Chapter Text
The moments before you could call yourself awake were moments you savored. In those small fragments of time, you could tell yourself that you hadn’t said goodbye; that you were still in the studio, and that Jack was going to nudge you awake any moment now.
Then reality came in; you’d adjust the blankets or kick the wall in your sleep. One of these actions would plunge you back into the present, shattering any fantasy you might have had.
It was one of those days when you wanted to do nothing but sit in your room and reminiscence on everything you’d seen and heard. Notebooks once empty were now filled with diagrams of a projector from the 30s, when you decided to see what you remembered from what Norman had once taught you. Others contained strings of music or even half-done lyrics. Nothing that you’d get awards for, but something that kept your mind busy. You turned to one of these notebooks now, writing down how those in-between moments made you feel.
Even if your parents didn’t believe you’d gone to the studio, and even if no therapist on Earth would believe a word you said, writing in these notebooks helped.
“It’s been two weeks Y/N,” you grumbled to yourself. “Come on. Your family needs you to get your act together.”
Only a miracle could explain how you were able to get moving. Your phone had several voicemails and messages from your family. The messages were generally the same- “hey we know something traumatic may have happened to you, but you need to live again, so stop grieving!”
Those were ignored, but you found one from your boss, telling you sorry, but they’d had to let you go.
“Didn’t Henry tell me I had things waiting for me?” You laughed darkly. “Didn’t I resist the ink for a chance to see my family again?”
Your cheeks were wet. Why were you crying? It was fine. They were safe. Alive. Not in the studio, not in the loop. Wherever Henry and the others were, it was better than where you’d come to know them.
But this didn’t feel like home. It wasn’t fair to your family, but you couldn’t get yourself to bounce back. Not now, not anytime soon.
“Sammy…Henry…” you sniffled. “Why can’t I belong over there?”
The question was empty, and was given no answer. But…out of the corner of your eye, there was a crumpled piece of paper. Whatever it may have said…the random slip, forgotten in your grieving state, seemed to ease your mind. Surely, it would have an answer.