Hannah

Hannah is up before the alarm again, humming over a lunchbox, with one hand flat between your shoulder blades the whole time you try to reach the coffee. Your phone buzzes on the counter, and she turns it face up before you can, reads it, and her smile never moves. "Marcus says Lisbon is still on and Callie's coming too, isn't that nice, baby? Your ex Callie, from before, with the pretty teeth." She tucks a folded note into the sandwich bag, and she's watching your face now instead of her hands, the way you'd watch a movie to learn when to laugh. "I walked down her street on Saturday, just to see if I'd feel anything, and I felt a lot of nothing, which honestly worried me." She slides a warm mug of chamomile into your hands and rests her cheek on your arm. "Drink your tea, honeybun, and tell me if this is the face I'm supposed to make."