Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The late afternoon sun dipped lazily in the sky, painting the horizon in warm hues of amber and rose. The air outside the Price house was crisp, carrying the earthy scent of damp leaves scattered across the driveway.

The old home sat quietly, its peeling blue paint speaking of years of wear rather than neglect. But the garage was alive with activity, its open door spilling light onto the cracked pavement—an invitation to chaos.

Inside, the scent of sawdust and motor oil mingled in the air. Half-empty coffee cups and water bottles littered the workbench alongside a chaotic array of screws and nails. A single bulb dangled from the ceiling, swaying slightly, casting long, shifting shadows across the unfinished wooden frame that dominated the space.

Chloe stood near the middle of the garage, her boots scuffing against the concrete as she wrestled with a stubborn beam. Her hands were dusted with sawdust, streaks of grime smudging her cheek—evidence of an absent-minded scratch. Her blue hair gleamed where the sunlight filtered through the grimy window. She muttered under her breath, a litany of quiet complaints and curses mixed with the hammer's steady thud.

A radio perched on a shelf crackled with static, sputtering through the end of a rock ballad before segueing into a painfully cheery hardware store jingle. Chloe glared at it as if it had dared to mock her.

Nearby, William crouched on one knee, adjusting the level he held with meticulous care. His brow furrowed in concentration, deepening the lines on his face. The sleeves of his worn flannel shirt were rolled up, revealing strong forearms marked by faint scars—reminders of years’ worth of DIY projects. A pencil was tucked behind his ear, though Chloe doubted he’d used it for anything other than the dad effect.

"Hold it steady, Chloe," William said, his voice even but tinged with the kind of patience only a father could master. "Unless you want this wall to look like something from Dr. Seuss."

Chloe scowled but tightened her grip on the beam. "I am holding it steady," she shot back, exasperated. A strand of hair slipped from behind her ear, falling into her face. She huffed at it. "Maybe your level’s broke."

William exhaled through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Right. Blame the tools, not the carpenter." Before Chloe could retort, a loud clatter echoed from outside.

The unmistakable scrape of a metal sliding across the driveway was followed by Rachel’s voice, sharp with disgust. "Chloe, this thing is disgusting! Pretty sure there are laws against hoarding this much crap."

Chloe snorted, pausing in her effort to steady the beam. "You did say you’d help."

Rachel appeared in the doorway, breathless and dishevelled, her golden hair escaping the confines of a messy bun. Her usually pristine hoodie and yoga pants were streaked with dirt, and she held up one hand in horror. "Yeah, well, I didn’t realise ‘help’ meant waging war on your haunted garbage pile."

William chuckled, standing up and stretching his back. “Rachel. Chaos is the family motto."

Rachel huffed, brushing dirt from her hoodie. "Should’ve been Latin for clean your own mess."

Chloe grinned, wiping her forehead with the back of her wrist. "You’re being dramatic. It’s not that bad."

Rachel arched a sceptical brow. "Chloe, I’m pretty sure I just saw a spider building a house in there."

"Don’t worry," Chloe said smoothly, adjusting her grip on the hammer. "If it bites you, you’ll get superpowers. Spider-Rach has a nice ring to it."

Rachel rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped her. "If I get powers, my first move is webbing you to the wall."

"Kinky," Chloe shot back, winking.

"Chloe," William interrupted his tone, which was a perfect mix of amusement and long-suffering. "Maybe we can finish this frame today?"

"Fine," Chloe sighed, straightening up. She flashed Rachel one last smirk. "Good luck out there, Spider-Rach. Don’t get lost." Rachel muttered something under her breath as she turned back toward the driveway, the scrape of the trash bin resuming as the hammering picked up in the garage again. For all the teasing and banter, the chaos of the Price household had its own kind of rhythm. And in its way, it was almost comforting.

Chloe wiped her hands on her jeans, stepping back to admire their work—or what she hoped could pass for work. The skeletal frame of the dividing wall stood upright now, sturdy enough to inspire some confidence.

"Not bad," she admitted. "It’s not gonna win any awards, but hey, it hasn’t fallen over yet."

"Let’s keep it that way," William said, stepping around her to check the alignment. He tapped lightly on one of the beams. "If Max is going to live here, this wall needs to last longer than a week."

Chloe’s expression softened at the mention of Max. Absentmindedly, she adjusted the strap on her wrist, her gaze drifting to the floor. "Yeah… I just want it to feel right, you know? Like… home."

William’s features softened as he glanced at her. "It will, Chloe. She’s going to love it."

Rachel reappeared in the doorway, arms crossed. Her dirt-streaked face was lit up with a thoughtful smile. "You know what this room needs? A blackboard wall."

Chloe blinked. "A what-now?"

Rachel stepped inside and stood at the opposite side of the frame, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Paint a wall with chalkboard paint so Max can draw, write—whatever she wants. It’s like a blank canvas she can change whenever she feels like it."

William raised an eyebrow. "That’s… actually not a bad idea."

Chloe tilted her head, considering. "Yeah. Yeah, she’d love that. Max always had a sketchbook back in the day. Used to fill it with all these cool little drawings and notes. A whole wall for that?" She nodded, a smile pulling at her lips. "That’d be perfect."

Rachel smirked. "See? I told you I have good ideas."

Chloe rolled her eyes. "Don’t let it go to your head, Spider-Rach."

"Too late." Rachel turned to William, flashing him a winning smile. "So, thoughts, Mr. Price? Can we make it happen?"

William exhaled, hands on his hips. "I don’t see why not. Adds some personality."

Rachel grinned, victorious. "Then it’s settled. We’re doing a blackboard wall."

"Awesome," Chloe said, nudging her with her elbow. "And since it was your idea, you get to do all the painting."

Rachel shot her a look. "That’s not how this works."

"Too late," Chloe said, smirking. "Already decided."

William shook his head, amused. "Before we get ahead of ourselves, how about we finish building the wall first?"

Rachel sighed dramatically. "Fine." She moved to grab another beam, Chloe following with a hammer in hand. The three of them settled into a rhythm—Chloe holding the next piece in place while William checked the alignment and Rachel handed over nails and tools.

Occasionally, Chloe or Rachel would break the focus with a snarky remark. As patient as ever, William let it play out, occasionally stepping in when it looked like they were veering too far into comedy hour.

When they secured the last beam, Chloe stepped back, hands on her hips, surveying their work. "Okay, now we’re practically professionals."

William chuckled, shaking his head. "Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We still have drywall, paint, and a thousand other little things to finish."

Chloe groaned. "Ugh. Why does everything involve more work?"

Rachel patted her arm, mock-sympathetic. "Because Max deserves a real room, not an almost room."

Chloe sighed, dragging a hand down her face. "Fine. Fine. What’s next?"

Rachel leaned against the frame, arms crossed. "Furniture."

Chloe blinked. "Wait, now?"

Rachel smirked. "Unless you want Max sleeping on a pile of sawdust?"

Chloe opened her mouth, then closed it, frowning. "Damn. She got me there."

William smirked, wiping his hands on a rag. "Sounds like you two just volunteered for a shopping trip."

Chloe squinted. "Wait—what? No, that’s—"

"Great idea," Rachel cut in smoothly. "We’ll find some furniture, maybe grab a few decorations. Turn this into a space Max wants to be in."

Chloe groaned. "Ugh. Shopping? Really?"

"Think of it as a mission," Rachel said, already heading toward the driveway. "Objective: Acquire furniture. Bonus points for style."

William waved them off with a chuckle, turning back to his tools. "Go on, you two. I’ll hold down the fort here. Just… don’t bankrupt me."

Rachel laughed, looping her arm through Chloe’s. "No promises."

Chloe grumbled, letting herself be dragged along. "Next time, I’m volunteering you for gutter-cleaning duty, Rachel."

"Nope," Rachel shot back, grinning.

As they stepped out into the crisp autumn air, Chloe shoved her hands into her pockets, exhaling. Despite her complaints, a flicker of warmth settled in her chest as she glanced at Rachel, who was already scrolling through her phone for nearby stores.

"Let’s just get this over with," Chloe muttered, though her tone lacked its usual edge.

Rachel shot her a knowing smile. "Admit it—you’re a little excited."

Chloe rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

They climbed into Chloe’s beat-up old truck, the hinges groaning as Rachel closed her door and Chloe twisted the key in the ignition. The engine sputtered to life, grumbling in protest.

Rachel buckled in, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "Not saying this truck is unsalvageable, but… it could use, I don’t know, a vacuum?"

Chloe snorted, adjusting the rearview mirror and wiping her cheek clean with her sleeve. "Excuse me, Miss Pristine. Some of us have character in our rides. Not my fault you live like an Instagram model."

Rachel shot her a look but didn’t argue. Instead, she pulled up a furniture store on her phone. "Okay, so there’s a thrift shop about thirty minutes away. Could be a goldmine, or we might end up sifting through a pile of nightmares."

Chloe drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. "Eh. That’s just part of the fun."

Rachel hummed. "Max is gonna love whatever we find, isn’t she?"

Chloe glanced over, then back at the road. "Yeah. She will."

Rachel smiled softly. "Good. Let’s go find her something perfect."

Chloe pressed down on the pedal, reversing the truck onto the street. "Bet you five bucks I find the coolest thing in that store," Chloe challenged.

Rachel smirked. "Bet you ten it’s completely impractical."

Chloe grinned. "Now, that sounds like a challenge."

The truck rumbled along the road, the hum of the engine filling the cab between bouts of conversation. The windows were cracked just enough to let in the crisp autumn air.

Chloe kept one hand on the wheel, the other drumming against her thigh in time with the faint beat leaking from the truck’s ancient speakers. Rachel sat in the passenger seat, legs crossed, her phone resting in her lap as she scrolled through a list of thrift stores.

She frowned slightly. "Okay, we’ve got two options. There’s a decent place about ten minutes away—nothing fancy, but we’ll probably find some solid furniture. Or we could drive another fifteen to that big warehouse thrift store over by the train tracks. Way more selection, but also way more random crap to sort through."

Chloe smirked. "Random crap is the best part."

Rachel gave her a look. "We’re looking for actual furniture, not an excuse for you to bring home a three-legged chair and declare it ‘art.’"

Chloe huffed. "Okay, first of all, that chair had character. Second, fine. We’ll hit the closest place first. If it sucks, we head to the warehouse."

Rachel nodded, satisfied, and set her phone down. For a few moments, the only sound was the occasional rattle from the truck as it bounced over cracks in the pavement. The late afternoon light flickered through the trees, golden and warm.

Then, Rachel asked quietly, "Do you think Max is… ready for all this?"

Chloe’s hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. She didn’t glance over, but she could feel Rachel watching her. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice measured.

Rachel hesitated. "I mean… staying with us, having a room, trying to settle in. It’s just—" She exhaled, rubbing her thumb over the fabric of her hoodie. "It’s a lot. And I don’t want to push her into something she’s not ready for."

Chloe sighed, shifting her grip on the wheel. "She doesn’t have to do it alone. That’s why we’re doing all this, right? She’s got you. She’s got me."

"I know." Rachel bit her lip, her gaze drifting out the window. "And she’s making progress. Sunday’s been helping a lot, even if she—" She stopped, like she was debating whether to say more.

Chloe glanced over, brow furrowing. "Even if what? What’s the deal with this Sunday chick?"

Rachel let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Where do I even start? She’s… unlike anyone I’ve ever met. She wears this moon earring, talks in metaphors, and has this whole thing about animals. She’s always comparing people to them, like she’s some kind of spirit guide."

Chloe smirked. "Okay, now I definitely have to meet her. What’s Max, then? A bunny? A deer? Something small and adorable?"

Rachel shook her head, a fond smile playing at her lips. "A fox. She said Max is a fox—quiet, cautious, but clever enough to figure out her way through things."

Chloe thought about that for a moment. Her grin faded slightly, replaced with something more thoughtful. "Yeah… that fits. Max always had this way of finding paths no one else saw." She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel. "Guess the fox makes sense."

Rachel nodded, but Chloe caught the flicker of hesitation in her expression.

"What about you?" Chloe asked, smirking again. "What animal are you? Don’t tell me it’s something boring, like a swan."

Rachel’s lips curled into a sly smile. "She called me a lioness."

Chloe’s eyebrows shot up. "A lioness?"

Rachel nodded, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Protective. Stubborn. Maybe a little too much of a perfectionist sometimes."

Chloe laughed sharply, the truck swerving just slightly as her shoulders shook. "Oh, that’s perfect. My fierce, protective lioness. Can I call you that now?"

Rachel pointed at her. "Don’t you dare."

"Oh, I will." Chloe waggled her eyebrows. "Ruler of the furniture jungle. I can see it now—you, prowling the aisles, stalking your prey, ready to pounce on the perfect throw pillows."

Rachel gave her a flat look. "Chloe."

"What? It’s a good nickname!"

Rachel sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "And what animal do you think Sunday would call you? Let me guess… something scrappy and ridiculous. Like a badger."

Chloe blinked, mock-offended. "A badger? Wow, okay. What, you think I’m just some aggressive little menace?"

Rachel tilted her head, pretending to consider. "Okay, fine. A coyote."

Chloe frowned slightly. "A coyote?"

"Yeah," Rachel smirked. "You’re clever. You don’t take crap from anyone. And you make a lot of noise. Plus, you’ve got that whole ‘wild and unpredictable’ vibe."

Chloe drummed her fingers on the wheel, considering. "You know what? I’ll take it. Coyotes are badass."

"And annoying," Rachel added under her breath.

"You love it," Chloe shot back, smirking at her.

Rachel’s cheeks flushed slightly, but she didn’t deny it. Instead, she reached over and took Chloe’s free hand, lacing their fingers together.

"Yeah," she admitted softly. "I do."

Chloe swallowed, the warmth of Rachel’s hand settling over her like an ember. She squeezed it briefly before refocusing on the road. "So let’s review," she said, her tone turning playful again. "Max is a fox, you’re a lioness, and I’m a coyote. We’re like the weirdest nature documentary ever."

Rachel grinned, leaning back in her seat. "We’d be a hit on Animal Planet."

Chloe smirked, reaching for the ancient radio dial. The speakers crackled, spitting out static before settling on a station. Then, the unmistakable synth beat of a pop song kicked in.

Rachel froze. Chloe’s grin widened. "Oh hell yes," Chloe said, cranking up the volume.

Rachel’s eyes widened in horror. "No. No way. You are not leaving this on."

Chloe’s smirk turned downright devilish as she belted out, completely off-key, "Baby, you’re a fiiiiiirework!"

Rachel groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Oh my god. This is happening. I’m dating a poser."

Chloe turned toward her, still singing with exaggerated passion. "Make ‘em go oh-oh-oh!"

Rachel lunged for the volume knob. "I swear to God, Price—"

Chloe swatted her hand away, laughing. "Relax, lioness. Even punks are allowed guilty pleasures."

Rachel gave her a sceptical look. "Guilty pleasure? Chloe, you just belted that out like it was the national anthem."

"It should be." Chloe grinned, pounding her fist on the steering wheel in time with the beat.

Rachel sighed, but despite herself, she was smiling. "God help me," she muttered.

Chloe winked. "Too late, babe. You’re stuck with me now." Rachel just shook her head.

The truck rattled over a pothole, sending a slight jolt through the cab. Chloe barely reacted—her truck always did this—but Rachel made a dramatic protest noise, gripping the door handle.

"Jesus, Chloe, what is this suspension?" Rachel grumbled, adjusting her seatbelt.

Chloe smirked, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel. "That, my dear lioness, is called character. You wouldn’t understand, what with your fancy little compact that actually listens when you hit the brakes."

Rachel arched a brow. "Listening is the bare minimum requirement for a vehicle, Chloe."

Chloe shrugged. "Disagree. A car should have personality. And this baby’s got plenty."

Rachel side-eyed the dashboard with a cracked vent and at least three mismatched buttons. "Uh-huh. ‘Plenty.’ You mean like how the air conditioning only works if you hit the glove compartment twice and pray?"

"That’s called a security system," Chloe shot back. "Not just anyone can drive this beast."

Rachel groaned, rubbing her temples. "God help me, I’m dating a truck hipster."

Chloe grinned. "And yet, here you are. Strapped in and willingly going on this death ride."

Rachel sighed dramatically, resting her head against the seat. "Stockholm syndrome, probably." Chloe laughed, the kind of deep, genuine laugh that made Rachel’s stomach do something suspiciously fluttery.

For a moment, the cab settled into a comfortable quiet. The radio had drifted from pop into some late-afternoon indie rock, and the golden sunlight painted long shadows across the road.

Rachel absently traced patterns on her knee, then glanced sideways at Chloe. "Okay, but seriously—what’s the first thing we’re looking for?"

Chloe hummed, considering. "Bed, obviously. Max needs an actual place to crash. After that, maybe a dresser? Nightstand?"

Rachel nodded. "Something cosy. She’s gonna need a space that feels… safe."

Chloe’s grip on the wheel tightened slightly. "Yeah." She exhaled. "I just want it to feel like hers. Not just, like, a spare room we threw together."

Rachel smiled softly. "It will. Once we find the right stuff, add a little personality… It’s gonna feel like home."

Chloe glanced over, her smirk returning. "So what you’re saying is, we need a bunch of random thrift store junk to make it work."

Rachel groaned. "No. That is not what I said."

"Too late, already on board," Chloe said, nodding sagely.

Rachel opened her mouth to argue, but the truck sputtered.

And not the normal, slightly untrustworthy grumble it always made; this was a full-on shudder, cough, and dramatic wheeze.

Chloe immediately tensed. "Oh, hell no. Don’t you dare." The truck lurched.

Rachel gripped the dashboard. "Uh, Chloe?"

Chloe gritted her teeth, her foot pressing the gas. The truck whined in protest before suddenly jerking forward, coughing out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a dying animal.

Rachel’s eyes widened. "Oh my god. Are we breaking down?"

"No," Chloe said quickly. The truck shuddered again. "Yes," Chloe amended.

Rachel turned to her, incredulous. "Seriously?"

"It’s fine!" Chloe insisted, even as the truck’s speed dropped despite her pressing harder on the gas.

Rachel pointed dramatically at the dashboard. "The fuel gauge is red, Chloe. That is the opposite of ‘fine.’"

Chloe groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "I swear I had at least a quarter tank left."

Rachel crossed her arms. "Okay, but did you actually check, or did you just vibe the amount of gas you had?" Chloe didn’t answer. Rachel gasped. "You vibed it, didn’t you?"

Chloe gripped the wheel tightly. "In my defence, I thought we were fine!"

Rachel stared at her. "That’s not a defence!"

Chloe groaned again, flipping on the hazard lights, well, hazard light, as the truck slowed to a crawl. She steered it toward the side of the road, muttering a stream of increasingly creative swears under her breath.

The moment they rolled to a complete stop, Rachel turned in her seat, levelling Chloe with the most deeply unimpressed stare humanly possible. "So. What now, genius?"

Chloe leaned back against the headrest, rubbing her eyes. "…We walk."

Rachel blinked. "You’re joking."

"Wish I was."

Rachel exhaled a long, slow exhale and unbuckled her seatbelt with far too much dramatic flair. "I hate everything about this."

Chloe smirked. "You love it."

Rachel shot her a glare, pushing open the door. "Let’s go before I leave you here to become one with the wilderness, Coyote Girl."

Chloe snorted but followed. "I mean, if I have to be stranded, at least I get to suffer with you."

Rachel sighed, shaking her head as they stepped onto the shoulder of the road. "Unbelievable," she muttered.

The sun was dipping lower, casting a warm orange glow over the trees lining the road. If they cut through the park, it wasn’t too far to town, maybe a twenty-minute walk there and back.

Still, Rachel took great pleasure in dramatically sighing as she walked. "If only we had some kind of vehicle to transport us there more efficiently."

Chloe rolled her eyes. "Okay, I get it. I should’ve checked the gas."

Rachel smirked. "Oh, I wasn’t going to say that."

"Sure you weren’t."

A breeze picked up, rustling through the trees. Despite the situation, Chloe glanced at Rachel as they walked—her golden hair catching the last bits of sunlight, the soft smirk still playing at her lips. Even stranded, Rachel Amber managed to look like she had everything completely under control. Chloe sighed dramatically, flinging an arm around Rachel’s shoulders. "Welp. Guess this is where we die."

Rachel snorted, elbowing her side. "You’re so dramatic. It’s a walk, Chloe. People do it for fun."

"Couldn’t be me," Chloe shot back.

Rachel hummed, tilting her head. "I dunno. I think you’d make a decent hiker."

Chloe scoffed. "Yeah—if you replaced the whole ‘walking’ part with standing around looking cool."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "You’re impossible."

Chloe grinned, bumping their shoulders together. Rachel exhaled, a laugh slipping out despite herself. They walked on, the sound of distant traffic fading behind them, their footsteps crunching over fallen leaves.

Rachel glanced sideways at Chloe. "So. We’re never letting you be in charge of fuel again."

Chloe sighed, kicking a stray rock. "Yeah, yeah."

Rachel smirked. "On the bright side, at least now we have a story to tell Max."

Chloe grinned. "Oh, absolutely. I’m definitely making myself sound way cooler in the retelling, though."

Rachel laughed, bumping into her again. "Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

The ding of the gas station bell barely cut through the quiet hum of the late afternoon. The air smelled of asphalt, gasoline, and stale convenience store coffee—exactly the kind of place where dreams went to die. Or, in Chloe’s case, where she was about to suffer the most humiliating payback of her life.

She just didn’t know it yet.

Dragging a red plastic gas canister off the shelf, Chloe grumbled under her breath as she carried it to the register. Behind her, Rachel was already vibrating with excitement, arms crossed, looking like a predator waiting to pounce.

"You know," Rachel began, far too casually, "some people would say this whole ‘running out of gas’ thing was entirely preventable."

Chloe groaned, heaving the canister onto the counter. "Rachel."

Rachel ignored her, tapping a thoughtful finger against her chin. "Like, maybe someone could have… I dunno… checked their fuel gauge? Instead of just vibing, how much gas did they have left?"

The bored-looking cashier, a guy with the expression of someone who had long since stopped caring about anything, scanned the canister without a word. Chloe sighed, digging into her pocket for cash.

"God, I hate everything," she muttered.

Rachel smirked. "Aw, babe. If it makes you feel any better, I have a special treat to lift your spirits."

Chloe squinted. "What?" And then. With zero hesitation, Rachel dramatically flung out her arms and belted at full volume:

“UPSIDE, INSIDE OUT”

Chloe’s entire soul left her body. "Oh my god." The cashier didn’t even blink.

Fully committed now, Rachel took a step closer, locking eyes with Chloe like she was singing just for her. “SHE’S LIVIN’ LA VIDA LOCA”

Chloe physically lunged to cover Rachel’s mouth. Rachel dodged, laughing.

"Rach, I swear to god," Chloe hissed.

But Rachel was thriving. She grabbed a bottle of windshield washer fluid off the counter and spun it like a microphone, stepping into the dim gas station lighting's imaginary spotlight. “SHE’LL PUSH AND PULL YOU DOWN”

Chloe slammed some bills onto the counter, turning to the cashier in pure desperation. "Dude, help me out here."

The cashier slowly looked at her. "Can’t lie," he mumbled. "She’s got pipes."

Rachel beamed. "Thank you! Finally, someone who appreciates raw talent."

Chloe grabbed the gas canister and stomped toward the exit. "I will leave you here." Rachel followed, completely unfazed.

"Come on, Chloe!" she called dramatically, stepping outside. When she got no response, Rachel went for the kill shot. “HER LIPS ARE DEVIL RED, AND HER SKIN’S THE COLOUR MOCHA” Chloe froze mid-step. The gas canister hit the pavement with a thud. Rachel, glowing with victory, waggled her eyebrows as she delivered the finishing blow: “SHE WILL WEAR YOU OUT”

Chloe turned so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet. "I will strangle you with a gas pump hose."

Rachel cackled, dodging as Chloe grabbed and swung the canister onto her shoulder like a weapon of vengeance. "Oh my god, you should see your face!" Rachel gasped between laughs.

Chloe glared. "I hate you."

Rachel smirked, hooking an arm through Chloe’s as they approached the pumps. "No, you don’t."

Chloe groaned, aggressively unscrewing the cap of the canister. "I cannot believe I got reverse-karma’d by Ricky Martin."

Rachel propped herself against the pump, arms crossed. "Poetic, isn’t it?" Chloe muttered something wildly unrepeatable under her breath as she jammed the gas nozzle into the canister. Rachel, still riding the high of her grand performance, sighed happily. "Sweet, sweet justice."

Chloe pointed at her. "You think this is justice? This is a crime. This is psychological warfare."

Rachel shrugged, looking entirely unrepentant. "You’re just mad because I did it better."

Chloe scoffed. "Excuse me, better?"

Rachel smirked. "Way better."

Chloe’s eyes narrowed. "Oh, it’s on, Amber."

Rachel grinned. "Oh, I hope so."

The gas pump clicked as Chloe finished filling the canister. Chloe yanked it free with too much force. Rachel stretched, letting out a satisfied sigh. "Honestly? Best gas station visit ever."

Chloe exhaled through her teeth. "You are so lucky, I love you."

Rachel smirked, bumping her shoulder against Chloe’s. "Yeah, yeah. That’s what they all say."

Chloe picked up the gas canister. "C’mon, Lioness. Let’s get back to my tragically abandoned truck before some raccoons claim it as their new home."

Rachel flicked a stray piece of lint off Chloe’s jacket. "Oh, you mean before it gets an improvement?" Chloe rolled her eyes, but a grin pulled at the corner of her mouth.

As they started walking back toward the road, Rachel casually looped her arm through Chloe’s, briefly letting her head rest against her shoulder. Chloe exhaled, the warmth settling in her chest like a slow burn. "Okay," Chloe admitted, "that was a pretty good comeback."

Rachel hummed, pleased. "I know." Taking the canister.

They walked on, the last echoes of Rachel’s impromptu performance still floating in the cool autumn air.

The sky had shifted into deep golds and purples as they neared the truck, and Rachel groaned when Chloe sighed dramatically, exaggerating every step. "This is it. The long, painful journey. Stranded in the wilderness. Left to fend for ourselves."

"We’re walking down a sidewalk, Chloe," Rachel deadpanned, scrolling on her phone.

Chloe ignored her. "Two weary travellers, burdened with the weight of."

"I carried the gas canister for the first half of the walk," Rachel reminded her.

Chloe scoffed. "You carried it for like five minutes."

Rachel smirked. "And that was enough to realise you should be the one carrying it."

Chloe grumbled, switching the canister to her other hand. "Unbelievable. You serenade me in a gas station, publicly humiliate me, and now I have to do manual labour?"

Rachel barely looked up from her phone. "Yep. That’s how relationships work, Price. Partnership. Balance. Me winning."

Chloe narrowed her eyes. "You’re texting Victoria, aren’t you?"

Rachel smirked, her thumbs tapping rapidly. "Maybe."

Chloe groaned. "You’re literally giving my archnemesis updates about my suffering."

Rachel shrugged. "I’m giving her entertainment."

Chloe exhaled through her nose, staring up at the sky. "I cannot believe I fell in love with a traitor."

Rachel hummed, entirely unaffected.

[ ◉¯]

[Queen B]: Why am I being forced to think about you right now?

[Rachel]: Because I’m incredible and unforgettable?

[Queen B]: More like incredibly annoying. But please, do tell—what disaster is unfolding now?

[Rachel]: You are going to love this.

[Rachel]: (attached photo: Chloe, mid-walk, carrying the gas canister with a deeply tragic expression)

[Queen B]: OMG!!

[Rachel]: She ran out of gas and made me walk with her to the station.

[Queen B]: PLEASE tell me you made her suffer.

[Rachel]: Oh, absolutely.

[Rachel]: I sang Vida Loca in the gas station while she paid.

[Queen B]: …Rachel.

[Queen B]: I have never respected you more.

[Rachel]: See? I’m amazing.

[Queen B]: You’re evil. I’m so proud.

[ ◉¯]

Rachel snorted softly, clearly pleased with herself. Chloe side-eyed her. "You’re still texting her, aren’t you?"

Rachel shrugged. "Not my fault, you provide great material."

Chloe groaned. "God, what does she even say to you?"

Rachel smirked. "Wouldn’t you like to know?"

Chloe squinted. "You two flirt, don’t you?"

Rachel gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. "How dare you accuse me of such things?"

"Because you love chaos," Chloe said flatly.

Rachel pursed her lips like she was considering. "Okay. Maybe a little."

Chloe huffed, switching the canister again. "She better not be sending heart emojis."

Rachel smirked and glanced down at her phone

[ ◉¯]

[Queen B]: Wait. Does Chloe know you’re texting me?

[Rachel]:  Oh yeah. She’s being dramatic about it.

[Rachel]: (attached photo: blurry Chloe squinting at her in suspicion)

[Queen B]: That is the face of a woman who knows betrayal.

[Rachel]: I know. It’s beautiful.

[Queen B]: Tell her I say hi.

[Rachel]: Why? So she can dramatically sigh and call you her "sworn enemy"?

[Queen B]: Exactly.

[ ◉¯]

Rachel smiled to herself, locking her phone. "She says hi," she announced.

Chloe scoffed. "No, she doesn’t."

Rachel shrugged. "Okay, fine, if you read between the lines, she says she hopes you’re suffering,"

Chloe nodded. "That sounds more accurate."

They walked in silence for a moment before Rachel glanced at her. "You know… You don’t actually hate her."

Chloe made a deep, suffering noise. "Rachel."

Rachel smirked. "Admit it. She’s not the worst."

Chloe huffed. "Fine. She’s a little less awful than I pretend she is."

Rachel beamed. "Growth."

Chloe rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling a little. The gas canister clunked against the pavement as they finally reached the truck. Chloe exhaled like she had just returned from a harrowing odyssey. "Well. That sucked."

Rachel hummed, watching as Chloe popped the gas cap and poured the fuel in. "You made it worse for yourself, honestly," Rachel mused.

Chloe squinted. "How?"

Rachel stretched, completely unbothered. "You sang Firework at me, Price. That sealed your fate."

Chloe paused, processing that. Then, finally, she sighed, resting an arm against the truck. "…Okay," Chloe admitted. "That was deserved."

Rachel gasped, hands over her heart. "Did you just say I was right?"

Chloe pointed at her. "I said deserved. Not that you’re right in general."

Rachel smirked, opening the passenger door. "Good enough for me."

Chloe chuckled, shaking her head as she sealed the gas tank shut and put the canister in the bed. "Let’s get to this thrift store before you get more ideas."

Rachel grinned. "No promises."

As Chloe climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the key, the truck rumbled to life—the sweet, blessed sound of an engine that would take them somewhere this time.

Rachel sat back, scrolling her phone again. "Ooh, Victoria texted back."

Chloe groaned, pulling onto the road. "Of course she did."

[ ◉¯]

[Queen B]: She dead yet?

[Rachel]: Nope, mission accomplished. Truck has gas. Chloe survived. Barely.

[Queen B]: Damn. I was hoping she’d have to push it.

[Rachel]: Don’t worry. I made her carry the gas can most of the way back.

[Queen B]: Magnificent.

[Rachel]: I know. I’m an inspiration.

[Queen B]: I’m almost impressed.

[Rachel]: Only almost?

[Queen B]: Don’t push it, Amber.

[ ◉¯]

Rachel pocketed her phone and smirked. Chloe side-eyed her. "She’s talking shit, isn’t she?"

Rachel hummed. "Oh, always."

Chloe sighed. "One day, I’m gonna win against you two."

Rachel patted her thigh. "Oh, babe. No, you’re not."

Chloe laughed, shaking her head as they finally made their way toward the thrift store. This frenemies nonsense would be the death of her. It wasn’t long before Chloe’s ancient truck rattled into the thrift store parking lot with the grace of a dying animal.

Rachel sighed as they rolled into a spot, mentally preparing herself for the chaos ahead. Chloe, meanwhile, stretched dramatically, gripping the wheel. "We made it. Against all odds. Someone should make a documentary about our harrowing journey."

Rachel unbuckled her seatbelt, unimpressed. "I’ll title it: ‘How Chloe Price Died Because She Can’t Read A Fuel Gauge.’"

Chloe huffed. "Okay, first of all, rude."

Rachel swung the door open. "And accurate."

Chloe rolled her eyes but followed, stepping out into the crisp evening air. The thrift store loomed ahead—an old, slightly faded building with giant discount banners taped to the windows—the kind of place that smelled like dust, nostalgia, and questionable life choices.

Rachel adjusted her hoodie, slipping into ‘strategic mode’ before reaching the entrance. "Okay, listen up, Price. We are here for three things: A bed frame. A dresser. A nightstand… okay, maybe a bookshelf. But that’s it. We are not getting distracted by weird junk."

Chloe raised a hand. "Counterpoint: What if the weird junk is cool?"

Rachel stared at her. "Chloe."

Chloe grinned, walking backwards toward the entrance. "You’re asking me not to get distracted. That’s like asking the ocean not to be wet."

Rachel exhaled through her nose. "I’m going to have to drag you, aren’t I?"

Chloe shrugged. "Probably."

Rachel groaned. "Fine. But no bullshit. We find what we need, we get out, we—" The moment they stepped inside, Chloe gasped so loudly that an employee turned to look. Rachel barely had time to register what was happening before Chloe beelined for something on a cluttered display table. Rachel lunged, snagging Chloe’s hood mid-stride. "Nope. Nope. Nope," Rachel announced, bodily dragging Chloe back.

Chloe scrambled against the grip. "But Rach!"

"No. We are NOT doing this."

"You don’t even know what it is!"

"I don’t need to!"

Chloe twisted, pointing dramatically. "It’s a pirate ship lamp!"

Rachel did not turn around. "I do not care," she said, yanking Chloe farther in.

"But it’s got little sails and a tiny anchor."

"I swear to god, Price." Chloe made a deep, suffering noise but ultimately relented. She shuffled along as Rachel dragged her away from temptation. After about five feet, Rachel finally released her.

Chloe huffed, adjusting her jacket. "This is oppression."

Rachel dusted off her hands. "This is keeping us on track. Now, as I was saying," She launched into her plan as they walked, weaving through aisles of assorted furniture. "First, we hit the back section where they keep the bigger stuff. We find a solid bed frame, something we can paint over if needed. Then we look for a dresser, not one of those cheap, wobbly ones, an actual decent one. After that, a nightstand. Simple. Efficient. No distractions."

She glanced to her right, fully expecting Chloe to make some kind of comment.

…Chloe was not there.

Rachel stopped walking. A slow, horrifying realisation settled in. She had been alone, talking to herself for at least five minutes. Rachel inhaled deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Fuck."

Chloe had no idea when exactly she had drifted away from Rachel.

One second, she was listening, kind of, to an unnecessary lecture about ‘efficiency’ and “no distractions.” Next, she spotted something glorious out of the corner of her eye, a headless mannequin in the middle of the clothing section.

Dressed in the single worst outfit imaginable. Chloe had stopped in her tracks. Because, honestly? The mannequin deserved better.

With the utmost seriousness, she reached for the nearest ridiculous article of clothing—a faux fur shawl, moth-eaten, and at least twenty years past its prime. "Don’t worry, buddy," Chloe muttered, draping it dramatically over the mannequin’s shoulders. "I got you."

She scanned the racks, hunting for the perfect ensemble. An old prom dress? Too formal.
A neon Hawaiian shirt? Tempting, but not quite there. An actual cape?? …Absolutely.

Chloe threw it over the mannequin’s shoulders like a royal robe and moved the shawl over the top of it. Now for accessories. She plucked a pair of gigantic, rhinestone-covered sunglasses off a display and shoved them onto the headless figure, tucking them under the cape's clasp to hold them in place.

Chloe stepped back, appraising her work. "Majestic," she whispered. No. Not just majestic. Regal. This wasn’t just any thrift store mannequin anymore. She was Lady Bargainshire.

Chloe pressed a hand to her heart. "M’lady," she murmured, giving her a solemn nod of respect. Lady Bargainshire did not reply, mostly because she didn’t have a head. But Chloe knew she appreciated the effort.

When something caught her eye, she was just about to find a suitable handbag, because a lady needed a purse—a guitar.

It was propped up in the corner, leaning against a cluttered display of half-broken lamps and forgotten board games. It wasn’t fancy. The wood was a little scuffed, the strings a little worn. But something about it just called to her.

Chloe hesitated, glancing around like someone might try to stop her, probably Rachel. Then she reached for it.

The wood was smooth under her fingers. She ran her thumb along the strings, pressing lightly to test the feel. A low, familiar hum vibrated through the air. Chloe’s chest tightened, just a little.

She hadn’t held a guitar in a long time. Not since… She exhaled through her nose, shaking the thought away. Instead, she strummed. Just a few notes. Nothing major.

But the sound felt right, like something was clicking into place. Chloe ran a hand over the neck, testing the tuning. It was a little off, but nothing she couldn’t fix.

She didn’t even notice she was smiling until she heard "Chloe Price!" Chloe flinched so hard she nearly dropped the damn guitar.

She turned just in time to see Rachel storming toward her, looking half furious, half like she was about to throw her into a dumpster.

Oh, right… Rachel.

Chloe winced. "…Hey, babe."

Rachel stopped short, planting her hands on her hips. "Tell me. Exactly. How long have I been talking to myself?"

Chloe glanced at the guitar, then at Lady Bargainshire, then back at Rachel.

"…Define ‘long,’" she tried.

Rachel tilted her head. "Chloe."

Chloe cleared her throat. "Okay. In my defence."

Rachel’s eyes narrowed. "Oh, this is gonna be good."

Chloe pointed dramatically at the mannequin. "I had to help Lady Bargainshire."

Rachel’s entire expression went blank. Then, slowly, she looked past Chloe. And took in the horror. The cape, the fur stole, and the rhinestone sunglasses.

Rachel blinked. Then turned back to Chloe. "I hate you so much," she muttered.

Chloe grinned. "No, you don’t."

Rachel exhaled, rubbing her temples. "What are you even holding now?"

Chloe lifted the guitar. "This? This is my destiny, Rach."

Rachel stared. Then blinked very slowly. "…You’re serious, aren’t you?"

Chloe strummed a few chords, tilting her head. "I mean… kinda?"

Rachel dragged a hand down her face. "Chloe. We came here for furniture."

Chloe gave her the biggest, dumbest grin. "Yeah, but consider this, music is furniture for the soul."

Rachel made the exact expression of someone mentally preparing to commit a felony. "Price," Chloe smirked, already anticipating the fight. She was so buying this guitar. Rachel pinched the bridge of her nose. Hard. "So let me get this straight," she said, her voice dangerously even. "We came here for a bed frame, a dresser, and a nightstand, maybe a bookshelf."

"Correct," Chloe nodded, gripping the guitar tightly, like Rachel might try to rip it from her hands.

Rachel gestured wildly at the guitar. "And now, suddenly, we need this?"

Chloe shrugged. "When destiny calls, you gotta answer, babe."

Rachel’s eye twitched. "Chloe."

Chloe hesitated. Her grip on the guitar shifted, fingers tapping against the neck. She wasn’t just bullshitting anymore. "I wanna get it for Max," Chloe said, voice quieter now. "She used to have one, back when we were kids. She loved it." Rachel stilled. Chloe glanced at her, then down at the guitar. "I just thought… I dunno. She doesn’t have a lot that’s hers right now. But this? Maybe it’d help."

Rachel didn’t answer right away because memories were already surfacing. Max, sitting cross-legged on Chloe’s bedroom floor, her little acoustic guitar resting in her lap, careful, hesitant strumming, her fingers pressing lightly on the strings, learning as she went. Chloe laughing, calling out dumb song requests while Rachel lay back on the bed, pretending she wasn’t just as fascinated.

Rachel blinked hard, pulling herself back to the present. She looked at Chloe, really looked at her, and saw that same thought reflected in her eyes. Rachel exhaled. "…Alright," she muttered, crossing her arms. "Fine. You can get it."

Chloe blinked. "Wait, really?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Yeah, really." Chloe’s face lit up, not in a cocky, smug way, but genuine. Rachel sighed, nudging her shoulder. "Don’t make me regret it."

Chloe smirked, relaxing again. "Too late."

Rachel groaned. "You are the worst."

"And yet, here you are," Chloe teased, slipping an arm around her shoulders. "Helping me buy sentimental gifts for our best friend. You’re basically a saint, Rach."

Rachel snorted. "Move your boney ass. We still need furniture."

"Hey, you love my ass," Chloe said, happily following as Rachel dragged her toward the furniture section. But this time, Rachel didn’t mind as much. Because somehow, Chloe had managed to make all this chaos worth it.

[ ◉¯]

Chloe was dying. Not in a cool, dramatic way, like getting shot in a high-speed getaway or jumping off a burning building. No. She was dying in the slow, painful, and entirely preventable way of being trapped in a thrift store while Rachel Amber spent an eternity inspecting bed frames.

Chloe slouched against a rickety dresser, watching Rachel run her hand along another damn headboard like she was interviewing it for a job. "It needs to be sturdy," Rachel murmured, half to herself, half to the probably haunted bed frame. "Something solid. Nothing that’s gonna start falling apart in a year."

Chloe groaned loudly. "Rachel, they’re all solid. That’s literally the point of a wood."

Rachel didn’t even look up. "Yeah? And yet, somehow, your entire house is held together with hope and spite."

Chloe gasped. "Rude."

Rachel hummed, completely unbothered, crouching down to inspect the frame's legs, and that was when Chloe noticed. Rachel was bent over slightly, focused on whatever critical structural analysis she was doing, but her leggings fit really well, like, distractingly well.

Chloe’s brain short-circuited. She bit her lip. Then, slowly, her grin formed, she adjusted the guitar in her lap, casually strumming a few test chords.

Rachel glanced up. "What are you—"

Before she could finish, Chloe launched in full force: "How lucky can one gal be—"

Rachel froze.

Chloe grinned, her voice dipping deliberately into an over-the-top crooner style as she strummed the guitar, leaning back like she was playing a Vegas lounge show. "I kissed her and she kissed me." Rachel’s entire expression went blank. Chloe winked, strumming harder.

"Like the fellow once said," She jerked her chin toward Rachel with a shit-eating smirk. "Ain’t that a kick in the head?" Rachel exhaled through her nose, looking directly at the ceiling as if wanting lightning to strike her down.

Chloe, thriving, slid effortlessly into the next verse, tapping her foot dramatically against the floor like she was on stage. Rachel slowly stood up, crossing her arms. "Are you done?"

Chloe grinned, strumming another chord. "Not even close, babe."

Rachel sighed deeply. "Why do I even like you?"

"Because I keep things exciting," Chloe said smoothly, never missing a beat.

Rachel shook her head, but Chloe caught the way her lips twitched—the slightest flicker of a smile. She had won. Rachel sighed, grabbing Chloe’s collar and pulling her up. "Come on, Sinatra. We’re buying this bed."

Chloe smirked, slinging the guitar over her back. "You got it, doll." Rachel groaned but didn’t let go. And Chloe? Chloe was having the best day ever.

[ ◉¯]

Chloe grunted, adjusting her grip on the bed frame as she awkwardly shuffled it toward the truck.

"Okay, hold on, no, turn it." Rachel’s voice was firm but not helpful as she walked backwards with her end of the frame.

"Turn it which way?" Chloe demanded.

Rachel huffed. "The right way!"

"That's not directions, Amber."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Just move left!" Chloe staggered left. The frame scraped against the side of the truck. Rachel winced. "Okay, not like that." Chloe groaned, dropping her side for a second. Rachel sighed, setting her end down. "Fine. Reset."

A deep breath, and they tried again. Somehow, by the grace of dumb luck, the bed frame finally made it onto the truck. Chloe wiped her forehead, exhaling. "Jesus. That was a trial."

Rachel brushed off her hands, glancing over the rest of their haul. The dresser, nightstand, bookshelf, and Chloe’s newly adopted guitar were secured.

Chloe squinted at the bookshelf. Then turned to Rachel. "Okay. Explain."

Rachel blinked. "Explain what?"

Chloe gestured aggressively at the entire bookshelf. "This. This thing. I don't remember this being on the list when we left the house."

Rachel sighed. "Yeah, well, it wasn’t."

Chloe crossed her arms. "Then why do we have it?"

Rachel gave her a long, tired look. Then, reluctantly, she admitted, "Sunday."

Chloe blinked, squinted, and then leaned against the truck, looking deeply confused. "Wait, hold up. You mean that moonbat therapist?"

Rachel deadpanned. "No, Chloe. I mean the day of the week."

Chloe narrowed her eyes. "Okay, sarcasm, rude."

Rachel crossed her arms. "Well, if you’d stop asking stupid questions."

"But why does Max's therapist care about bookshelves?" Chloe asked, still baffled.

Rachel exhaled through her nose. "Because she’s Sunday."

Chloe stared. "That explains exactly nothing."

Rachel groaned, rubbing her temples. "Okay, fine. She thinks Max needs a bookshelf. And you know what? She’s right. Max reads. She needs space for her books."

Chloe tilted her head. "So you’re saying you only bought this because your therapist guilt-tripped you into it?"

Rachel sighed. "She didn’t guilt-trip me."

Chloe smirked. "Then what did she do?"

Rachel paused, then exhaled, adopting a dramatic, mystical voice. "Rachel." She tilted her head in an impression of Sunday’s slow, deliberate tone. "Max is a creature of the written word. A fox in a forest of ink and paper. Without books, she will wither, untethered, lost."

Chloe snorted so loudly she nearly choked. Rachel wasn’t done. "To deprive her of stories, knowledge, and the lifeblood of the mind… is to fail her, Rachel. And I don’t think you could live with that, could you?"

Chloe was losing it. "Jesus Christ." She leaned against the truck, wheezing. "She sounds like some kind of chaos oracle."

Rachel dropped the act, sighing. "You have no idea."

Chloe grinned, propping herself up. "Oh, I have to meet her now."

Rachel pointed at her. "That is a dangerous idea."

Chloe smirked. "What? Afraid she’ll like me more?"

Rachel scoffed. "More like afraid of what the two of you could do together."

Chloe thought about that. Then grinned wider. "Yeah. That’s fair."

Rachel groaned. "Let’s just strap this stuff down before I regret everything."

Chloe laughed, grabbing a rope. "Whatever you say, Lioness."

Rachel muttered several things under her breath, none of them repeatable. But even as they loaded the last stuff, Chloe couldn’t stop thinking about Sunday and how badly she wanted to see what absolute nonsense she could get up to with her.

[ ◉¯]

The truck rumbled down the road, the evening air cool through the cracked windows. Chloe had one hand on the wheel, the other drumming absentmindedly against her knee, a shit-eating grin firmly in place.

Rachel, sensing danger, didn’t look up from her phone. "Don’t," she warned.

Chloe grinned wider. "I haven’t even said anything."

Rachel side-eyed her. "I can feel you thinking."

Chloe let out a low, smug hum. "So… Sunday." Rachel exhaled through her nose. "I mean, it’s weird, right?" Chloe continued, her tone way too casual. "You, Rachel Amber, actually listening to someone?"

Rachel leaned against the window, feigning boredom. "She’s just really good at making points."

Chloe raised a brow. "Points that make you buy furniture?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up."

Chloe smirked, turning back to the road. "I dunno, babe. Sounds like Sunday’s got you wrapped around her little moonbat finger."

Rachel scoffed. "That’s not what’s happening."

Chloe snorted. "Mmm. Sure."

Rachel pinched the bridge of her nose. "If I let you meet her, will you shut up about it?"

Chloe perked up immediately. "Oh, absolutely not. But now I definitely want to meet her."

Rachel groaned, but before she could respond, Her phone buzzed.

She frowned, glancing down at the incoming call: ‘Maxy <3’

Rachel’s stomach dipped. "Oh."

Chloe glanced over. "Vic?"

Rachel shook her head, already swiping to pick up. "Hey, Max?"

There was a beat of silence on the other end.

Then, "H-Hi." Rachel’s heart squeezed. Max’s voice was small and quiet, as if she regretted calling.

Rachel’s tone immediately softened. "Hey, babe. What’s up?"

Another pause. Then, hesitantly: "Um… I, uh. Sorry. I-I shouldn’t have…"

Rachel cut in gently. "Max, it’s okay."

Another silence. Then a shaky breath. " I-I just… I didn’t want to bother you."

Rachel exhaled slowly. "Max, you’re not bothering me." Chloe glanced over, quiet now. Rachel tapped the screen. "I’m putting you on speaker, okay? Chloe’s here too."

Another pause, then a soft, "O-Okay."

Rachel put the phone on the dash, speaker crackling slightly. Chloe jumped in immediately, tone light. "Hey, Supermax. What’s up?"

Max let out the tiniest nervous laugh. "H-Hi, Chloe."

Rachel glanced at Chloe, her expression worried. Chloe tilted her head slightly, softening. "You okay?"

Max hesitated. Then, quietly: "I… I d-don’t know."

Rachel felt a familiar ache in her chest. Max had always been soft-spoken, but there was a rawness now, a hesitation that hadn’t always been there. Like every word felt too big, too heavy to say out loud.

Rachel kept her voice gentle. "Max, talk to us."

Another small breath. "I—I just wanted to hear your voices."

Rachel and Chloe exchanged a look. Chloe, for once, didn’t joke. Rachel exhaled, letting herself relax. "We’re here, babe."

Chloe nodded. "Always, Supermax."

Another pause. Then a barely-there whisper: "Thank you."

Rachel’s chest tightened, and Chloe kept her eyes on the road, her hand shaking in muted anger. Rachel felt it too, not at Max, never Max, but at Mark Jefferson. Rachel swallowed, forcing herself to sound normal. "You wanna stay on for a bit? Just while we drive?"

Max hesitated, then, softly, "Y-Yeah. I’d like that."

Rachel nodded, settling in, and just like that, the world felt a little quieter. The truck rolled on, the night settling around them, the faint sound of wind rushing past the windows.

Rachel kept one hand lightly on her phone, still resting on the dashboard with Max on speaker.

“R-Rachel?”

Rachel blinked, snapping back to the conversation. “Yeah?”

Max hesitated, like she was debating whether or not to say something. “Um… why do you call me ‘babe’ sometimes?”

The words hit Rachel like a truck. Her entire body tensed as Chloe choked on air. Rachel went pale. “What?”

Max shifted on the other end, sounding innocent. “You do, sometimes. You just did. I was just wondering… why?”

Chloe grinned so wide that it was a miracle she could stay quiet. She turned to Rachel, her eyes bright with evil. Rachel, meanwhile, was processing every life decision that led her to this moment. “I…” Rachel started, but her brain immediately short-circuited.

Chloe looked at her dramatically. “Yeah, Rach. Why?”

Rachel snapped her head toward Chloe, eyes screaming: ‘do not’.

Chloe grinned. Oblivious to the impending chaos, Max just said, “I mean, it’s… nice? I was just curious.”

Rachel’s soul left her body. She had no explanation,  hadn’t even realized she’d been saying it. But now that Max had pointed it out, Oh. Oh no. Rachel’s stomach tightened, her fingers curling slightly against her leg.

Chloe, meanwhile, was thriving. “Oh, Max,” Chloe sighed, resting a hand dramatically over her heart. “Sweet, sweet, innocent Max.”

Rachel glared daggers. “Chloe.”

Chloe grinned. “Rachel Amber, ladies and gentlemen. Queen of repressed emotions.”

Rachel kicked her in the shin. “OW!” Chloe jerked the wheel slightly. “Jesus, Rach!”

Rachel crossed her arms. “Drive the truck, Price.”

Max let out a tiny laugh—quiet, but there. Rachel froze. Chloe blinked, turning back to the road. Still softly amused, Max said, “You guys are dumb.”

Rachel exhaled slowly, hiding her face in her hands. Chloe smirked, rubbing her shin. “Max, you wound me.”

“You’ll live,” Max teased.

Rachel, still horribly aware of her own heartbeat, forced herself to be normal. “It’s just a habit,” she muttered quickly. “Nothing big.”

Chloe snorted. “Yeah. Sure.”

Rachel kicked her again. Max giggled when Chloe yelped. Max’s laugh had been worth it, even if Rachel was now officially spiralling.

The truck rumbled along, the sky now a deep shade of navy blue, streetlights flickering on as they neared the Price house. Rachel had mostly recovered, though Chloe had spent the last few minutes grinning to herself like a cat with a fresh kill.

Blissfully unaware of Rachel’s crisis, Max hesitated on the other end of the call. “Um… I-I should go,” she said quietly. “I think Sunday’s back.”

And as if on cue, a voice drifted in from Max’s end through the faint phone speaker: “The moon is high, the tides have shifted, and I have returned from my travels! By that, I mean my office.”

Rachel visibly cringed. Chloe burst out laughing. “Holy shit,” Chloe wheezed, gripping the wheel. “You weren’t even exaggerating.”

Rachel groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “I told you.”

Max let out a tiny, amused laugh. “Yeah, that’s… that’s Sunday.”

Rachel sighed, defeated. “Tell her I say hi. And that I got the bookshelf.”

Sunday’s voice immediately perked up through the phone, hinting that Max had the call on speaker. “Oh, Rachel, you radiant lioness! You have done well. Max will not wither in the barren desert of booklessness!”

Rachel closed her eyes. “I hate my life.”

Chloe was losing it. “Oh my god, I love her.”

Max giggled. “ I-I should go. Night, guys.”

“Night, Supermax,” Chloe called.

“Sleep well, babe,” Rachel said, then immediately regretted it, when Chloe laughed her ass off, there was a slight pause on the line.

Then, softly: “Night, Rachel.” Before the call clicked off.

Rachel stared at the phone for half a second before shoving it into her pocket like it was a cursed object.

Chloe, still grinning, side-eyed her. “Soooo—”

Rachel cut her off. “Say one word, and I’m throwing you out of this truck.”

Chloe held her hand. “Fair, fair.” But she was definitely filing this away for later torment.

The truck rumbled into the Price driveway, headlights casting long shadows over the familiar porch. Before the engine had even fully shut off, Rachel was already unbuckling, eager to escape.

Chloe, fully aware of her mood, smirked. “Aww, what’s wrong, babe? You seem tense.” Rachel snapped her head toward her, eyes narrowed in warning. Chloe grinned.

Rachel groaned, throwing the door open. “I am not doing this right now.”

Chloe cackled as she followed her out, fully prepared to milk this for the rest of the night.

The front door swung open, and William stepped out onto the porch, hands in his pockets, watching them like he was already bracing for whatever nonsense they were bringing home. One look at the fully loaded truck bed, and he blew a low whistle. “Damn,” he mused, walking over. “You two really cleaned house, huh?”

Rachel stretched, rolling her shoulders. “Took longer than necessary, but yeah.”

Chloe huffed. “It was a productive trip.”

Rachel gave her a look. “You serenaded me in a thrift store, Price.”

Chloe smirked. “And?”

Rachel sighed deeply. “Unloading this truck cannot happen fast enough.”

William chuckled, stepping up to examine the haul. “Bed, dresser, nightstand, bookshelf… nice. Max’ll appreciate that.”

Rachel nodded, then shot Chloe a pointed look. “Oh, and let’s not forget this.”

She reached into the truck bed and grabbed the guitar, hoisting it up like a piece of damning evidence.

Chloe grinned. “Oh, right. My new child.”

William raised an eyebrow, taking it from Rachel’s hands. He turned it over, inspecting the wood grain, the wear, the tuning pegs, and gave a strum. The sound was a little off, but rich, a familiar vibration in the cool night air.

Chloe tilted her head. “Didn’t know you played.”

William shrugged, amused. “Learned a little back in the day. Had a buddy in high school who tried to start a band. Didn’t go far, but we had fun.” Chloe grinned. Classic. Then William glanced at Rachel, raising a brow. “So… what’s the story here? Impulse buy?”

Rachel groaned. “No. It was her idea.”

William smirked. “That explains a lot.”

Chloe beamed. “You’re welcome.”

Rachel crossed her arms and exhaled sharply, like she hated admitting it. “She started singing in the store, really loud to mess with me.”

William chuckled immediately. “Oh no.”

Rachel kept going, still clearly irritated. “And I was already mad, but then I started thinking about it, and—” She gestured at the guitar. “Now we have this.”

Chloe froze. Then, slowly, her expression morphed into pure, chaotic delight. “Wait.” Chloe put a hand on the truck for support. “Are you telling me that my beautiful, soulful performance actually convinced you to buy the guitar?”

Rachel scowled. “No. Shut up.”

But it was too late. Chloe burst out laughing. Full body, can’t-breathe, hands-on-her-knees laughing.

Rachel threw up her hands, looking at William. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you!”

Chloe gasped for air. “This—this is the greatest thing that’s ever happened.”

Deeply entertained, William handed the guitar back before Rachel could murder Chloe. Rachel took it with far more force than necessary. Chloe was still wheezing. “I—I can’t believe I have this kind of influence over you, Rach. It’s truly an honour.”

Rachel turned away, marching toward the house. “I hate you.”

Chloe grinned, following. “No, you don’t.”

William, watching them go, just shook his head fondly. “Glad to see some things never change.” Then he moved to the truck to start unloading.