sorry for taking so long to update! i've been packed with school work and I was grounded lol. Dedicated to knightsrachel because she's reading this book and I'm honored haha :-)

"If I have to have a past, then I prefer it be multiple choice." - Alan Moore, Batman: The Killing Joke

I didn't believe anyone had ever broken into Griffin's apartment.

It had been two weeks since Griffin had found his oven left on, and he was still sure that someone had broken into his apartment and turned it on while we were sleeping. Griffin had gone to our apartment manager to make sure there wasn't any duplicates of his keys, bought extra locks for house, and had been staying up later and later each night to make sure no one came in.

But I didn't think anyone ever did come in.

I didn't say anything to Griffin about it for the past few weeks, but I had come to a conclusion. I was almost positive that Griffin had done it subconsciously - I figured he was probably so tired that he cooked something and just completely forgot to shut the oven off. I was sure of it.

I knew Griffin was starting to realize that I didn't believe some broke in. During the past few days, we hadn't talked much. I saw him in the mornings, stumbling out of his apartment, bags under his eyes so dark that they looked almost purple, and smiled and said hi. I saw Griffin trudging into his apartment at night, eyes sweeping the hallway before slowly unlocking his door and smiled and said goodnight. That had been the extent of our conversations recently.

I wanted to help Griffin, but I didn't know how. I didn't know how to try and convince him that someone hadn't broken into his apartment to turn on his oven without making him snap. Griffin looked so close to snapping - to crumbling into a pit of nothing, fingers helplessly clawing to pull himself back up from the abyss he had fallen into - and I didn't know how to help.

I sighed and tugged on my shirt, brushing my fingers through my hair. My lecture today had been cancelled, which mean I didn't have to get to school until later, and then work even later. I had a free morning, and the majority of it had been spent sitting on my couch and frowning at the TV.

I walked out of my room and grabbed my jacket off the peg, barely managing to tug it on before I heard a knock on the door. Glancing in the mirror, I flattened the few stray and frizzy hairs on the top of my head and pulled opened the door, not bothering to check who it was. But I wish I would have, because I wasn't ready for the sight in front of me.

Griffin Cutkosky stood in front of me, a timid look on his face. Griffin's dark blond hair was combed back on his head, blue eyes narrowed and looking so close to dropping closed right there that it made my heart ache. He was in a sweater and a pair of jeans, and he looked like he was practically folded in on himself; his hands were curled together into fists, shoulders pulled together, head held low, the dark bags under his eyes only more prominent under the sharp light from the hallway.

"Hi," I said gently, and Griffin's thin lips twitched up into a tense smile. His whole body was tense, posture rigid as he awkwardly shoved his hands into his pockets, "What's up?"

Griffin's jaw clenched and he paused, eyes darting around the hallway for a brief moment. Sighing and un-clenching his jaw, Griffin locked eyes with me, "I'm sorry, I don't know if you had plans or something. I just need to ask for a favor, Emmy."

Even if I had plans, I still would have stayed standing there, waiting to listen for what Griffin had to say. He was impossible to ignore - to just give up on. There was something about Griffin so enticing; he seemed so lost and deep and confused and I just wanted to be there to be able to help him. I wanted to help Griffin Cutkosky.

"Sure," I said, fingers playing with the loose hems on the sleeves of my jacket, "Shoot."

"Can I have a ride?" he asked, lips pursing into a thin line as he looked over at me. I blinked in surprise, because that hadn't been what I was expecting, but he continued, "I'm just, um, really tired. It's not far and I can pay you gas money or whatever. If not, it's fine. I understand."

It was a bit selfish, but I didn't hesitate to nod and say yes. I had barely seen Griffin these past few days, and I wanted to give him a ride. I wanted to know where was going. I wanted to spend a few minutes in the car with him to at least see if he was all right. A car ride meant spending time with Griffin, and I wasn't going to say no to that.

And so I stepped out, locked my apartment door, and started walking with Griffin through the hallway and down the stairs. There was something different about Griffin, but I couldn't put my finger on it. It might have been the careful way he walked, fingers dancing lightly over the railing, feet padding so quietly against the floor that I barely heard his steps. It might have been the dark stubble growing on his jawline, or the way Griffin carried himself - confident, yet quiet.

I wasn't sure.

We stepped outside, and I pulled my keys from my pocket, clicking the button to unlock the doors and walking over. It was when Griffin and I got situated in the car, seat warmers on, radio a quiet lull in the background, that I realized I hadn't even bothered to ask where he needed a ride to.

"So," I said, keeping one hand on the gearshift as I turned to Griffin, "Where am I taking you?"

Griffin's lips twitched up into a small smile, "Up north a bit. I, uh... My old house. You can just drop me off there and I'll find a way back. I'll give you directions."

I lived right outside of Philadelphia - closer to Villanova - but the drove up to the northeast wasn't really that far. I smiled at Griffin and nodded, putting the car in reverse and pulling out of the parking spot. It wasn't until I was headed to the highway - Griffin said it was the easiest way to get to his house - that I started up a conversation.

"Why are you going back to your old house?" I asked, blurting out the question before I could stop myself. I bit my lip and kept my eyes locked on the road, heart beating rapidly in my chest as I waited for Griffin to respond. I was afraid I had overstep, but before I could say anything, he spoke.

Griffin's cheeks were flushed when he spoke, blue eyes looking brighter than before, "My dad still lives there and he keeps all of my mom's stuff there. I just want to pick up old videos and stuff. Just a few reminders."

It wasn't hard to understand why Griffin was going home, but I couldn't find myself to push further with that conversation. I didn't know what to say to that - what was the right response when someone told you they were going to their old home to pick up videos of their mom who had been murdered? There wasn't anything I could possibly say to that.

But the thought of Griffin's mom did bring me back to one more thing: the investigation. During the past two weeks of watching Griffin try to make his apartment as locked up as possible, I had almost forgotten about the investigation for his mom. I hadn't seen the police come back to the apartment, but I had heard Griffin say a couple of times that he was going down to the station.

"How's the investigation going?" I asked gently, noticing the way his fingers reflexively clenched together into tight fists, "I just wanted to see if everything was going okay."

"Fine," Griffin murmured, voice softer than I expected it to be. He slouched down in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, "It's just fine."

-

I didn't just drop Griffin off at his old house.

I pulled my car into the driveway and smiled when he invited me in, instantly accepting the invitation and following him inside. The house wasn't huge, and Griffin just smiled at me and told me he'd be right back, leaving me to stand awkwardly in the living room.

The lights were off and I walked over to the curtains, brushing one to the side and letting the light stream in. I sighed and walked over to the wall, eyeing all the pictures hanging on the side. There were ones of Griffin and a boy who looked a little younger than him, who I assumed was Grant. I smiled at the pictures of Griffin with his parents, especially the one of him sitting in his mom's lap and grinning at the camera.

I took a step back from the wall, a strange feeling washing over me. Two months ago, I barely talked to Griffin when I saw him in the hallway. Two months ago, Griffin was just my quiet neighbor, one whose only interaction with me were awkward waves and smiles. Now, I was standing in Griffin's house, looking at pictures of him from when he was little and it just felt weird.

Things had been happening fast, and it was hard to wrap my head around.

I frowned when I heard the sound of a car and honking. Making my way across the living room, I looked out the window and saw someone sloppily park in front of the house before getting out of the car and slamming their door closed. The figure was a guy, older, and it took me a few seconds to realize that he was storming up the sidewalk and towards the house.

"Griffin!" I called, dropping the curtain and walking further into the living room. I had no idea where the boy in question had gone, so I wrapped my hands around my mouth and called again, "Griffin!"

"Sorry!" he shouted back, and I walked to the bottom of the steps where his voice had come from, "Just - uh, give me a second! Sorry!"

"No, Griffin, someone's here."

I heard a crash upstairs at the same time the front door swung open. I spun on my heels to face the man standing at the door, and I instantly recognized him as the man from the pictures on the wall. He had aged quite a bit - his blond hair was shorter and lighter, blue eyes darker, the smile on his face replaced with what looked like a permanent scowl.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded, taking slow steps across the room, eyes sweeping the house before landing on me again.

My heart was racing, palms sweaty as I barely managed to formulate a coherent sentence, "I - I'm so sorry, sir. I'm here with Griffin. I'm sorry, he's upstairs and I called his name, but - "

"Griffin?" he asked, voice softening before taking on a harder edge than I had ever heard someone use before, "Where the fuck is Griffin?"

The steps creaked loudly and suddenly Griffin sprung up next to me, a cardboard box in his hands. He eyed his dad coldly, jaw clenching, fingers tightening on the box. His dad stared back at him the same way, before his eyes drifted to the box. The look of anger was flushed out by a more surprising one - amusement. His dad laughed.

"I'm guessing they talked to you, too," his dad said, and I couldn't help but wonder who they were. Griffin's jaw locked tighter, the muscle popping, "Should I be expecting Grant to come by soon?"

Griffin's face was flushed pale white and he spoke slowly, articulating each word, "I'd warn him not to waste the time. There isn't much worth seeing here."

Griffin and his dad were surprisingly alike in demeanor. They both had the same sharp jawline, intense blue eyes, and tense posture. Only while Griffin wasn't too amazing at containing his emotions, his dad managed to sound amused while he spoke while seeming angry. It was unnerving; to see completely opposite emotions splayed out on one face. A canvas that can't decide what it wants to be.

"If you're done sneaking around my house, I'd appreciate it if you left now, Griffin."

Griffin lifted the box up higher, "With pleasure," Griffin dropped one hand and placed it on my back, gently leading me past his door and to the door.

I grabbed the doorknob, completely prepared to leave the tense and awkward atmosphere we were in, but Griffin's dad voice made the two of us stop.

"I guess you only want to remember her when it's convenient, eh?"

Griffin's back tensed, eyes blazing in a sudden fire. He turned to his dad, the veins in his arms popping as he clenched the box, "I wouldn't call keeping everything about mom locked up in the basement remembering her, either."

Putting his hand gently back against my back, Griffin leaned down close to my ear and whispered, "Let's go, Emmy."

And we did.