S feels for a few moments like he's holding his breath, watching as his sent message gets a little delivered label underneath it, followed by the ellipsis that means the other person is typing. A part of him feels guilty, too, for hoping she just leaves out the back. He very much wants to introduce J to the people he works with — ones he might not be close to, exactly, but who all seem like good people. He likes working here, and not just because it affords him time to play the piano on occasion, an opportunity he wouldn't get nearly anywhere else.

Of course, today, that's the whole root of the problem, or it feels like it is. He won't know for sure until he's certain that the two of them are alone here, and until then, he isn't sure what else to say or do. Fortunately, it doesn't take long until a response comes in — largely as expected, his coworker thanking him for closing up and saying that she'll see him tomorrow. There's no sound of anyone else approaching, so he waits another moment, then sighs as he lowers his arms. It's fine. They'll be fine. It just hurts, is all.

"She's leaving," he says, glancing behind him just to make sure she doesn't seem to be approaching. Still there's nothing, and it's both relieving and daunting. Better not to have to wait, or to lie, or pretend that everything is alright when something very much isn't, but he's not entirely sure how to talk about this. It's one subject that's stayed not entirely, but mostly untouched. "There aren't many places to sit, but..."

But he'd rather do that than just awkwardly stand here. It would be easier, he thinks, if they were at each other's side, not facing each other, only making him more aware of that distance.