They stumble down the hallway, Numbers dragging his feet as he tries to keep himself upright. He feels Wrench's thumb tap against his chest, and a little sound escapes from his throat--somewhere between an incomprehensible mumble and pained whine. When was the last time Wrench dragged Numbers' sorry, half-dead ass to safety? His head swims and his skull prickles with pain, his limbs still not entirely under his control.

Numbers had been lonely, sitting by himself in that stupid, empty house. The loneliness had only been exacerbated upon finding out that Wrench was here, in town, and it gnawed at his chest the more time he spent away from him. It was painful to sit and know that Wrench was in a house just across the way, masquerading as Mr. John Doe for the sake of propriety, and that Numbers couldn't simply wedge himself into their household without the HOA raising their eyebrows.

In his addled state, Numbers finds himself reluctant to let go of Wrench. He's fairly certain they've crossed the threshold into the bedroom, but he clings even tighter to his partner's arm, blearily looking up at him.