#u&d

Mabel's first instinct is to roll back over and close her eyes, influenced by the weight dragging her brain back to drowsiness, but she feels she shouldn't. Not without looking over, reassure herself that her girlfriend is sleeping calmly, unburdened by bad dreams. She gently cocks her head and her half-lidded eyes freeze over the fading wrinkles in the bedsheets. Natsuki's not here.

Her legs chill with rushing blood as they suddenly go from numb to alert. A sigh drags out an icy cloud from her chest, heart tapping anxiously against her sternum, not quite pounding. She scans uselessly around the bedroom — still not here. Another sigh, let out this time through her nose.

She must have had a nightmare, maybe slept on the couch through the night. The soles of Mabel's feet prickle as she steps on the floor, standing up from the edge of the bed. She struggles not to shamble, firms her footing after one, two, three steps towards the hallway; relax. Everything is fine. She breathes in, out, and walks over. A glance around the wall, another ghostly, sharp jolt in the core of her chest. Nothing.

More blood slowly rushes, thin, down to her ankles. Maybe the kitchen. Another peek around the wall, and there's no one beyond the threshold. Through a shuddered breath, Mabel walks back around, standing in front of the bathroom door. If Natsuki's in there, then she'll have overreacted, but she has to make sure.

Two meager knocks echo in her ears. Five seconds pass, ten. She knocks again, asks if Natsuki's okay. Mabel gently opens the door. No one is inside.

The only sound she can hear is the drumming of her heart, reverberating in her eardrums. Her head goes numb, the blood rush leaving her anemic. She walks back to the bedroom, chuckles through a shudder; of course, she didn't check her phone.

She sits down on the bed, over the rumples Natsuki left behind, her vision forming a tunnel around the phone screen. Her heartrate gets loud again. Nothing, not a word, not a memo. Mabel sits, watches each letter from yesterday morning's texts blur into formlessness, her mind going blank. Her lips are left parted, her arms shivering in place. Her thumb wavers, the thought of sending a text like a current of urgency flooding her mind. She has to slowly, painstakingly type each letter, each tap punctuated by a sharp heartbeat, where did you go? are you okay?

The text bubble swims in her vision as it starts to wet. She watches the screen intently, waits for anything, any sign of life. Her heart explodes in her chest, blood going cold inside every limb, as she snaps her head to the sound of keys shifting inside the lock of the front door, echoing through the walls. She scurries off the bed, walks over, peeks from the doorframe, and watches Natsuki step inside, kick off her shoes, plastic bags in her hands. Mabel's vision sharpens suddenly, everything stark.

"Hey," Natsuki says, nonchalant.

Mabel blinks, her heart still frantic, but the freezing cold spreading through her chest slowly melts away into a sort of darkening heat. "Hey," she manages, the word lagging behind her throat. "Where… where were you?"

"At the grocery store. I didn't think you'd be up right now." Natsuki locks the door behind herself, sets the bags over the table, scratches her forehead.

"Why didn't you tell me?" asks Mabel, immediately, the words flying like bullets from a barrel.

Natsuki's eyes peer over her, her brow furrows slightly. "I woke up early, couldn't go back to sleep, I figured I'd be back before you even woke up—"

"Natsuki, that's not a reason. You have to tell me about these things," her voice shakes, slightly — noticeably? She can't tell.

Natsuki steps back at the same rate that Mabel steps forward, and it's only now that she's noticed they're this close. She looks frail, easy to lose. "We ran out of eggs, man, I think that's a pretty decent reason to—"

"It doesn't matter. You leave the house for anything, you tell me, text me, wake me up, whatever, all you have to do—"

The sound of Natsuki wrestling her shoulders out of Mabel's grasp is sharp, sudden. Uncomfortable heat flares in the joints of her wrists as her eyes widen over Natsuki's posture. Planted, guarded, forearms raised at the height of her stomach. There's an indescribable look in her eyes, in the way they snap between each of Mabel's.

Mabel looks down at her shivering hands, hairs standing on end. Her bloodflow settles, slowly, alongside the feeling of regret burning in her gut. "I'm sorry" weakly crawls out of her lips, comes out as a faint whisper.

"Jesus," Natsuki breathes, slowly returning to a comfortable posture, still watchful as she walks over to the plastic bags, picks them up, and disappears into the kitchen.

Mabel's knees feel weak. The most prominent feeling she's left with is that of her cheeks burning under the skin.

. . .

The attention required for work is grounding enough for Mabel. She keeps her head raised, divides her focus between her breaths and the tasks at hand. She and Natsuki will occasionally glance at each other as they exchange trays and cups and paper bags. Each time, it feels softer, less heavy, less intense, a silent conversation. Mabel's chest feels lighter. She's gotten to apologize without words, it feels like.

Time marches on, the sun arching higher in the sky as they near the third hour of the shift. Break is a few minutes away. Mabel feels slightly tired, but she ignores her body's whining and firms her steps, tries to keep her vision sharp. The sound and feeling of her phone vibrating in her pocket, against her thigh, shatters her focus like high pitched noise to a wine glass, and she's still for a few seconds. Setting a full cup of coffee down on a nearby countertop, she fishes the phone out from her pocket. Her heart jumps slightly, the words beneath the cutesy cat icon like an all-too-familiar symbol.

"Mabes," Natsuki calls out. "Wake up." She's stern, but not angry.

Mabel sets the phone on the countertop, leaves it to vibrate again. "Yeah, sorry," she says, hurried, as she grabs the cup and walks over to hand it to Natsuki. She hesitates for a moment, and as the cup changes from one hand to another, Mabel stammers. "Uh, listen, I need to step out for a sec. I'll be quick."

Natsuki grumbles under her breath. "Swear to God…. okay, fine. Don't leave me hanging."

Mabel nods, returns to her phone, and heads for the back door. The air outside washes over her, and with a quick glance to her surroundings before she leans against the wall beside the door, her attention is back to the screen for as long as it takes for her to accept the call.

"Hey," she breathes.

"Hi," says Sayori.

Mabel hears a slight crackle on the other side. Sayori pauses, then speaks again. "How's it going, Maple-girl?" There's a cheeriness in her voice that spreads relief through Mabel's chest.

"Uh, good. I'm at work right now." She chuckles.

"Oh, sorry! I can call again later, it's—"

"No, no. I have… time."

"Mm. Okay." Mabel can hear Sayori clicking the roof of her mouth.

"… Did you wanna talk about anything?"

"Oh, well, not really. I just wanted to know how you were doing. You know, since you moved in with Wonder Girl over there," Sayori giggles.

"I'm— we're doing pretty well, yeah. I already have most of my things at the apartment, work is at a walking distance. We're doing great."

"That's good," Sayori says. It's simple, but there's a palpable genuineness in her tone. "I'm happy you're okay."

"Mhm." Mabel smiles. "Um, Yuri and Monika treating you well?"

"Oh, yeah! Uh, I had a bit of a bad time a few days ago. You know, kinda just rotting…" she chuckles emptily. "But they were patient and nice and encouraging. So I'm all good now. Also, we're going to a concert this Wednesday!"

Mabel chuckles softly. "Yeah, that sounds fun! I hope you enjoy."

"Mhm!"

Mabel relaxes against the wall, even if it slightly bothers her shoulders. She stares at the sky, the shadow of the coffee shop casting a shield over her top half. Her gaze quietly moves to the floor, to her foot wiggling slowly in place. "How's the…"

When Mabel turns to her side, her arms go cold. Natsuki's arms are crossed as she stands at the edge of the door, staring at her as if trying to pry through her eyes and look inside her head.

"Uh, yeah, I gotta get back to work. See you."

Sayori says something Mabel doesn't process, and eventually the call ends on its own. She quietly places her phone back in her pocket, looking over at Natsuki. "Sorry."

"Yeah? Good." Natsuki steps over, her hands shifting from the nooks between her arms to the valleys of her hips. "Sure hope it was a fun convo."

"It was." Mabel clears her throat. "I'm sorry for leaving you hanging, I kind of just…"

Natsuki's eyes narrow, waiting for a follow-up that never comes. "Kind of just what? Just got super enthralled calling whoever-the-fuck? We're on the clock. I can't do everything on my own."

Mabel sighs. "I know. I'm sorry. Can you… please calm down?"

"Calm down," Natsuki snorts. "Yeah, sure, dude. Really rich of you to freak out on me for sneaking out. You think I'm out messing around and then tap out to go chat with some other person."

"Natsuki, that's not what…" She shivers. Her footing feels uneven, frail. "That's not what's happening."

"Who were you talking to?"

"Sayori," Mabel breathes.

Natsuki pauses, shoulders ever so slightly unstiffening. "Fine. I'm glad she's that important to you."

She lingers on those words, takes a second to let them hang in the air before she turns on her heel to walk back inside. There was something venomous about her tone. Mabel sighs, squeezes her fingers against her palms, lets the shadowy feeling of guilt slowly wane out of her through her breaths. She walks back inside. The conversation she and Natsuki were having doesn't follow them, silence in their gazes, but the words aren't left behind at the back exit.

. . .

Afternoon, sunset and evening bleed into each other. Mabel and Natsuki have spoken fleetingly, both suffocated by a cloud of tension that follows them both around and coalesces anytime they're close. Mabel's thought to make a joke about sleeping on the couch, thought to apologize again. Her throat wouldn't let her; she'd close up the moment they got within speaking distance. So, as the clock hits nine, and they've separately showered and brushed their teeth, Mabel settles into bed next to Natsuki, who curls towards the wall beside the bedframe, facing away.

Time ceases, it feels like. There's a fog in Mabel's mind, coming and going since the early morning, since the… incident. She sighs, holds the tips of two fingers against her sternum, feels her pulse. She's stable. Nothing is in her mind, besides what feels like a wall of clouds. That wall feels… weighty, pressured, as if it's holding something back. Mabel tries not to think.

She rolls over countless times, replays conversations in her head that could have gone better, reminds herself of worse times. Stubborn, her brain refuses to let her sleep for what feels like an hour, maybe more — the sky hasn't changed in color.

Sayori used to count sheep, and now so does Mabel.

The skies are darkly grey. It was sunny moments ago. Her legs feel hurried, yet reluctant to walk. The path is straight, close by, no turns around the street, and yet it feels like the pavement stretches for miles. Her steps quicken.

The front door looks locked, but it's not. It's dead silent. Her footsteps are the only source of life around the house, every room she goes through briefly given the illusion of activity, only having it taken away when she leaves for another. Eventually, she makes it to the stairs, and they too feel nearly infinite.

Everything is dark in this hallway. The window at its end lets no sunshine through. The architecture feels unfamiliar, unwelcoming, suddenly hostile to her. She's overstaying her welcome, feels as if she's forsaking some rule by being here. She's overcome with an urge to treat everything in this house as if it doesn't belong to her.

She gently opens the door.

Come on. Come on. Come on. Come on.

Her breaths are thick, pained, her chest pumping blood through her arms as they press down, over and over and over and over. Her shoulders strain, force being pulled from every other inch of her body.

Come on. Come on. Come on. Please. Please don't. Please.

A cycle in her mind, blending out of shape, her hands shaping into one thing over the girl's chest, pressing down. She could hurt her. She could break her ribs. She tries not to think, only act, knees tough against the floorboards as she keeps pumping. Her shaky, strained breaths are constant, scratching against her throat. One desperate scream slips out between.

Please. Please don't. Please don't. Please don't.

Sounds and sights blend like swirling wastewater. A flurry of footsteps around her. The chill of the wall against her back. Chatter drowned out by muffled sirens. Her throat hurts, her cheeks sting, her vision blurry. The girl disappears behind the double doors of the ambulance, out of her sight.

"Who's the boy?" "Friend of hers. She would have died if he wasn't there." "Damn. Lucky girl. I can't imagine what would have happened."

She would

have died

if he wasn't there.

I can't

imagine

what would have happened.

Mabel's heart is pounding again.

. . .

The sky has hardly changed color, the stars likely still in their right place. The moon is just as static, eyeing Mabel down, shining a weak light upon her. She holds her hand against her chest, feels her heart pump blood in differing rhythms — no matter which, it's still too quick.

Her head feels heavy, now, and it's not much better than the fog that settled before, now gone in place of what feels like shallow flames burning inside her skull, like the remnants of a fire. She's thought about getting water, but her limbs and joints feel covered in rust. She can't leave the couch, can't push herself from the armrest. Even her eyes struggle to move away from a nondescript spot between the houses below.

Her memory is as stubborn as her heart, flashing across her mind's eye. She closes her actual eyes, tries to push the visuals away. Her phone is nearby, and she thinks to call Sayori again. She shouldn't. There's no need. She has people taking care of her. Hopefully she's sleeping well.

Mabel doesn't jump at the sound of footsteps quietly rustling behind her. She doesn't turn around, even if a small part of her wants to.

"Hey." Natsuki's voice is quiet, gentle, carefully swiping away the cloud of smoke inside Mabel's head.

She swallows. "Hi."

More footsteps. The weight shifts on the couch behind her, just barely. There's a long stretch of silence. Natsuki, again, quietly, gently, chips away at it.

"I'm sorry. That I got jealous."

Mabel takes a moment. "It's okay, love."

"Yeah," she breathes in. "It's stupid, but… you know. My dad was a piece of shit, but it didn't help that my mom just… walked. I had him, my two dickhead friends and, well, you."

Mabel turns, first with her eyes, then with her neck.

"You're the only one I had. The only one I… have." Natsuki struggles to say the words. There's a weakness hiding behind her tone. Tears start to form in the corners of her eyes, and it makes Mabel instinctively shuffle forward, but she restrains herself.

"I know. I'm not leaving," she says, simply, truthfully. Natsuki nods, eyes on the seats of the couch, on the small gap left between the two of them. Her hand comes forward.

Mabel quietly slips her fingers beneath Natsuki's, lets them slip under each other. Like a yin-yang, they curl together, Mabel's thumb resting over Natsuki's knuckles.

"I'm sorry I lashed out at you." Mabel sighs.

"Yeah. 'S alright." Natsuki purses her lips, glances between each joint of each finger.

Mabel slowly turns back to the window. The moon looks slightly different in a way she can't put to words. "Night's pretty today."

Natsuki mumbles. "Mhm." Her hand feels quite still, as if it's playing a part in holding back words. The thick silence finds them again, for longer this time.

"Do you... wanna talk about it?"

Mabel looks back over, eyes bouncing between Natsuki's features. The thought scares her, but Natsuki's gaze is earnest, present. She watches the absent swiping of her thumb, left to right, as if cleaning a spot on Natsuki's hand. Mabel squeezes, Natsuki squeezes back, an exchange that, if put to words, could sound something like I trust you, I trust you too.

"Yeah. I want to talk about it."

They gently part, facing each other.

(this one was hard to write, even for me. there will obviously be other emotionally heavy scenes throughout the series - it is called ups and downs, aha - but I may try to keep things lighter until then. thank you for reading! I love you! please be gentle to yourself!)

For someone so lightweight, it’s shocking she’s managed to live here for more than a week or two without going limp and rolling down the stairs some day. Four floors add up a lot, what with having to retrieve takeout, or take out the trash, or come home from work. At the very least, it's exercise.

… Mabel… seems to be taking it well. Which is not surprising, what with those long-ass legs of hers, but it's nice to know. Occasionally, Natsuki will glance up to confirm if that placid expression hasn’t changed before finding herself looking at the row of apartment doors again. Here they are; this is where it all starts, the good life or whatever. Papa’s rotting in a jail cell, Natsuki’s old “friends” are all but turning to dust inside her memory, and her other, actual friends are present enough, as comforting little profile pictures on her phone.

She fishes the key from the pocket of her short shorts — dangerously shallow, enough to make Natsuki relieved that the keychain didn’t slip out from there into the depths of a sewer drain. She hears the sound of jingling metal echo through the hallway and breathes a sigh of relief as the door comes open to reveal the inside of her little apartment.

Words fail to come to Natsuki for longer than she would have hoped for. Part of her thinks a nice moment of drama has just slipped by her fingers, another thinks it’s stupid to care. Eventually, she takes a step, bends over to take off her shoes, and walks softly onto smooth wood; “Welcome to my… humble abode, or whatever.”

The slightly louder footsteps from her girlfriend dig out a little pit of anxiety inside her stomach as they approach, settling as the door shuts. She could have vacuumed the floors, done the dishes, knowing this moment was coming today, and— God damnit, did she leave a cup of coffee on the dining table?! Fuck.

She suppresses the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose before looking behind herself where Mabel walks, carefully, eyes roaming the scenery. She’s about to step into the little square-shaped space that fits beside the corner where the hallway starts; in it lies a small, L-shaped couch, a rug beneath it and a barely furnished, short TV-stand with its namesake set on top. There’s a window on the wall beside the couch, curtains closed, dimming the place further. It's the start of the evening, Natsuki notices, as if the walk up the stairs really did take as long as it felt.

Natsuki walks towards the kitchen. Immediately, the thought of Mabel having to gently bulldoze past her to traverse through this single, thin hall furnished with a stove, fridge and counters pops into her mind. She sighs, hopefully not too audibly, and opens the fridge; in terms of drinks, she's met with two unopened bottles of Smirnoff Ice she told herself she’d drink for this occasion — every single time, her gut would tell her no — a half liter of Fanta, and cold water. Between this and nothing, Natsuki decides she’ll give herself and Mabel a drink. Not alcoholic. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Eventually, she returns to the living room with two glasses — about two-thirds full — in her hands. Mabel has, for whatever reason, not sat down yet, instead leaning against the wall, looking at her phone, face lit up by the screen.

Her gaze seems to be caught eventually as Mabel brings her head up, smiles, and says, “Um, I like it here.”

Natsuki sighs, walks past the little square-shaped dining table as she sets a glass down on it. “Sure you do.”

“Really,” Mabel responds. She sets her phone down on the armrest of the couch and replaces it with the last remaining glass of soda. “It’s nice.” Natsuki can spot the smile on her face. There's a lot on it; earnestness, calm. Natsuki immediately kicks herself for assuming there wouldn't be.

She walks over to the glass she left, picks it up, and leans next to her girlfriend; her girlfriend, who's moved in with her. For once, Natsuki allows herself to smile. A stupid, carefree smile. Next to her, Mabel lets out a little chuckle that turns into a happy sigh.

“Wow.” Mabel giggles. “It’s really happening.”

Natsuki looks down at her cup. “Yeah. Holy hell.”

An urge befalls her to breathe in and out, enjoy the crummy air of her apartment in a newly fresh way. She’s won, is what she wants to believe. Honestly, she doesn’t have a reason not to. Natsuki prepares herself for another brief moment of pleasant, shared silence, but it’s quietly undone, first when Mabel lowers her glass to the height of Natsuki's eyes and says, in that meek, undisturbing voice of hers, "To… us?"

Natsuki rolls her eyes, raises her glass, and lets it clink against Mabel’s, the sound the only signal of their presence in the house besides their voices. “Corny. To us.”

Their drinks thin into droplets in the corners of their glasses as the evening dims the sky. It's dark enough inside that Natsuki has to flick on the light. She yawns, picks up Mabel’s glass alongside her own, and walks to the kitchen. Before she passes the threshold, she peers her head and raises her voice, “You can sit down, dummy. Tu casa is my… casa, or… wait."

Mabel chuckles softly. “Yeah, okay.”

By the time Natsuki’s back, her girlfriend is sitting cross-legged, leaning softly against the armrest beside the wall, a cushion under her side. Mabel's retrieved her phone, but is happy to set it back down at the sight of her. Walking over, Natsuki sits beside her, relaxes her shoulders, and falls limp like a doll onto Mabel’s shoulder, a hand resting on a forearm over her thigh.

It’s a nice moment. Natsuki's pessimism, having prepared her for anything close to failure, is caving to make way for what she’d been waiting to feel besides relief: warmth. It’s radiating inside her head, her neck, her chest. Her cheek sits gingerly on the fabric of Mabel’s clothed arm for as long as it takes for her to wriggle it away and snake around Natsuki. A hand rests on her shoulder, gingerly holds on to it, and the warmth that lies between the walls of her skull slowly melts into a soft prickle. Her eyes slowly close, her senses are reduced to background noise and then to overwhelming serenity…

. . .

A hand softly rubs at Natsuki's upper arm, steady, but rough enough to shuffle her back to consciousness. Even then, Mabel’s soft voice, drizzling like caramel inside her ears, over her brain; it could very well lull her right back to sleep. “You should go shower, love.”

Natsuki blinks. “Mmf. You calling me stinky?” she asks, groggy, limbs feeling rusty. She arches her back, tries to stretch.

“Huh?” Mabel shuffles from where she sits. “No, that’s not… sorry. It’s just— you might sleep early and you should probably take a shower, because we have work tomorrow, and–”

“Dude,” Natsuki cuts through her words, surprisingly, even if her voice feels like thin paste. “I’m messing with you.”

Mabel blinks. “Mm.”

Natsuki chuckles, stretches properly when she drags herself off the couch and starts towards the hallway. She’s about to disappear into her bedroom (theirs, now), but she holds onto the doorframe, gazes at Mabel, and smiles, voice croaky. She pauses long enough to see her girlfriend sink into herself and grin stupidly from this distance. “Love you.”

“I love you too.”

Natsuki’s feet haven't yet taken her past the doorframe.

“... So, like…”

Mabel looks at Natsuki quizzically for a moment before she perks up. She softly clutches at her forearm, straightens herself on the couch, and hesitates to look out at the window. There’s probably enough stars out there for it to be a pleasant view. She stammers, “Uh, I’ll… go after you finish.”

“Mhm.”

. . .

Natsuki’s officially reached the point in a path when her body is exclusively wet, neither soapy nor dirty, submerged from the neck down in warm water, running out of excuses to stay longer. An excellent environment for thoughts to fester like flies, and her cranium is indeed buzzing as if a thousand bugs are soaring inside. What comes next, how to divide their chores evenly, how to dress, how to act, what to say, what to do to ensure she’s a good girlfriend for the next… hopefully forever?

Natsuki sighs, an action made slightly harder by the weight surrounding her whole body. She pushes herself to rest her hands on her knees underwater, feels cold air crash hard over her arms and back. With all excitement comes equal times anxiety, with all hope comes equal times despair, and it has her retreating, endlessly, into the coziness of the water. Truth be told, she would much prefer the coziness of her girlfriend’s chest, but that won’t happen unless she gets out of the bath and dries herself. And gets dressed. Of course.

She breathes in, then out, before suddenly reaching into the depths to fiddle for the bathtub’s drain. Helplessly, she’s submerged, now, in cold air, further down this time, until it encompasses her entire skin (feels as if it's going beneath). She stands up as quickly as she can without slipping over the wet ceramic before stepping out, shivering like a dog, and snatching her towel from the sink.

Drying herself relieves her of the chill, even if slightly. She attacks her hair with the towel until she’s left with a frazzled, pink mess over her head that she combs through with little to no effort with her offhand. With the towel left draped over her shoulder, it’s not long before she ends up falling into the trap that is looking in the mirror; her hair looks just okay, not bad, fluffy is the way it looks best. Her skin looks sparkly, clean, nice enough. It's only when she lets her eyes come further down that the fluttering in her brain suddenly starts again.

What she sees is… fine. Not repulsive, just underwhelming. The thinness of her gut still looks like a monument to bad memories, her waist still something she considers slim enough to make her shiver. Just enough, just passable. Natsuki grumbles and, without noticing, bundles her forearms over her own chest. Mabel clearly thinks she’s attractive (Natsuki hates that word) —and just enough to date her, anyway — but every single inch of her she’s seen had been under clothes far too generous to paint an honest picture of what’s beneath. Like always, her brain is eager to come to the all too easy conclusion that everything below her neck is just short of a disaster, and reaching that conclusion again just feels so fucking cliché.

Natsuki squeezes her lips together, peels her eyes away from the frowning woman-child and steps over to the bundle of clothes she left on the closed toilet lid. Sweatpants and a T-shirt one size too big. Once again, it’s generous, leaves the worst of herself to interpretation, just modest enough not to beckon eyes that could end up drawn to the rough ends she’d rather leave unseen.

She bundles her old clothes between her elbow and waist, pulls on the doorknob, and steps bare-footed towards the hallway again. When she turns the corner to walk over to her bedroom, she bumps face-first into something too soft, yet too harsh to be anything but a person's stomach, tall, much taller than her. Natsuki’s immediate instinct is to yelp, stumble backwards with a familiar heartbeat rampaging through her ribcage, until she’s at an angle where she can see a familiar, androgynous face looking down at her with a look of apologetic concern.

“Sorry!” hushes Mabel at the same instant that she hurries over, feet fluttering to close the distance, and though Natsuki's managed not to tip over the balls of her feet, she feels a pair of hands grab firmly at her shoulders and suddenly lock into place. Eyes meet, skin growing flush on both sides. Natsuki has the decency to chuckle instead of dying of a heart attack, if not embarrassment.

Mabel breathes out, visibly relieved aside from the dumb smile on her face. She stands up straight, hands over each other, and speaks as if nothing's happened. “So, ah, I’m not an amazing cook or anything, but mom taught me enough to live on my own, so if you’re okay with it, I’ll look through the cupboards for things to…”

Natsuki’s (probably) blank expression seems to slowly produce silence, room for her to speak. “We’re... ordering takeout. It’s a special occasion, dummy.”

Mabel’s lips form a tiny divot. “Oh.” She clutches her forearm again. “I’ll cook tomorrow, then.” Then she smiles, simply.

Natsuki's tickled by some vague urge, tingling in her mouth. She avoids it through busying her lips with an awkward chuckle. The moment Mabel starts to step away, Natsuki shambles into her bedroom, and dumps her clothes in the laundry basket.

Down here, where Natsuki has to turn a corner into a shoddy, dimly lit area where the dumpsters are, it's eerie, especially at night. All she has for sound are the passing breeze and distant sirens every once in a while. The trash bag is heavy, weighing down her elbow and wrist, and she has to resist letting it drag across the ground as she approaches the dumpster. The lid is stubborn (really, her arms aren't very persuasive) but she manages to hold it open enough to drag the bag over and inside the container. The sound of it closing is louder than she'd have hoped, and she's annoyed by the strain she already feels in her limbs, but…

Natsuki sighs, hands on the edges of the closed dumpster. She frowns to herself, stares at her dainty hands. There's something about this, the struggle to walk up the stairs without feeling her chest burn, the trouble doing something as routine as taking the trash out. She's safe where she is, but she can't bring that safety with her, because shielding herself behind something bigger than her is about all she can do to stay out of danger.

Natsuki sighs, head dragging from the dumpster to the floor to the way ahead where her eyes meet shadow and her nose meets something dull; not too dull, something human. Something human. She yelps, staggers back as she clenches her fist, the veins in her arms throbbing with reflex. Her vision sharpens hard when she looks up. Thin hairs around a thick jaw gleam under the harsh light. Shadowed eyes are staring right down at her, at her tiny, fragile self. Her throat clenches, her heart jumps and tries to escape through her mouth.

He's stopped. Backed away a little, hands raising innocuously. His voice sounds like cigarettes. Says something about watching where she's going. Natsuki nods frantically, chuckles curtly as she slips past. She turns the corner, turns her head behind herself. Nobody. She opens the door to the lobby, grasps at the handrail as she stumbles up the steps. She turns again. Silence. She makes it past two floors, her chest flaming white, as if a hole might burn open.

There's a familiar throbbing around her neck, not helped by the harsh breaths slipping out from within. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She shuts her eyes, grits her teeth. Get it together. It's fine. It's safe. It's fine.

Time blurs, and Natsuki finds herself sat against the wall beside the door of her apartment. Her head hangs heavy, like her brain is full of concrete. Head to toe, her veins thrum; her nervous system is screaming at her, and softly pushing her hands against her temples, lips pursed, feels like pressing a pillow over its mouth. Eventually, it runs out of air, hoarse like her throat, and she can sloppily pull herself up, hand dragging her up by the wall, and pull on the door handle.

In the distance, Natsuki hears what sounds like acoustic notes. They're blurted out, almost, in intervals, like whatever instrument in the other room is rehearsing for a play. It's strange to listen to, and it urges her to investigate. She walks over, blinking slowly, her head a bit fuzzy, like she just woke up from a nap. She passes the hallway sandwiched by the bathroom and bedroom, peers through the open door, and watches Mabel, sitting on their bed, eyes stuck on the wooden guitar on her hands and lap, thrum her fingers along the cords.

Natsuki takes a step through. Mabel turns to her, jumps a little. "Hey," she smiles. "You kinda startled me."

"Mm." Natsuki manages to smile back. She thinks she doesn't feel right yet, still treading along while half her brain feels like it's hiding somewhere else, but when she gets close enough to Mabel, standing before her, it's like she's passed the threshold between a raincloud and clear skies.

When she sits next to Mabel, the chill in her arms and neck disappears. She breathes in, breathes out. "Didn't know you brought her."

"Yeah, well," Mabel looks at the acoustic guitar, varnished wood gleaning under the bedroom light, then at Natsuki. "I'm getting better at it. Why not?"

Natsuki follows Mabel's eyes, exchanging a gaze before looking at the instrument, then her hands. Her nails are short, but filed, unpolished, but ever so slightly shiny. Without thinking, Natsuki reaches over, fingers washing over Mabel's wrist, curling around it until Natsuki's fingertips are touching the wood beneath. A second later, Natsuki hooks herself closer until her cheek lands featherly on Mabel's arm. It's warmer, thaws out the waning feeling of cold throughout the rest of herself.

Mabel's hand doesn't move; only her fingers do, subtly. Natsuki's staring off at a random dot in the wall, letting her vision blur, but she can feel Mabel smiling, somehow.

Natsuki blinks. "Huh?"

"I asked if you're okay." Natsuki recognizes that expression. It makes her gut flutter, in some way she can't describe.

"Mm, yeah. I'm just kinda sleepy."

Mabel lets out a quiet chuckle through her nostrils. "It's seven."

"Yeah." Natsuki slowly closes her eyes, letting out a breath. "I- I love you."

Mabel looks at her again, fond, quiet. "I love you too." Then, Natsuki forgets about her own heartbeat.

Some time passes, anywhen between a minute or three. Her voice comes back, her throat relaxes, and she feels light instead of numb. Another breath let out, she looks up at Mabel, voice soft.

"You wanna, like... pick that anime back up?" She asks.

Mabel's eyes narrow towards the floor, then open back up as they flutter up to Natsuki. "Which one?"

"We were watching it before, you know." Natsuki slowly rubs Mabel's hand. "Before all of this."

"Before you even bought the place?" Mabel hums. "Yeah, Bubblegum Crisis. Sure."

"There you go, dummy." Natsuki hesitates, but slowly pushes herself off of Mabel, stretches slightly, back hunched. "Wanna eat anything?"

"I'm okay." Mumbling, Mabel sets the guitar down on its base, holding it by the neck, and lets it rest in the thin valley between the wall and edge of the bed. "Here or the couch?"

"Here's fine," Natsuki says.

A trip to the kitchen for microwave dumplings melts away in Natsuki's memory. She finds herself in bed again in what feels like moments, a hot plate on her lap, Mabel's hair meshing with hers. The backs of their hands brush together every now and then; Mabel seems too invested to notice or comment, and on the opposite end, Natsuki pays more attention to her, to this moment, than to the phone screen. Which is fine. She can always find an excuse to rewatch with her.

There’s a cognitive dissonance in the way Natsuki looks to her. It's hard to describe. Her hair is messy, but still puffy, inviting to the touch, her body ever so slightly curling in on itself in a way that looks form-fitting precisely for Mabel's own arms. Her limbs are skinny, demanding delicateness, her expression wavering, but always ever so slightly crumpled, eyes tightening, as if in discomfort.

There’s not much Mabel can do to remedy this besides following the compromise she has found for herself; she lets Natsuki’s dainty hand rest over Mabel's limp, open palm, allows it to occasionally brush and squeeze and bring forth a gentle prickle on the sensitive skin and, sparingly, squeeze back.

Crucially, it does nothing to change the situation: Mabel still can't sleep. Pulling away to grab some water or a nighttime snack might risk startling Natsuki, risk waking her up. The same can be said for grabbing her phone — really, so much as moving an inch. It’s slightly agonizing, and that makes Mabel upset. Agonizing is not the word she was hoping for to describe sharing a bed with Natsuki again.

She shifts the blame to her ever-stubborn brain, its refusal to shut off and let Mabel join Natsuki in her dreams. That does makes her wonder, now, what her subconscious is up to. If it’s anything nice, anything bad, anything remarkable. Maybe grafted from memories of hers, familiar faces, and it’s not long before Mabel amuses herself with the idea that, maybe, just maybe, Natsuki is dreaming about her.

With the way things have gone, Mabel has had nothing else to focus on but Natsuki, her shifting and shuffling, sound and touch. This time, Natsuki’s face scrunches ever so slightly. She shuffles towards where Mabel lies, a shudder punctuating the motion. Then it's a mumble, a whimper, and Mabel’s right back to her modus operandi; brush softly, delicately squeeze, wait before letting go.

This works, if only for a moment. It’s not long before Natsuki lets out another faint, sad little gasp, a whisper in the wind. For the first time, Mabel dares to scoot just slightly closer. Natsuki’s humming, then mumbling; her lips twitch, she struggles to murmur, and Mabel narrows her eyes to listen in.

Her eyes are closed, her lips shivering as she lets out, breathily, “Mama.”

Mabel’s eyelids raise. Almost instinctively, she’s overcome with a jolt, an urge to act. Natsuki lets out another soft murmur. “Mama,” it crawls from her lips; "Don't go," is all Mabel can make out after.

Mabel, wide awake, begins to scooch, ever so cautiously, until there’s the junction of their hands bridging the gap between their bodies. Her breath quiets, air seeping in and out as silently as she can before it hurts her chest, and her eyes dither between Natsuki's and her lips. Mabel's hand twitches around Natsuki's, grasp wavering, at the sound of Mabel's own name, whispered like a plea.

She shudders, then whispers, “I’m here. I have you.”

The fear of having woken her up flutters coldly in her chest, when Natsuki shuffles forward. Still, her eyes remain closed. Natsuki hums, scooches ever closer, while Mabel gently, gently rests her other hand, the one not grasped by Natsuki, and lets it rest ghostly past her waist, crooked against the small of her back.

The rest of her follows suit, and Mabel is comforted by the sudden stagnance; gone are the mumbles, the shudders and shuffles. Soft breathing prickles lightly on her sternum, through the pores in her shirt. It takes Mabel a moment to relax her shoulders; it takes her slightly longer to notice they were stiff to begin with.

She allows herself to pull Natsuki closer, to curl towards her until her nose touches Natsuki's scalp, and eventually Mabel too, can rest.

At last, they can both rest.

. . .

When Mabel opens her eyes, she's met with a startle. The ceiling she's staring at is immediately unfamiliar, the grain in her vision slowly fading out. It takes her a second and a gentle mumble from the sleeping girl at her side for her mind to settle into place once more; then, Mabel's veins are suddenly flowing with euphoria. She has to channel all of it, every liter of fuzzy joy, into a deeply red, stupid smile, if only because Natsuki is still asleep.

Then her smile droops and the feeling of warmth is bulldozed over by a sharp dot of urgency in her stomach. Mabel sighs. She delicately squeezes Natsuki, on the hand and on the side, “Love, wake up.”

Natsuki mumbles disgruntledly, until eventually her body seems to obey Mabel's command; she rolls slightly, ends up on her back and, like the woman before her, stretches and yawns.

Natsuki turns her gaze over, blinking thickly, and croaks, “Morning.”

“Morning.” Mabel lends her a gentle gaze before sitting up and resting her hands on her knees, legs straightened, “We need to… go to work,” she sighs.

Natsuki grumbles. “Way to kill the mood.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Whatever.” Natsuki mumbles as she exerts her freshly awakened body to sit up against the headboard. She gives herself a second and, as she looks to be about to get up, she tumbles to the side, cheek on Mabel’s hip, and groans. “We should stay home.”

“I don't think so.” Mabel chuckles softly. “Come on. We'll be okay.”

“Ugh.”

The little shuffle as Mabel begins to step onto the floor serves as a little warning for Natsuki to pull away. Eventually, she complies, rolling off of her onto a seat at the edge of the mattress. She lingers while Mabel stands, yawns, walks past her towards the door frame, still there by the time Mabel stretches, the joints of her shoulders ever so slightly bringing her shirt up. There's something about Natsuki's expression, Mabel notices it when she turns around; when she does, she hastily slides off the bed and bustles over.

. . .

After a brief scouring through cabinets and the fridge, breakfast turns out to be a couple of simple grilled-cheese sandwiches. It's a start. They sit parallel, separated by a corner, chairs forming an L-shape around the table, close enough to each other. They're both hasty to chew, afraid of running late, but past half of Mabel's sandwich, she pauses after swallowing, absently staring at the meal.

"Did you dream of anything?" she asks.

"Mm. Don't remember," Natsuki says. "Probably."

Mabel's eyes peer over. Her girlfriend chews, then bites, gaze focused on the sandwich. She's eating faster, now, more and more bereft of pauses between bites, and by the time she's done, Mabel forgets she's still got a sizeable chunk of food to go through before leaving the house. Natsuki doesn't give her the time, though, pushing the chair back to slip out of her seat. "C'mon. Work."

Mabel looks up at her, following her walk to the couch where her handbag is. "Someone's eager now."

"Yeah, well, you were right. Gotta hustle. Come on."

Mabel sits another moment, then stands up. Thoughts are nibbling away at the walls of her brain, but they quiet down a moment, only when she's beside Natsuki, closing the door behind themselves; when she catches a glimpse of an eye, a smile, when she glances behind herself, jogging in front of her.

Truth be told, Mabel can be very easy.