Chapter Text
The rain hadn't stopped all day. It drummed lightly against the windows, a steady, unhurried rhythm that turned the city outside into a blur of watercolor. The apartment was wrapped in a soft kind of gray lighting that made everything seem quieter, and the air smelled faintly of coffee and acrylic. Zoey sat cross-legged on the living room floor, her sketchbook opened flat on the coffee table in front of her along with an assortment of pencils and a mug of half finished coffee. She wasn’t really drawing anything in particular—just lines, loops, the suggestion of shapes that might become something later. The sleeve of her sweater brushed the paper every time she leaned forward, leaving faint trails of graphite along the edge of the page. She hummed a half remembered melody under her breath– low, wandering, and just enough to cut through the sound of the rain.
At the table, Mira worked. Her laptop screen cast a cold glow against her face, the only sharp thing in the room. The rhythmic tapping of her fingers against the keyboard matched the rain for a while, until her focus began to slip. She kept finding her gaze pulled away from the screen, tracing the quiet rhythm of the other girl’s movements– the absent tuck of hair, the steady tap of her pencil against her knee, and the faint hum that kept slipping through the sound of the rain. Mira told herself she was only distracted by the noise.
Zoey glanced over her shoulder suddenly. “You ever notice how quiet you are when you work?”
Mira didn't look up. “It's called concentration.”
“Right,” Zoey said, grinning. “And do you ever, I don't know, talk while you concentrate? Or would that cause some kind of internal systems failure?”
Mira’s mouth twitched. “I prefer silence.”
“Yeah I'm getting that,” Zoey teased, flipping a page. “It's like living with a ghost who pays rent on time.”
That earned the smallest exhale from Mira– not quite a laugh, but close. Zoey caught it, smiling to herself. “You know, I've been trying to figure you out.”
“Don’t,” Mira said flatly.
“Oh come on. You alphabetize spices and color code files. You drink coffee black, but I swear you'd like it better with sugar.”
Mira finally looked up. “You’re very observant for someone who burns toast.”
“Everyone’s good at something,” Zoey said brightly. “Yours is control. Mine is chaos. Together, we balance the universe.”
Mira’s gaze lingered for a second too long before she turned back to her laptop. “That’s not how balance works.”
“Sure it is,” Zoey said, smiling down at her page. “Just depends on your definition.”
A soft rhythm settled between them after that– the quiet, comfortable kind. Rain patted the window, filling the space the conversation had left behind. Zoey’s pencil continued to move in lazy loops, her foot tapping out of rhythm against the floor. Mira typed a few lines, erased them, then tried again.
Zoey broke the silence first, glancing up at her. “You know, you do that thing when you're thinking– the little frown.”
“Occupational hazard,” Mira said, voice dry and unreadable.
“Of what, being human?”
“Of working with idiots,” Mira said, deadpan.
Zoey laughed under her breath, shaking her head before turning back to her sketchbook. The sound lingered just long enough to soften the air again.
“Do you ever paint?” Zoey asked suddenly, not looking up from her sketchbook.
Mira didn't glance away from her screen. “No patience for it.”
Zoey’s smile curved, small and knowing, before a soft laugh filled the air. “Yeah. That checks out.”
Mira sighed lightheartedly-- though she stopped before it could surmount to more. She took a sip of lukewarm coffee and made a face. The rain outside deepened, wind rattling faintly against the glass.
After a minute, Mira stood to refill her mug. The kettle hissed as it boiled, the sound breaking the comfortable quiet. When it clicked off, she poured herself a fresh cup– and without thinking, poured one for Zoey too. She didn’t say anything, just set it beside the sketchbook as she passed.
Zoey blinked, surprised. “Oh– thanks. You didn't have to.”
“You left it unfinished,” Mira said, matter-of-fact.
“Thats kind of my brand,” Zoey replied, a small grin tugging at her lips.
Mira hummed under her breath– not agreement, not disagreement– and sat back down. For a while, the apartment breathed around them. The rain filled the silence. Every so often, Mira’s fingers paused on the keyboard, eyes flicking towards the girl on the floor.
The afternoon slipped by quietly. The rain hadn't let up, turning the windows into sheets of blurred gray. Zoey eventually set her sketchbook aside, stretching out her legs with a soft groan. “Okay,” she said, voice breaking the silence, "I'm declaring a break from being productive. You ever take those?”
Mira looked over for just a moment before redirecting her attention back to the screen. “Occasionally.”
“Define occasionally,” Zoey countered.
“When I'm unconscious.”
Zoey snorted, grabbing the remote off the coffee table. “Tragic. We're watching something. Doctor’s orders.”
“I’m not a doctor.”
“Good,” Zoey said, flipping through the streaming options. “You’d have terrible bedside manner.”
Mira shot her a look, flat and unimpressed, but she didn’t argue as she stood from her place at the table and made her way over to the couch.
“You pick,” Zoey said finally, holding out the remote.
Mira blinked. “Why me?”
“Because you’re definitely someone who has opinions about everything.”
That earned the faintest lift of an eyebrow. Mira took the remote without a word, scrolling for a moment before stopping on a title– a muted, slow paced drama neither of them had heard of. Zoey looked back at her, curiosity written across her face. “Wow. Shocker. You picked something depressing.”
“It's not depressing,” Mira said, settling back into the couch. “It's quiet.”
“Same thing,” Zoey muttered, but she smiled as she curled up on the opposite side of the couch from Mira, pulling her knees to her chest.
The rain softened into a steady rhythm against the windows, quiet enough that it blended with the low hum of the movie. Zoey had claimed the corner of the couch, blanket draped haphazardly over her lap, a bowl of popcorn balanced beside her knee. Mira sat on the opposite end, one leg crossed neatly over the other, posture far too straight for someone watching a movie.
Halfway though, Zoey sighed dramatically. “You realize no one’s smiled in this movie for like… an hour?”
Mira didn't look away from the screen. “You’ve been counting?”
“Someone has to,” Zoey said, stretching her arms overhead. “If I start crying, it's your fault.”
“You picked it.”
“I picked you to pick it,” she countered. “Big difference.”
The smallest flicker of amusement spread across Mira’s face– not quite a grin, but a tiny shift, enough to make Zoey notice. It spurred her on, like a challenge she didn't know she’d accepted. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself, curling sideways until her legs brushed against Mira’s thigh. When Mira didn't immediately move, she let herself ease into it, pretending it was just for comfort. “Hope you don't mind. You just have a pretty convenient lap.”
Mira went still. Her eyes didn't leave the screen, but her hand paused mid reach for her mug. “You could use the pillow,” she said, voice carefully neutral.
“Nah,” Zoey said softly, grinning without looking up. “This is better.”
For a moment, neither moved. The air shifted– not awkward, not even heavy, just… aware. The kind of stillness that feels fragile. Mira’s breath caught, imperceptibly, before she forced her focus back on the TV.
Zoey, sensing it, changed the subject gently. “You know, I think this director just hates joy. Like maybe he saw a rainbow one time and took it personally.”
Mira’s exhale came out quieter than a chuckle, but it was there. “You’re very dramatic for someone who voluntarily watched a two hour indie film about grief.”
“I contain multitudes,” Zoey said, mock serious. “Also, I thought there’d be a dog. There's no dog.”
“There’s usually never a dog,” Mira replied.
“Yeah- but there should be,” Zoey said, letting her head tip back against the cushion. “Every sad movie should at least have one happy animal.” Mira finally turned her head toward her, eyes catching the faint smile on Zoey’s lips. Something about the way she looked– soft, unguarded– made Mira’s chest tighten. She stood abruptly, needing movement.
“Tea?”
Zoey blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “Oh– uh, sure.”
The kettle hissed, filling the silence between them. When Mira returned, she set a mug in front of Zoey before sitting back down. Zoey smiled, hands wrapping around the warmth as her legs instinctively laid across Mira’s lap again. “You always do that,” she said quietly.
Mira looked at her. “Do what?”
“Take care of things before anyone asks.”
For a heartbeat, Mira didn't respond. Her gaze flicked toward the window, where the rain had begun to ease into a mist. “Habit,” she said simply.
Zoey nodded, the faintest smile still lingering. “Well… it's a good one.” They went back to watching, the last stretch of the movie fading into silence. When the credits rolled, Zoey didn't move right away. Her legs still rested across Mira’s lap, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug.
Mira didn't move either. The rain had subsided, but the room still carried that hazy warmth that comes after storms– something softer, something unspoken that neither of them wanted to name just yet.
Finally, Zoey broke the quiet. “So… dinner?”
Mira glanced at the clock, “It's after seven.”
“Which means it's the perfect time for impulsive decisions,” Zoey said, already sitting up. “I vote we make something. You can show off your terrifying organization skills, and I’ll… you know. Supervise.”
“Right. Because you're such a professional,” Mira said, dry but with that feeble pull at the corner of her mouth again.
Zoey grinned. “Exactly.”
They migrated to the kitchen– Zoey barefoot and trailing the blanket around her shoulders like a cape, Mira already rolling up her sleeves. It was easy, the way they moved around each other now. Mira chopped vegetables with precise, methodical movements. Zoey hummed and leaned against the counter, pretending to read the recipe, but clearly improvising.
“Do you ever just not measure things?” Zoey asked, watching Mira’s careful work.
“I like things to be right.”
“Maybe ‘right’ is overrated,” Zoey said, tipping a little too much olive oil into the pan.
Mira’s eyebrow arched, “And maybe smoke alarms are underrated.”
Zoey laughed, the sound bright and unguarded. The kind that reached into corners Mira usually didn't let people touch. The kitchen smelled warm– garlic, oil, something slightly burned but not ruined. Zoey shifted her weight along the counter, her hip brushing lightly against Mira’s as they stood side by side. It wasn't intentional– just small kitchen proximity– but it was enough to make Mira’s shoulders stiffen for a second before she forced them to relax.
“See?” Zoey said, nudging Mira’s elbow with a grin. “Cooking’s just controlled chaos. You of all people should respect that.”
“Controlled,” Mira echoed, muttering the word like she was testing it. “That’s generous.”
Zoey’s grin widened. “I contain multitudes.”
Mira huffed out something between a laugh and a scoff. “You contain smoke, at least.”
Zoey bumped her shoulder again, feign offended. “Wow, the gratitude in this house is unreal.”
“Gratitude would imply success,” Mira replied, but her tone eased, dulling into something almost fond. They moved effortlessly together– Zoey reaching around Mira to grab the salt, Mira steadying the pan when Zoey stirred too hard. Their fingers brushed once, neither of them acknowledging it, though Zoey’s laugh faltered just slightly afterward.
By the time they sat down to eat, the apartment felt still– that post rain calm that makes every sound feel louder than it should. The faint drip from the balcony railing outside, the soft clink of silverware, the low hum of the refrigerator.
Zoey took the first bite and winced. “Okay, maybe not my best work.”
Mira tried hers. “You overdid the salt.”
“Hey,” Zoey said, pointing her fork at her, “that’s the flavor of passion.”
“Poor seasoning choices are not passion,” Mira deadpanned.
“Tell that to the greatest artists of our time,” Zoey countered, then leaned back with a soft smile. “You know, for someone who claims to hate chaos, you're surprisingly good at surviving it.”
Mira’s fork paused halfway to her mouth. “Maybe I've had practice.”
Zoey tilted her head. “You say that like there's a story there.”
Mira didn't answer right away. Her eyes stayed on the table for a beat too long before she finally looked up again. “There’s not.”
“Uh-huh,” Zoey said quietly, but she didn't push. The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It felt… suspended. Mira almost smiled again, almost said something more– but the sound of Zoey’s phone buzzing face down on the table next to her cut through the moment.
Zoey glanced toward the table, her hand hovering over her phone for a second too long before flipping it face down again. Whatever name or message she’d seen flashed behind her eyes– something small but sharp, enough to shift the air between them.
Mira caught it. “Something wrong?”
Zoey shook her head too quickly. “No. Spam. Happens all the time.” Her voice was light, but it didn't reach her eyes. She took another bite she clearly didn't taste.
Mira didn't buy it. “Spam that makes you stop breathing for a second?”
Zoey’s chuckle came out uneven. “Guess I'm just dramatic.”
Mira’s eyes flicked down to her plate. She took another slow bite, the fork scraping faintly against the ceramic. “Guess so,” Mira murmured, tone unreadable.
The silence that followed wasn't the same as before. It pressed in– not hostile, just heavier. Zoey tried to fill it, rambling about the movie they’d watched, about overcooked pasta, anything to make it sound like nothing was wrong. Mira listened, far too patient and perceptive for Zoey’s comfort. When words finally ran out, the only sound was the familiar hum of the fridge.
Zoey’s fingers toyed with the edge of her sleeve, eyes fixed on the fabric. “You ever get that thing where someone from your past just… pops up? And it's like–” she caught herself, shaking her head. “Nevermind. That's dumb.”
Mira’s tone was soft, steady. “Yeah. I get it.”
Zoey blinked, caught off guard. “You do?”
Mira nodded once. “You can talk about it if you want. Or you can pretend it's nothing. People do that too.”
Zoey’s smile faltered, tired around the edges. “I’m good at pretending.”
“I know,” Mira said– not sharp, just honest.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Zoey stared down at her plate, Mira at her. Two people both pretending they weren't trying to understand each other. Then Mira leaned back in her chair, the corner of her mouth twitching almost imperceptibly. “Finish eating before you spiral.”
Zoey huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You’re bossy.”
“Efficient,” Mira corrected.
The tension broke– not gone, but gentler now, softened by something that neither of them could name.
—-
The apartment was still. Only the muted flow of the city filtered through the window– car tires on wet pavement, a horn fading somewhere far away. Mira sat on her bed, laptop open but forgotten, its glow washing her face in cold light. She scrolled through a spreadsheet for the third time without processing a word.
Her gaze lingered on the door, the silence on the other side pressing just enough to make her notice it. She exhaled, leaning back against the headboard. It should've felt peaceful. It didn't. She told herself it was the caffeine, the long day, the dozens of unanswered emails sitting in her inbox. But her chest was tight in a way that didn't feel like work. Her gaze lingered on the door just a moment longer before she closed her laptop and set it aside.
She stayed seated, not working, not thinking– just waiting for the noise in her head to settle.
—-
Zoey sat cross legged on the floor, her sketchbook open beside her but untouched. The phone in her lap glowed once, a message she’d already read sitting there on the screen.
Still think about you.
Her throat tightened. She stared at the words until they hurt, until the letters seemed to fade into the light bleeding from the screen. Then she locked the phone and sat it face down on the rug.
Her pencil moved before she could think about it– fast, uneven lines across the page, something messy and dark. The sound of graphite on paper was sharp against the quiet. She stopped, staring at what she’d made– not a drawing, not really. Just noise.
For a moment, she wished the walls between them weren't there. That she could just… say something. Anything. But she didn't even know what she would say. She set the pencil down, wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand, and pulled her knees to her chest. The air smelled faintly of rain through the cracked window, cool against her skin. The light flickered across the page before she turned it off, letting the room dissolve into darkness.
Night had settled over the apartment– quiet, but tense. The city murmured beyond the glass, a sympathetic reminder that life went on elsewhere. Inside, the air held still, the kind of silence that lingered between two people who hadn’t said enough, but had already said too much.