MHA #2 | Friday Morning

So, what did you do when your boyfriend was almost-certainly off getting killed in the name of stopping the apocalypse in his world? You could cry, certainly (which, don't worry, Annie had covered.) You could cry with a friend, which was why last night had seen her shuffling across the hall to cry literally and figuratively on Summer for awhile. You could pray, if you were Annie, and she'd been doing that pretty much constantly (though with more formality once she'd left Summer, who had recently told her that a crucifix would probably just burn right off her.)

But one thing that seemed wholly out of the question was sleeping. Every time Annie had closed her eyes, she'd pictured the worst. Which, in turn, had sent her into a cycle of reminding herself that she believed in Diego all the rest of the time, but then she always came back to how Five had told Diego how this went from the start. And even if there were infinite universes with infinite possibilities, it wasn't reassuring at all that the known ending to this story was the one where they all died.

In spite of all this, Annie did eventually fall into a restless sleep sometime shortly before dawn, curled up on the couch and pretty cried, prayed and hoped-out. It had been hours since the call. If they'd done it, she would have heard by now, right?

[god, who could this be for?]