She wasn't certain why, though; his place doubled as a business, after all. A lot of people probably walked right in. Then again, it was sort of a secret bootleg business, so maybe knocking was the difference between a friendly visit and being mistaken for an intruder and shot. Either way, she supposed it couldn't hurt.

"Keith?" she called lowly when there was no answer. "It's me."

She knocked a few more times, waited, but the only response that came was Lucy whining on the opposite side, pawing at the door. Quirking a brow and frowning ever so slightly, Ivy pulled the door open. Lucy emerged as soon as the crack was wide enough for her to escape, giving Ivy a brief glance with tongue lolling from her smiling jowls. She didn't wait to be petted or praised, however, disappearing around the side of the building into a narrow alley. Ivy stared after her for a moment before shrugging and walking inside. The first thing she noticed was that Keith wasn't behind the counter, which usually meant he was closed for the day, and the back room appeared shut and firmly locked. The only sign of any sort of activity in the building was the quiet strumming of an instrument.

Placing her bag on the counter, Ivy couldn't help but notice how cold it was inside the building. Her breaths fogged as she breathed. It wasn't much warmer inside than out. The woman quirked a brow as she headed for the stairs to Keith's apartment. Something odd was definitely going on. As she walked up the steps, Ivy felt a gnawing urge to keep her steps as quiet as possible as if sneaking upon a potential threat. Given the craziness of her life in recent months, it wasn't surprising that she had developed the habit of anticipating danger. It was probably better that she did expect the worst; it might save her life some day.

Although, considering she was entirely unarmed, that day probably wouldn't be today. And, yet, she couldn't stop her feet from taking step after step toward that peculiar, repetitive sound. When she reached the last step, she peeked around the doorframe, stomach in knots at what she might see. When she did see it, however, she felt hopelessly stupid and embarrassed despite that she was the only one to see her embarrassment. Keith was sprawled out on the couch he slept on every night, one leg hanging over the edge while the other was bent and leant against the backrest. Resting in his lap was an acoustic guitar. The only purpose of his left hand was to hold the neck of the guitar while his right passed over the strings in a monotonous rhythm. She could only stare in silence, brow quirked, until the pick slipped from his fingers and fell inside the rosette. He almost tried to strum the guitar again, but, realizing he had lost his pick, Keith slammed his palm down on the strings and sighed. It was a forlorn, lethargic sound, totally uncharacteristic of the normally unexpressive male. Ivy was unsure how to respond, but she was forced to do so when he lifted his head a moment later, staring at her over his chest.

"What are you doing?" she asked quizzically, a slightly nervous titter in her voice.

Keith released an explosive sigh, tapping his fingers on the strings again. "I don't know," he responded, voice trailing off.

Ivy took that as her invitation to step the rest of the way inside, her boots clicking on the wooden floor. "I didn't know you could play guitar," she casually stated.

"I can't," Keith responded, voice hoarse as if he had taken ill. "Not very good, anyway," he mumbled.

Ivy simply sniffed in humor before her hands came up to clutch at her upper arms. She had never been able to bare the cold, and, yet, there he was in the blue plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

"Why is it so cold in here?" she demanded as she began to shiver slightly.

"I dunno," Keith muttered, laying his guitar on the opposite end of the sofa as he rose into a sitting position. "Guess the heater's shit out again."

"Should you call someone to fix it?"

"Nope," Keith responded flatly, standing and walking past her as if she wasn't even there. She followed him down the stairs and into what was supposed to be the den, though it had become a storage room barely filled with random junk. Most of its contents were cobwebs. Keith opened a door she had never seen opened before; a gust of cold air followed after. Ivy quickly discovered it lead to the cellar she seldom even knew he had. Keith flipped a switch on the left wall up and down a few times before grunting in realization; the bulb must have blew. This fact didn't seem to faze him at all, and the man continued down the steep, creaking steps anyway. Ivy followed closely after, though the ever-present thought in the back of her mind kept telling her that she didn't have to follow him like a freshly hatched duckling.

Ivy knew when Keith stepped off the last step by the sound of his boots scuffing and thudding on the bare cement floor. She waited, only continuing down the steps when he pulled the chain on a single bulb, illuminating the room in dim light. When she joined him a moment later, she found him staring at the heater as if he could discern why it wasn't working without even touching it.

"Do you actually know how to fix this thing?" she asked, an accusatory intonation in her words. Keith's only response was a grunt, which she took to mean "no". However, when the toe of his boot slammed into the machine a moment later, it revived with a loud bang from inside. He glanced back at her as if to rub in her face that he had fixed it, despite her doubts. She could only stare back, bewildered.

"Who knew percussive maintenance was actually effective?"

Keith quirked a brow at her before the meaning of her words seem to hit him, and his face went slack again. He turned to her, holding his upward-facing palm toward the stairs, inviting her to go first. Of course, she took the offer; she wasn't about to stumble blindly in the dark and risk breaking her neck. When she was halfway up the staircase, the light clicked off and Keith followed. She nearly tripped when she didn't lift her foot high enough and it caught underneath the next step. She felt large hands at her waist, setting her upright again before they disappeared.

"Don'chu know how t'walk up stairs?" Keith grumbled, sounding impatient. He was right on her heels; she could feel his every breath against her neck, making goosebumps rise on her skin.

"Not in the dark," she protested, face expressing annoyance despite that he couldn't see it. Somehow, she managed to make it up the rest of the staircase without his aid. When they reemerged into the dusty, unused room, Keith slammed the cellar door behind him. Ivy was staring at him expectantly, unbeknownst to her. He stared back.

"Did you come here for any particular reason?" he asked. It was unusual that the irate edge was missing from his voice.

Ivy opened her mouth to speak as sudden realization quirked her features. Her mouth quickly shut, however, when she realized that the answer she nearly voiced could be interpreted in several different ways. She glanced at the floor, hoping he couldn't see the pink tint in her cheeks.

"Oh, well, I just came here to hang out," she finally replied to save face, acting overly confident to cover her blush. If he asked, it would be rosacea and nothing more. Keith's brows rose slightly; that explanation seemed to surprise him, but he didn't appear objective of the idea.

"Okay, then," he breathed, exiting the room. Despite her uncertainty, Ivy followed after, all the while nervous that he might point something embarrassing out to her. He didn't, however; he simply returned to his loft to rummage through the fridge. Ivy stood in front of the sofa as if to sit, but she remained standing, waiting for an invitation.

"You wanna sandwich?" Keith asked, a surprising display of courtesy given his typical carelessness for anyone but himself.

"Ah, you're gonna make me a sandwich? How sweet." Ivy couldn't resist teasing him. "What are you—my wife?"

Keith simply snorted, rolling his eyes despite that she couldn't see. He rearranged the contents of his fridge several times as he examined its contents. After a few moments, he sighed.

"Well, looks like I ain't got shit in here to make anything, anyway," he muttered, glaring at a package of moldy cheese. He chucked the package of old cheese back into the fridge before slamming the door. Ivy watched as he walked over to his side of the sofa, all the while wondering what he even ate half the time. When he plopped down on the sofa, she took that as her cue to sit down, too. The two sat in a slightly uncomfortable silence before it was broken by the loud growling of Keith's stomach. Ivy turned to him with mild concern in her eyes. He seemed to be trying to ignore his hunger by lighting a cigarette, sighing the first breath of smoke from his nose.

"You don't have anything to eat?" she asked, not hiding her slight shock.

Keith shrugged. "Business 's been kinda slow lately... Don't really have the cash t'go shopping."

Ivy's eyes widened. She always felt guilt looking at the homeless sitting on the sidewalk, begging for money so that they could afford food. Somehow, however, it was more shocking to find that someone who worked and made quite the paycheck was still going hungry. She had never known what that was like in her life, but it seemed she felt the pain more than Keith did. He just seemed used to it.

"I think I'm gonna order takeout, then," she informed, pulling her cellphone from her pocket.

"You don't need t'do that," Keith objected. "I'm fine."

Ivy rolled her eyes. He was always too proud to accept help from anyone. "I'm not doing for you, conceited," she replied matter-of-factly. "I'm hungry." A lie: she had just eaten before she came to visit. Her words seemed to make him relax, however.

"What do you want?"

"What're you getting?" he asked, the slightest pinch of reluctance in his voice.

"Chinese."

----------

Ivy was seated on one end of the couch, her legs folded beneath her. Keith was on the opposite end, one leg stretched along the couch and the other hanging off. Both had removed their shoes when the food arrived and they settled down to eat. The room was quiet, filled only with the sounds of them eating. Their mouths were too busy for speaking. Ivy was the first to stop, however, when her stomach felt that it would explode. She only pretended to eat so that he wouldn't realize her ruse. She sat with the warm carton of food in her lap, glancing at him occasionally. He was like a bottomless pit; he just kept putting away food, always finding a space for more. Ivy was sure to order a lot more than either of them needed, however. Taking a brief repose from eating, Keith started whistling, a signal to call Lucy upstairs. Ivy suddenly remembered she had let her out when she came in.

"Um, I let Lucy out when I got here," she informed nervously. "I hope that's okay."

Keith nodded. "She knows t'come back."

That was a relief. The last thing she wanted was to piss him, especially after they had gotten along so well.

"You've got the appetite of a bird," Keith declared when he looked over and saw all of the unfinished and unopened food cartons she claimed were for herself.

"As opposed to what? A horse?" she replied with a nagging edge to her voice, though she was only teasing. She chuckled. "I guess my eyes are bigger than my stomach."

"Ya' think so?" replied Keith sarcastically. Ivy stretched her leg out, nudging him playfully with her foot. He sniffed in humor, turning his attention back to his food, but the gesture wasn't genuine. Where playing around made most people lighten up, it always seemed to make him more distant, shut off. Ivy pursed her lips a little, glancing at him to find him idly stirring the food in the carton around.

"Well," she sighed, setting the half empty carton on the marred coffee table, "I guess I should be going. It's getting kind of late."

Keith stared at all the food she was leaving on the table. "You're not gonna take that with you?"

"No," Ivy laughed nervously. "I really don't want to risk getting mugged by bums. I mean, I would let them have it anyway, but they might take that as some kind of invitation, so..."

Keith grunted in understanding, and Ivy nodded before turning her back to him.

"See ya' some other time, I guess," she called over her shoulder, starting toward the stairs.

"Wait..."

Ivy halted in the doorway, turning on her heel to face him again, a questioning expression on her face.

"Just stay here."

Ivy was certain her eyes went wide. Keith was such a recluse; why would he want to deal with her all night?

"What?" she blurted, uncertain she understood him correctly.

"'S not safe to go out this late," he reasoned. "You could just stay here."

Ivy stood there for a moment, lips slightly gaping, at a loss for what to say. She looked like a deer in headlights. Keith simply stared back, looking more and more as if he was about to redact his offer with every second. His staring only made her speechlessness worsen. Finally, however, Ivy gained the presence of mind to make a decision.

"Um, okay," she chimed. "Yeah, I can do that... if it's okay with you."

"Would I offer if it wasn't?" Keith responded rhetorically.

"Alright, then," she laughed, moving over to reclaim her seat. "That was a short trip."

A nervous silence settled over the room, Ivy glancing at him occasionally while he fished in his breast pocket for his nearly empty pack of smokes. As usual, he extracted a cigarette, placed it in the corner of his mouth, and flipped open his lighter, setting the end on slow-burning fire. He began to puff smoke rings into the air, and, though she hated that he smoked, Ivy couldn't help but watch the rings float away in fascination. However, her eyes kept returning to him, hoping he might say something to break the silence, though it seemed he had taken to smoking simply to avoid staring awkwardly as she was.

"Hey," she exclaimed to garner his attention, grabbing the guitar from where she had placed it earlier so that she could sit down, "why don't you teach me how to play?"

Keith snorted. "Yeah, right after you teach me."