London had been sick.

London wasn't sick with the common cold or stomach flu, though. London had a severe case of writer's block and the fact that every single day was the exact same thing over and over wasn't helping him at all.

London had gotten into journalism because his writing was fresh; it was new and every sentence spoke with some sort of life that made everything he wrote stand out. Articles and blog posts were his medium, and nobody could take it from him until the city and the routineness and the monotonicity stole it from right beneath him.

"London, you know I can't use this article on the blog," Nia muttered, holding up the papers he had handed her that morning.

London glanced at her from the corner of his eye, bored. "Who cares? It's only a stupid blog update on some app."

Nia frowned. "I'm going to have to write this post myself, aren't I?"

London shrugged her off, unpausing his show and continuing to watch it.

Nia folded her arms over her chest. "You're an idiot, London."

London looked at her with renewed interest. "How so?"

She let out a 'humph' and averted her gaze. "I'll quit if you stay like this, I swear."

London raised an eyebrow. He was bored again. "No, you won't." The same thing, again and again, over and over until it was all a blur.

"I swear I will."

London scoffed. "You don't have the heart to."

Nia's vision was blurred with tears, so she turned around. She wouldn't show London any weakness for as long as she was alive. "Really? Watch me."

Nia always cried over the smallest things. Nia always stormed out without thinking. Nia always let herself be consumed by emotions, every time, and while the periods were intense, they never lasted long. She always came back. Always.

"Whatever."

Nia squeezed the fabric of her skirt, her lower lip trembling. "Go manage your website yourself. I bet you don't know how half the functions work," she spat, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind her. It wasn't loud enough. Not enough because she was weak, too weak to slam it hard enough and too weak because she cared too much.

London froze. Had he made her cry? He never intended to go that far. He stood up warily, his eyes drifting to the door. "Nia—"

The papers he gave her were on the floor, the ink smeared with tears. London sat back down, staring at them. Nia would come back by herself. She always did.

And Nia wanted to come back again, this time, she really did. She didn't mind it when he ignored her. She didn't mind it when he only came to her when he couldn't do it himself. So she called him to wake him up like she did every morning, and when he answered, she hung up without a word, tears spilling out and streaming down her cheeks. It hurt so much to hear his voice—why was that?

Nia lay in bed for most of the day, drifting in and out of sleep and crying for a lot of the time she was awake. London didn't even text to ask her if she was okay—what kind of friend was he?

The next day, when London boarded the bus to get to work, he was out of breath. Nia didn't call him to wake him up again that day, and his alarm didn't go off for some reason. It had been so long since he'd used it—had he forgotten? Maybe it was broken.

London had to run to the bus before it drove off without him, and then he had bumped into a boy—a cute boy with messy hair and uneven hoodie strings. London was in a shitty mood, but when he met that boy, he felt kind of—lighter. He wrote an article that night—a good one, he felt—and he posted it and hoped Nia would read it, to know he was okay again. London was normal again. 

London called Nia that night, but she didn't respond.

Nia came back every time, but she didn't come back that day, and maybe it was for the best.

London and Nia would both fix themselves before they met again, London had decided while he was standing next to Carter on the bus another day. He fixed his alarm that time, and he got to the bus on time.

For once, London's life was different. For once, he enjoyed waking up and walking to that stupid bus stop. And now that Nia was away from someone as toxic to her as London, perhaps she could be happy, too. 

Nia was too good to have been so broken, anyways.  

[a/n] nia is important remember her