In this case, however, I personally thought that the name of my Housemate wasn't doing anything particularly good. For me.
                          
Because those two words had filled up my brain in harsh torrents.
                          
I stepped out of Alex's car.
                          
Ryder Black.
                          
I took one step forward to His house.
                          
Ryder Black.
                          
I inhaled deeply to reclaim my peace.
                          
Ryder Black.
                          
His name still invaded me.
                          
Every step I took, every oxygen I inhaled, every tick-tick that I heard from my watch, each of them spelled His name.
                          
And I was shuddering with an amalgamation of fear, and excitement, combined with a Sauron lot of anxiety.
                          
It had been a while since I had let him invaded my mind. Okay, that was an overstatement, and I had sworn an oath along with Harry Potter that I would not lie. It had been a few hours since I let my mind without any trace of memory about Him. But this new realization, coupled with my own confession about my state of feeling about him, amplified the effect of his name towards me.
                          
I clutched at my chest, prostrating just before the front door because this overwhelming feeling felt like being eaten from inside out. So this was very probably why a lot of bookish nerds write science fiction: they feel things too much and creating a monster was the only safe way out of their own torturing minds.
                          
As I was still in the middle of collecting my own thoughts, I saw the front door open.
                          
"April?" his voice came.
                          
Oh no.
                          
"April, what were you doing on the floor?" the concern in his voice was palpable, and just a split second later, my heart was doing somersaults.
                          
Housemate's face appeared and he was jogging towards my direction.
                          
I held up my hand. "W-Wait."
                          
"Did you get hurt? Shit, how could Alex leave you like this? What happened?" questions after questions flew like bullets as he paced around me. I liked that he didn't just go ahead and put a hand on my back or something, I would have combusted.
                          
"April?"
                          
"Please give me a minute,' I managed to breathe out the words, despite the great difficulty. "And don't talk."
                          
Because hearing his voice, looking at his face, knowing that he was just within an arm's reach, it all felt too much for me. His name was now popping up inside my head in a milisecond basis, and I was flooding with feelings that I had left untreated for months.
                          
Fortunately, Housemate conceded to my request, and kept himself quiet. I counted my breathing, thought a lot about Arwen and the serene way she carried herself, before I could finally prop myself up.
                          
I still, however, tried my best to avoid his face.
                          
After my oxygen intake and carbon dioxide outtake resembled a normal human respiratory system, I walked back to the house. To my gratitude, I could see my duffel bag that I had forgotten on the club sitting on the sofa. I searched for my thermos and drank my mushroom soup straight until my stomach couldn't take it anymore.
                          
"Wow," Housemate commented. "You're acting like me when I was frustrated. Quietly drinking your poison of choosing straight from the metal flask. Only your poison is soup."
                          
"Mushroom soup," I corrected him, because the minor detail was important.
                          
"Should I be worried? Because I'm inclined to open my own metal flask and drink some brandy."