Ro🌑

The apartment was still, soaked in the low hum of early morning. Pale light crept through the blinds, soft and silvery, catching the edges of picture frames and the faint glint of a half-drunk water glass on the nightstand. Somewhere out on the street below, a car rolled by too quickly, tires hissing against pavement. But inside, the world was quieter, warmer—slowed to a hush in the shared bedroom you’d come to call home.

The three of you were a tangle beneath the comforter, limbs lazily intertwined like you’d all molded around each other overnight. You were curled in the middle, sandwiched snug between Van and Taissa, the bed long enough only if nobody moved too much. Not that any of you ever minded. Van’s arm was thrown over your waist, the steady rise and fall of her chest pressed into your back. Taissa was in front of you, forehead resting lightly against yours, her hand laced in yours beneath the pillow.

It smelled like the lavender body wash Taissa always bought, and faintly of Van’s hoodie that still clung to the scent of old cologne and cheap cigarettes that lingered since their little gathering at some basement party travis dragged them both to. The heat between your bodies was gentle, unhurried. You barely had to move to know they were there. And most mornings, that was enough.

But Taissa stirred first.

She moved carefully, trying to slide her hand from yours without waking you. You felt it anyway. The absence of her warmth made you shift instinctively, a quiet hum escaping your lips as you burrowed further into the pillow.

Van murmured something behind you, half-asleep, then slung her arm tighter around your waist. “Where are you going,” she mumbled, her voice gravel-thick and muffled.

“Class,” Taissa whispered, her voice apologetic. “It’s Tuesday, remember? My crime and punishment seminar.”

You cracked your eyes open to find her already sitting up, the covers draped around her waist. Her long legs dangled over the side of the bed, toes brushing the rug. She looked back at the both of you like she didn’t actually want to go, but knew she had to.

Van groaned into the back of your neck. “You know what else is criminal? Leaving your loving girlfriends in bed like this.”

Taissa laughed softly, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek. “If I don’t go now, I’ll be sprinting across campus like a lunatic.”

You reached up sleepily to catch her wrist before she could move too far. “Just five more minutes,” you whispered, voice barely above a breath.

Her smile softened. “You say five, and it always turns into ten.”

Van tightened her hold on you in agreement, nose nudging against your hair. “Yeah, and those ten minutes are always the best ones.”

“You two are dangerous,” Taissa said, running her thumb over your knuckles. “Every time I try to be responsible, you drag me back in.”

“And yet, you always come back,” Van teased, peeking up at her through sleepy lashes. “Wonder why that is.”

Taissa didn’t say anything to that. Instead, she leaned back in toward you both. You shifted enough to meet her halfway, and she kissed you gently—lips warm and familiar, a silent promise more than anything rushed. Her hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing slow, and then she tilted just enough to reach Van.

Van met her with a low sigh, mouth curling into a smile against hers. “You really gonna leave after that?” she muttered, lazily chasing another kiss.

“I have to,” Taissa said, though she kissed her again anyway. “But I’ll come back with dinner. My treat.”

That got a little hum of satisfaction out of you. “You’ll bring dumplings?”

“I’ll bring the dumplings,” she confirmed.

“Dessert too?” Van asked, cracking one eye open.

Taissa arched an eyebrow. “You want me to fail law school and blow my paycheck?”

“Yes,” you and Van said in unison, sleep-rough and smug.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Just brushed her fingers over your hair and kissed the crown of your head before finally pulling herself out of bed for real. She shuffled toward the dresser, pulling a hoodie over her tank top, tugging on jeans one leg at a time as she tried not to trip over your laundry pile. You watched her through half-lidded eyes, warm beneath the covers and pressed into Van’s chest.

Van yawned behind you, voice quieter now. “Text when you’re out, yeah?”

Taissa nodded, already slipping on her sneakers by the door. “I will.”

She paused in the doorway, hand on the knob, casting one last look back at the two of you curled together in the sheets. “Love you,” she said, soft but certain.

“Love you more,” Van murmured, already halfway back into sleep.

You smiled, not bothering to open your eyes again. “Love you too.”

The door clicked shut behind her, and quiet fell again—just the soft whoosh of the heater, and the occasional creak of the ceiling above. Van pulled you closer, arm draped lazily over your ribs, and pressed her face into your shoulder with a sleepy sigh.

“She better come back with those dumplings,” Van muttered into your skin.

“She will,” you said, letting yourself sink back into her warmth.

And just like that, the apartment settled again, two-thirds full and still somehow whole.

The café just off campus was mostly quiet this early—only a couple of grad students hunched over laptops in the corner, some classical playlist humming low over the speakers. The air smelled like espresso and fresh croissants, warm enough to draw in students escaping the brisk morning air that hadn’t quite burned off yet.

Taissa slid into the booth by the window, hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up her forearms, a faint crease still pressed into her cheek from sleeping on her arm. She set her coffee down with a soft clink and exhaled, the kind of breath that carried the weight of getting up too early and trying to stay awake for a professor who talked in circles.

Shauna arrived a minute later, eyes puffy with sleep and a too-large thermos of black coffee clutched in her hand like it owed her something. Her ponytail was uneven, and she looked about one bad mood away from snapping at the next person who spoke above a whisper.

She dropped into the seat across from Taissa and groaned. “Jackie is so annoying in the morning.”

“I thought she wasn’t a morning person,” Taissa said, stirring her coffee idly.

“She’s not,” Shauna said, dragging a hand over her face. “That’s the problem. I got up quietly, didn’t turn on the light, didn’t even unplug my phone from the charger until I was halfway dressed—and she still woke up just to pull me back into bed.”

Taissa blinked, amused. “She literally reached for you?”

“Like a feral cat under a blanket. Grabbed my arm and went, ‘Where are you going, it’s cold.’” Shauna mimicked her voice, nasal and dramatic. “I was like, Jackie, you don’t even like cuddling once you’re awake.”

“She just likes the option of you being there,” Taissa said, biting back a grin.

Shauna raised her thermos like a toast. “Exactly. Meanwhile, you look like you haven’t slept either. Don’t tell me it was class again.”

“It was,” Taissa said, “but also… yeah. I got tackled this morning.”

Shauna perked up. “Van or Y/n?”

“Both,” Tai deadpanned. “It’s impossible waking up before them. Van immediately could tell the shift in the room and Y/n is wrapped around me so tight some mornings that I can’t move without waking her up first. Told me how criminal it was to leave them like that.”

Shauna nearly spit her coffee out. “She did not say that.”

“She did. And then—no joke—Y/n tries those puppy eyes and insists on five more minutes, so now I’m stuck buying them dinner with dessert—Van insisted on that too.”

Shauna shook her head, leaning back in the booth, clearly imagining it. “That’s a bold stance from someone who forgets her bike lock combo every week.”

Taissa smirked. “She makes a good case, though. Then Y/n started mumbling in her sleep, grabbing at my hoodie like I was her emotional support animal. I felt bad leaving.”

Shauna snorted. “Okay, see, at least yours makes it sweet. Jackie acts like me leaving is a personal betrayal.”

“She text you about it yet?” Taissa asked.

Shauna flipped her phone over and showed her the lock screen with a new message from Jackie:

‘bring back banana bread or don’t come back.’

Taissa nearly choked on her coffee.

Shauna looked smug. “Clingy and demanding. I hit the jackpot.”

They both laughed, leaning into the comfort of shared chaos. It wasn’t a new conversation—not really. They’d already admitted weeks ago that their girlfriends had a firm grip on their morning routines, but it still caught them off guard. The way Jackie refused to let Shauna go without acting like she’d been abandoned, or how Van came up with increasingly absurd excuses for Tai to stay. And you—Taissa would never say it out loud, but you made it impossible with the way you looked at her through barely open eyes, sleep-warm and soft-voiced, like she was the most important thing in the room.

Shauna looked at her knowingly. “You gave in for like… five more minutes the first time around, didn’t you.”

Taissa didn’t answer right away, but her face said enough.

Shauna raised her brows.

“I gave them ten,” Tai admitted. “Maybe twelve.”

“Yeah,” Shauna said, smirking behind her coffee. “That tracks.”

The doors to the lecture hall swung open with a low creak, letting in the warm, late afternoon air that smelled faintly of sun-heated pavement and grass clippings from the groundskeeping crew. You stepped out into the filtered light, your backpack slung over one shoulder, thumb tapping through a half-read text from Taissa.

‘At study hall. Don’t wait up. Just don’t let Van feed you garbage for lunch again.’

You smiled, already spotting them as you reached the glass doors that led to the courtyard—Van leaning back against the tiled wall with her arms crossed, her denim jacket bunched slightly at the elbows. She looked up first, that slow, easy smile tugging at her mouth the second her eyes met yours.

As soon as Van saw you, she pushed off the wall and walked toward you with that unmistakable grin—half smug, half soft. The kind that made you slow your steps without even meaning to.

“There she is,” Van said, her tone soft but clear, as if she’d been waiting on you.

You walked toward them, your steps instinctively slowing the closer you got. Van straightened a little, unfolding her arms, and there was no rush in the way she reached for you—just a quiet, steady motion, her hand brushing your side first, fingers skimming the fabric of your shirt before she rested them gently at your waist.

“Hey,” she said, her voice lower now, just for you.

“Hey,” you echoed, your hands coming up to rest lightly on her forearms, your backpack slipping further down your shoulder. Van tilted her head slightly, asking without words, and you answered by leaning in, letting her kiss you. It wasn’t hurried, not something sharp or showy—just soft and grounding, the kind of kiss that felt like a question and a homecoming all at once. Her fingers flexed at your sides like she was trying to memorize how you felt in that exact moment.

When you pulled back, your foreheads lingered close. Van’s eyes were still half-lidded, her breath warm against your skin.

“You okay?” she asked, voice low.

You nodded, smiling faintly. “Long lecture.”

“Boring or brutal?”

“Both.”

Van leaned in again, this time just brushing a kiss against your temple. “You survived.”

“Oh, she’s thriving,” Natalie said, interrupting with mock exaggeration. “Clearly. I mean, damn, Palmer. Did you need to kiss her like you were about to enlist?”

Van didn’t even look over. “Sorry, Nat. Would’ve saved the affection for you if I hadn’t seen the remnants of Lottie’s lip gloss on your cheek.”

Natalie froze, hand halfway to her mouth. “Wait—what? Did she?”

You turned in time to see her swipe at both cheeks, trying to catch a reflection in the dead black of her phone screen.

“There’s nothing there,” Travis said flatly.

Natalie shot Van a glare. “You’re a dick.”

Van looked proud of herself. “Takes one to know one.”

You laughed softly, resting a hand on Van’s chest. “You’re mean.”

“Playfully mean,” she corrected, kissing the side of your head again. “It’s different.”

Natalie rolled her eyes and picked her phone back up. “Are we walking or just standing around waiting for Van to compose poetry in your ear?”

“I’m composing lunch plans,” Van said. “Same thing.”

You gave her a look. “Please don’t let that involve hot dogs from the student union again.”

“No promises,” she murmured, already guiding you gently toward the courtyard doors with a hand at the small of your back, like she hadn’t just been leaned against the wall pretending she wasn’t half-scrolling through cat videos on Travis’s phone.

The three of you fell into step together as the doors opened and the golden stretch of campus spilled out in front of you, sunlight flickering off the rooftops and the sound of laughter rising somewhere in the distance.

The courtyard was golden with the late afternoon sun, long shadows cast across the brick walkways and the dry edges of the grass where summer hadn’t quite let go. Students dotted the open space in clusters—some hunched over laptops on the ground, others sprawled across benches, eating takeout or just talking while music played low from someone’s portable speaker nearby. It was the kind of hour where everything softened a little, where the day had slowed just enough to feel breathable again.

You walked with Van, Natalie, and Travis past the sculpture lawn and toward the wide stone tables near the east side, where you could already spot Jackie’s unmistakable posture—half-sitting, half-slouching, one foot resting on the bench as she scrolled through her phone. Lottie sat across from her, posture straighter, one hand curled around a can of seltzer, the other absently tracing patterns on the tabletop as she talked.

Jackie looked up as the four of you approached, shielding her eyes with the back of her hand. “Look who it is,” she called. “You guys actually made it before sundown.”

“Barely,” Van muttered, nudging her shoulder against yours.

The table was wide enough to hold everyone without crowding, the stone cool beneath your hands as you slid onto the bench beside Van. She set her paper bag down and peeled it open, passing you your drink without being asked. Natalie claimed the spot beside Lottie with little ceremony, tossing her bag down before dragging out a half-eaten granola bar she’d clearly forgotten about until now. Travis took the other end of the bench, hunched over a chicken wrap he unwrapped with practiced boredom.

The conversation drifted around you—quiet and scattered, the way it always was when everyone was halfway through eating and still winding down from the day.

Jackie leaned forward on her elbows, picking at the edge of her sandwich. “Shauna said she was gonna meet me after,” she said, almost like she was trying to remind herself out loud. “But knowing her, she’s probably knee-deep in her notes with Tai and won’t realize it’s been two hours.”

Lottie gave a small smile, nodding once. “She texted me earlier. Said they were making a color-coded system for their flashcards.”

Jackie groaned, “Of course they are.”

Van glanced up from her pasta salad, one brow raised. “Honestly, I’m just impressed Shauna willingly walked into study hall. That place gives me flashbacks.”

“To what?” Natalie asked, half-laughing as she flicked a piece of lint off her jacket. “The time you tried to cram for a stats midterm with only Sour Patch Kids and Red Bull?”

Van pointed her fork at her. “That almost worked.”

“Keyword: almost,” you said, nudging her knee under the table.

Travis didn’t look up as he opened a bag of chips. “You failed that midterm.”

“Yeah, but emotionally?” Van shrugged. “I passed with flying colors.”

Jackie shook her head. “No offense, but if I studied like you two—” she gestured vaguely between you and Van, “—I’d be curled up in a fetal position under my desk.”

Van smirked. “See, that’s the difference. You panic. I accept my fate.”

“She’s not lying,” you added, sipping from your drink. “I once watched her open a quiz and immediately decide to guess every other answer just so she could leave early.”

“Time management,” Van said, mouth full. “Learn it.”

Natalie snorted. “You’re the only person I know who sees a quiz and thinks, ‘Speed run.’”

Across the table, Lottie broke open a small tupperware of strawberries and passed a few toward Jackie, who took one without looking.

“I like being outside right now,” Lottie said, her voice soft, almost absentminded. “It feels quieter than inside.”

“Because it is quieter than inside,” Jackie muttered, mouth full of fruit.

Van leaned back on one hand, glancing up at the tree above you. “This campus only looks peaceful when you’re not late to something.”

You laughed quietly at that. “Or when Tai’s not power walking ten steps ahead of me.”

“She does that thing where she’s not even walking fast,” Van said. “She just walks better. Like she’s moving through time more efficiently than the rest of us.”

“She’s a Scorpio,” Natalie deadpanned. “It’s what they do.”

Jackie snorted. “What’s that make Shauna then?”

Lottie answered without hesitation, “Aries.”

“That explains the control issues.”

“She’s organized,” you said, trying to defend her a little—but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips.

“Organized,” Van repeated. “Like alphabetizing the spice rack?”

“She said it ‘soothed her.’” You shook your head. “Tai just let her do it.”

“That’s love,” Natalie said, tipping her can of soda toward you. “Or resignation.”

“Same thing after a certain point,” Van said under her breath.

For a while, no one said anything—just the quiet rhythm of forks scraping containers, the crinkle of wrappers, Jackie’s phone lighting up once before she turned it facedown again.

The sun had shifted lower now, light slanting in gold between the trees, casting long shadows across the grass and catching on the metal benches nearby. Somewhere across the courtyard, a bike bell rang, and someone laughed too loudly near the fountain.

You leaned into Van a little, her shoulder warm against yours. She didn’t say anything, just bumped her knee gently against yours beneath the table and went back to her food.

It wasn’t a moment that needed anything else.

The apartment smelled like fried rice and warm soy sauce by the time you and Van finished unpacking the take-out bags.

Van grabbed a couple of plates from the cabinet while you carefully set the containers across the coffee table—Taissa’s usual: shrimp lo mein, sesame chicken, and extra dumplings, even though she always claimed she wouldn’t eat more than a few.

“She’s gonna complain about how greasy this is,” Van muttered, stacking forks and napkins onto the edge of the table, “then eat the entire box of dumplings and fall asleep halfway through the movie. Like clockwork.”

You glanced over your shoulder with a half-smile. “And you’ll still act surprised.”

“Only ‘cause she always swears she won’t,” Van said, then dropped onto the couch with a huff. “Honestly, she’s gonna work herself into grey hairs before we hit thirty.”

You sat down beside her, tucking your feet under you. “You say that like you wouldn’t kiss each one.”

Van didn’t deny it, just smirked a little and reached for the remote.

The TV screen was already paused on the movie—some low-stakes comedy you’d all agreed on earlier in the week but never got around to watching. You adjusted one of the throw blankets over the back of the couch, tugging the edge into your lap.

Taissa’s name popped up at the top of your phone screen just then.

‘omw now. sorry again, i’m starving. professor kennedy is the devil incarnate. but y’all can use my card—treat yo selves, boo.’

Van peered at your phone from beside you. “Text her that we already did. But don’t tell her it’s from that place, I wanna see if she guesses it just from the smell.”

You shot back a quick reply and left out the name.

The apartment was quiet in the way that felt easy—dishes clinking softly in the sink, Van’s leg bouncing rhythmically beside yours, the low hum of the fridge in the background. You leaned into her side, and she instinctively slipped her arm behind your shoulders.

“She’s probably exhausted,” you murmured.

“Always is,” Van tilted her head toward you. “But she won’t say it unless we ask. Taissa Turner is known to try and push the boundaries of the space and time continuum.”

You nodded, already hearing it in your head—Taissa brushing it off with a soft, “It’s fine,” before you or Van gave her a look that made her actually sit down for once.

Fifteen minutes later, the front door clicked open.

Van perked up immediately. “If she doesn’t guess the food in ten seconds, I’m keeping the dumplings.”

Taissa’s voice drifted in before she was even fully inside. “If you touch those dumplings, I swear—”

Van grinned and yelled back, “Cheater!”

You stood up to greet her as she came in, dropping her bag by the door and kicking her shoes off with a heavy sigh. Her jacket was already half-off, slung over one shoulder, and her braid was a little undone from the wind.

“Hi,” you said, stepping into her space.

Taissa smiled as she leaned in, pressing a tired kiss to your cheek, then another against the corner of your mouth. “Hi, my loves.”

Van joined you a second later, wrapping her arms around both of you like she couldn’t pick just one. “You smell like library dust and institutional stress,” she said into Taissa’s shoulder.

“Thanks, babe,” Taissa said with a tired sort of fondness, her words muffled slightly against Van’s shoulder.

She hadn’t meant to linger in the doorway that long, but the warmth of you both—your presence, your quiet coordination, your knowing glances and how you always seemed to account for her without her asking—it caught her off guard. Not in a heavy, overwhelming way. More like the way light breaks in after a long overcast day.

You were already close, your hand brushing along her lower back like second nature, while Van let her go just enough to give her space. And still, somehow, Taissa found herself unable to move right away. Her eyes shifted between you, softened, then fell closed as she exhaled slowly.

You were about to ask her something—whether she wanted water, if she was too tired to eat—when she leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. Just slow, deliberate. Like she needed to remind herself she was home before her brain caught up with her body.

Then Van, with that quiet smile that always made Taissa’s breath catch, stepped in again. “You okay?”

“Mm.” Taissa kissed the corner of Van’s mouth. Then the center. “Better now.”

You didn’t say anything—just reached up to push a loose strand of her curls back behind her ear.

The motion made her blink a few times. Maybe it was the soft lighting, or maybe it was the exhaustion, but her expression shifted again—softer now, more open.

It wasn’t always easy for her to say how grateful she felt. Gratitude, real gratitude, never came out all in one piece. It built itself in layers: small touches, drawn-out silence, lingering eye contact. The way she kissed both of you now, one after the other, like it was her way of saying thank you without cheapening it with too many words.

Her heart bled behind the struggles of admitting her feelings—they wanted to burst out of her body every second Taissa came into contact with either of you. She knew she’d do anything for you two, and she hoped you knew that too.

Van let herself fall onto the couch first, arms stretching dramatically across the cushions. “Come on, serious talk—if you keep kissing us like that, we’re not gonna start the movie for another hour.”

You laughed, already easing down beside her.

Taissa gave a small shrug as she moved with you, eventually sitting right where she knew she wanted to be: legs stretched out and you tucked in close. But you didn’t stay seated beside her for long. After a moment of her lips brushing your jaw again—one, two, three times—she pulled you gently into her lap.

You didn’t resist. Just curled into her without hesitation, your knees bracketing her hips. Van grinned and slid closer behind her, her legs spreading slightly so Taissa could lean into her, too.

“You’re a menace,” Van murmured into the side of Taissa’s neck as she settled there, wrapping her arms lightly around both of you.

“And you love me for it,” Taissa muttered, already reaching for the food on the table in front of you.

Your laugh was quiet, but warm against her collarbone. “She’s not wrong.”

The remote rested nearby, but no one had touched it yet. The show you’d picked out played the Netflix preview on a loop, muted. The three of you sat like that for a while—close, tired in the same kind of way that only made your bodies tangle tighter together, plates slowly being passed around, bites shared back and forth.

Taissa fed you a dumpling between sentences. Van tossed a napkin onto the table after stealing one from your plate and pretending she hadn’t. You kicked lightly at her shin under the blanket.

Nothing loud. Nothing complicated. Just soft music from the TV, the rustle of takeout containers, and the quiet kind of laughter that came easy after a long day.

And still—beneath all of that—Taissa kept looking at you and Van like she hadn’t figured out how to say it yet: how much she loved this. How much she loved you.

So instead, she leaned in again and kissed your temple. Then turned, shifted slightly in Van’s hold, and kissed her too. No rush. Just… there. Real.