Frank stared at the rucksack, a special gift from his mum to congratulate him on a job he wasn’t sure was going to be all it was cracked up to. He’d had the interview, gotten the job, and met the boss lady. She was interesting… and that was putting it nicely. As his vision fuzzed, staring into that between reality and daydreaming. How was he going to pull this off?

A deep breath was taken, an acknowledgment that he had bitten more than he’d expected. When he had applied to the position, he’d been selected by Fiona’s husband, who was taking it upon himself to help her out at the office. Somewhere, Frank was sure there was a saying about keeping the home life and work separate, and definitely not to put his foot where his mouth was. Still, it had been an intriguing prospect, and something different while still being in his present field.

A librarian turned assistant to bookhunter. Frank pursed his lips to the side as he leaned forward, his chair creaking under his shifted weight. He opened the side pocket on the sack. The binoculars pushed snuggly in it looked as new as he felt. His fingertip found its way slowly around one eye piece before falling back to dangle between the emptiness that stood between his knees.

Maybe what he needed to do was write out what he was thinking about. The act of moving, though, was counterproductive to his desire to stay where he was, and so he decided against a pros and cons list for right then. His fingers fumbled with the next clasp, opening it to reveal the small journal his younger sister had put in the pack. Something to write his adventures in, she’d said. He doubted there were many publications looking for that sort of thing, but he had told her he’d keep on the lookout. He was freelance, after all.

The new apartment still had boxes stacked about the place, and his bedroom was a hazard for bare feet and unsuspecting shins. He’d get around to it eventually. Besides, he was just down the hall from Akiva. If he needed something, she would have it.

Moving had been unexpected but necessary. After breaking up from a three year relationship, Frank had to find his own place. Perhaps that was cause of some of his anxiety as well… After so long, here he was, completely alone in a space that felt way too big for one. Shaking his head, he buckled the sack back and ran his fingers through his hair.

He finally seemed to focus on his surroundings as if he were waking up from a half slumber. Which he supposed he was… His eyes were rubbed next before his hands fell with a slap to his thighs. He had to get up and be productive! Frank forced himself to his feet with a faux bounce, turning up the music on the radio. Distraction was the best medicine, at least for his broken everything.

New place, newly single, new job with an uncertain income. He’d really done himself in this time. Opening up a box, he started to pull out linen, tossing it in an unorganized pile on the sofa. Underneath the first few blankets and sheets were frames, a seemingly happy couple grinning up at him, his own familiar arms wrapped easily around the devious brunette.

His mum had never liked her much, especially when she moved into his previous apartment. Katherine had been very vocal about it, asking how she was supporting herself on part time waitressing. It had all been a learning experience, though. Staring down at the unmoving photo, Frank finally leaned over and picked it up. One picture down, only so many more to go.

Three hours later Frank was stretched out on the couch, an arm propped on his forehead with a couple empty beers and half eaten pizza on the coffee table. What did you even do with photos that you don’t need anymore? Picking up one he’d pulled out of a frame, Frank held it between his index and thumb, frowning at it. Do you keep one and throw the rest out? Do you keep them all and hide them in a box under the bed? Or… was it best to just start over fresh?

Frank was naturally a horder, preferring to keep things that he might consider sentimental later on. Hence why he had ended up with so many boxes… Nevertheless, he raked the photos together in a clumsy pile and dropped them into a shoebox, making his way around hazards to the spare room. Stepping into the small space, he glanced over it fondly—it was made for anyone visiting, a small twin bed shoved up against the wall to make space for a desk on the opposite.

Under the bed the box went, something to deal with later. Besides, he hadn’t even attempted to put this room together. Back into the hall he went, debating in his head. “Another beer… or unpacking my dresser?” It didn’t take long for him to decide where his feet were headed.

Twirling his wand around his fingers, he picked up the phone as he stepped back into the living room, dialing Molly’s number. Maybe she’d share a beer with him.