Archive of Our Own

My name is Love Wilde. I just turned nineteen years old today. Nineteen. It sounds older than it feels. Sometimes I say it out loud just to hear it echo in the small, empty apartment I call home now. I’ve been living here alone for a few months. Long enough that the silence has started to feel like a person sitting beside me, long enough that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to wake up to someone else breathing beside me. At the time, It was a feeling I had missed the most. Unfortunately, I've grown attached to anyone who even talks to me.

To tell you the truth, I had a fiancé once. His name… well, let’s just call him Rue. I don’t think I could say his real name anymore without feeling it burn my tongue. Rue and I fell in love when we were younger, practically children pretending to be adults. We built love and intimacy out of promises, swore forever under my home back in Winchester England, we talked about the future like it was something we could mold with our bare hands. Though I wish it was. I really thought everything was going to be okay. I thought we were unbreakable, that love alone would be enough to carry us through whatever life threw our way. He was the one. Or at least, I used to believe that.

It’s strange how quickly something that felt eternal can unravel. I.. Had thought we were gonna be married by now, with a fetus in my womb ready to be called ours. A baby, thats what I might've wanted if our argument never happened. I thought I'd be in a library, Looking at a book full of baby names. Did you know, that I've always wanted a daughter?

A few months ago, I made dinner for us. I remember every detail of that night like it’s been branded into the back of my mind, The whole of my soul. Rue had just gotten a job. —not exactly legitimate, but it made him happy. He’d been hired as a kind of detective, though not through any official agency. “Unlicensed,” he called it, half proud and half defensive. I didn’t care much about the legality of it; what mattered was that he’d found something that gave him a purpose. When Rue smiled, I could almost believe in peace and a "happy ending".

We were both detectives in our own way, though my cases were different. Much stranger and darker, the kind of things people whisper about but refuse to believe in. I’ve always been drawn to what most people fear. The paranormal, the unexplainable, the kinds of mysteries that sit just outside the border of reality. I take on the things humans call “abnormal.” I see what others can’t, or won’t. And maybe that’s because I’m not entirely human myself. I’ve always known there was something in me that didn’t belong, something watching through my eyes that wasn’t supposed to exist in this world.

But that’s a story for later.

That night, everything seemed fine. The table was set: meatloaf glazed with a thin sheen of ketchup that caught the warm kitchen light, mashed potatoes piled high AND well seasoned! - soft and buttery, with a pool of dark brown gravy settling into the center. Steamed broccoli sprinkled with a touch of salt sat beside it, its green fading slightly in the warmth. I baked fresh sweet rolls, soft and golden, still steaming when I tore them open. There was even a bowl of mac and cheese, creamy and separate, because Rue liked it that way. never touching the rest of the food. He said it ruined the flavor when things mixed together. I couldn't care less myself, my food touched and I ate like a PIG. And I'm okay with that.

There were two bottles of soda that stood between us, one apple soda for me because i liked the tart sweetness, and one Coke for him. And for dessert, I made a cherry pie with warm cookies on the side, because Rue always said that pies were too lonely without company. It was ridiculous, but it baked cookies almost everyday because rue, in fact, enjoyed them so much.

Everything about that night was ordinary. Painfully, deceptively ordinary. We were laughing about something small, Yesterday it was his day off and we had been watching Akazukin chacha together, We both made a joke and it sorta, still laughed at it, somewhere between one bite and the next, Rue put down his fork.

I still remember the sound of it. The quiet clink against the plate, and the pause that followed, like the air itself was waiting to see what he would say.
He looked at me, and his eyes were softer than usual, which only made it worse. “Love,” he said, in that voice that used to make me believe in happy endings, “I’ve been thinking about… postponing our engagement.”

Postponing. Such a small, harmless word. Like pushing a date on a calendar just a little further away. But I knew better. I knew what he really meant, even before he tried to explain.
He said he needed time. That work had become complicated. That we were both too busy, too consumed by our cases, too different now to rush into something so permanent. I remember staring at the cherry pie, at the tiny imperfections in the crust, and thinking that everything around me suddenly looked wrong, too bright, too still, too clean for what I was feeling.

That was the moment everything began to fracture.

I don’t remember what I said after that. Maybe I laughed. Maybe I cried. Maybe I didn’t say anything at all. But I remember what I felt a quiet, creeping kind of horror, not at the loss of love itself, but at the realization that the world was about to change again. And this time, I couldn’t stop it.

Because for someone like me, loss isn’t just emotional. It’s supernatural. When I lose something, the world notices. And that night, something felt like it had begun to notice me back.

I didn’t touch my food for about a minute or so after he said it. Maybe longer. The clock on the wall kept ticking, and the faint sound of it almost drowned beneath the hum of the refrigerator and the soft static of the rain outside. I stared down at the table, at the food I’d spent hours making,
The meatloaf, mashed potatoes, the broccoli still warm and glistening from the salt, the gravy thick and slowly cooling over the potatoes like it was turning to stone. Everything on that plate, all the little things I had made just for him, felt suddenly meaningless. It felt like, I had become meaningless.

I remember opening my mouth to say something, though I can’t recall the exact words. It’s like my memory refuses to replay that part clearly, like my mind smeared it out of focus to protect me. But whatever I said it angered him. I saw it in his eyes, the way they hardened and turned distant, like a window slamming shut from the inside. His face tightened. The fork he was holding paused midair, trembling slightly before he set it down with a sound that made my stomach twist.

He looked upset. Maybe he had every right to be. Maybe I did. I don’t even know anymore. But there’s one thing I do remember, word for word. I can still hear my own voice, shaking, breaking in the middle of my sentence. “So you don’t want us to be permanent? We’ve been together for years, I… I don’t… I don’t understand. Why are you telling me this now? Do you not love me anymore?”

The silence that followed was unbearable. It wasn’t the kind you shared with a lover, more like the kind that you would have to fight in. After what I said, I knew we were gonna fight, We rarely had arguments like this, But this one didn't feel like the others. This one felt.. Palpable.

I got up from the table. I didn’t even know what I was doing or where I was going, but my legs carried me away from him, away from that scene. I remember walking into the living room, my hands shaking, my chest tightening. I wanted to cry so badly I could taste it in the back of my throat. I just let out a few whimpers but I ultimately didn’t. I swallowed it down like I always do. I just stood there for a moment, staring at the reflection of the rain on the window.

That’s when I noticed how heavy it had gotten outside. It wasn’t the soft, light kind of rain that Los Angeles sometimes gets, the kind that sprinkles and disappears into the grass after thirty minutes. No. This was different. It was pouring. The kind of downpour that makes the streets vanish under sheets of silver. The sound was deafening, almost. rain hammering the rooftop, gushing down the gutters, slapping the windows like a thousand tiny fists. I swear to God, I thought our street was going to flood. The dark sky looked angry. The whole world did.

About two minutes later, though it felt like hours.
I heard footsteps behind me. Rue walked into the living room. His face was pale, tight with frustration, his jaw tightened. He looked upset, more than I’d ever seen him before. And just like that, we were at each other’s throats.

It started small, with words. Whispers at first, then louder. Then too loud. I don’t even remember what started what, or who said what next. It all blurred together into this endless argument, one that burned through an hour, maybe more. We argued like the air itself was gasoline and our voices were sparks. Every sentence was a weapon. Every silence was worse. I had never seen him that angry before, not in all the years I’d known him. His voice cracked under the weight of it. Mine did too.

And then, somewhere in the middle of it all I snapped. I picked up a pillow from the couch and threw it at him. It wasn’t heavy, but it hit him square in the chest, soft but sharp enough to make a point. He blinked, surprised, then did the same. Another pillow flew back at me. For a second, it almost felt childish, absurd, like we were just playing. But then something shifted. We started hurling heavier things. whatever we could grab. A remote. A framed photo of us. A book. Nothing that could really hurt, but everything that could leave a mark.

Until I couldn’t take it anymore.

I ran upstairs. My heart was pounding so loud I could hear it over the storm. My hands were shaking as I started grabbing things. My bags, my clothes, the little pieces of my life that could fit inside. I didn’t care what I left behind. I just needed to go. I needed out of that house.

Before I left our shared bedroom, I stopped by the dresser. My engagement ring caught the faint reflection of lightning from the window, just a thin glint of gold in the dark. I slipped it off. My fingers felt cold without it, like it had been a part of me for too long. I didn’t even hesitate. I set it down first onto our bed, then changed my mind, picked it up, and threw it across the room. I didn’t want it near me.

Then, I took my phone and tossed it straight into the garbage bin by the door. I didn’t want to be found. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to hear him say my name. I didn't want to associate with him again.  That’s when Rue started pounding on the door. Hard. Over and over. His voice came through the wood, muffled, almost breaking. I think despite all of his pride, despite how angry he was
he was trying to apologize to me. But I didn’t listen. I couldn’t. I was too young, too immature.

At the time, I was too upset, too caught up in my own storm. I felt childish, reckless, but also completely certain that if I stayed, I would drown. So I opened the door, pushed him out of the way without saying a word, and walked out into the rain. It hit me like ice, soaking me through in seconds, but I didn’t stop. I didn’t look back. My shoes splashed through puddles, my bag thumped against my hip, and my breath came out in little clouds of steam. I didn’t know where I was going. I just walked until I couldn’t anymore.

Eventually, I found a park, one of those quiet ones on the edge of the city, where the streetlights are dim and the benches are worn from years of weather. I sat down on the wet grass, hugging my knees, letting the rain drench me completely. I felt small. Empty. Alone.

And yet, beneath all of that loneliness, there was this strange flicker of relief. For the first time in a long time, I was truly on my own. No expectations. No waiting for someone to love me right. No pretending to be fine. I felt so alone… yet somehow, I felt happier. Because for the first time in my life, I was one hundred percent independent now.

That night, I slept on the bench. The rain had stopped sometime before dawn, leaving the air thick and cold, the ground still slick with water that reflected the faint orange glow of the streetlights. I remember curling up beneath the broken shadow of a tree, using my bag as a pillow, the damp wood of the bench pressing against my back. The city never truly slept. Cars hummed in the distance, someone shouted down the street, a siren cried somewhere far away but it all felt muffled, like the whole world had wrapped itself in fog.

By morning, my clothes were heavy with dew, and my hair clung to my face. My body ached, but I forced myself to move. I walked until I found a motel, one of those small, faded ones tucked between gas stations and diners. Rooms rented by the hour, sometimes by people who didn’t want to be found. The neon sign buzzed faintly above me, the letters flickering like they were trying to spell something else.

I had all my money with me. Every last bill I’d saved from months of work, folded neatly inside a small wallet buried in my bag. So there were no problems. At least not the kind money could fix.

I called my workplace from the payphone in the motel lobby. The receiver was cold and sticky against my ear. When someone answered, I told them I was taking a break for a while, that I needed time to “relocate.” I didn’t tell them the truth. I didn’t tell anyone the truth. I said I was looking for a new home, and that was that. They didn’t ask questions. Maybe they didn’t care to.

The next few days blurred together. I spent hours sitting cross-legged on the motel bed, newspapers spread out around me like a paper nest. I circled ads with a pen that barely worked. “1 bedroom, furnished,” “downtown studio, utilities included”
but nothing ever felt right. Either it was too small, too far, or too poor. I kept telling myself I was being practical, but the truth was, I was afraid.

I didn’t go out much. I didn’t even step beyond the motel parking lot unless I had to. I kept the curtains closed. I watched the shadows under the door, half-expecting to see a pair of shoes stop there. I was worried Rue would find me somehow. Track me down, appear outside the motel room, call my name like nothing had happened.

Back then, I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want to hear his voice.
But now, thinking back… maybe I did. Maybe some part of me always wanted to reconcile with him.

Time slipped by slowly, each day identical to the last. I marked the days on a small calendar I’d bought from the motel front desk. One week became two. Two became four. Before I realized it, a month had passed. Thirty days in that tiny room with thin walls, the faint smell of cigarette smoke clinging to everything, the hum of the vending machine outside filling the nights when I couldn’t sleep.

Just when I thought my luck had run out, the phone rang. It was a friend, someone I hadn’t heard from in weeks. They said they’d found a place for me, an apartment. A good one. “You’ll love it,” they said. “It’s big. You’ll finally have space again.” So I went. I met with the owner and the manager in person. They showed me around, guiding me through each room like they were unveiling a secret.

It was beautiful. Larger than I expected. Larger than I needed, really but it felt like a dream. The kitchen stretched out like something from a magazine: wide counters, clean white tiles, a brand-new oven. I joked that I could bake sixty pies in there at once, and they both laughed politely. The fridge was enormous, already stocked with a few bottles of water and a carton of milk. It came with the place, they said.

The bathroom caught me off guard. It was old-fashioned in design, yet somehow modern at the same time. White porcelain, a clawfoot tub, brass fixtures that gleamed under the light. A perfect mix of vintage charm and quiet luxury. There were two bedrooms. One large, one smaller. Of course, I took the largest. I’ve always liked space. I like to feel like I can breathe.

I didn’t even read the lease. I signed it right there, scrawling my name across the line without hesitation. Maybe I should’ve read it. Maybe I should’ve paid more attention. But I was just so relieved to have something new, and mine.

The next few days, I spent decorating. I wanted it to feel alive. I bought furniture. Expensive couches with soft velvet cushions, a dining table big enough for six people even though I had no one to invite, rows of potted plants that lined the windowsills. I filled every empty space with something beautiful: books I hadn’t read, framed art I adored, a vase of artificial flowers that would never die.

By the end of the week, it looked like an apartment built for a princess. For a moment, I actually felt happy. The kind of happiness that doesn’t last, but still fools you while it’s there. For a few weeks, everything was calm. I cooked, I cleaned, I played music. I even started to believe that I could move on from rue and potentially.. Seek out a new love.

Until that morning.

I was in my bedroom, standing in front of the mirror, trying on dresses I’d seen in a magazine. The sunlight poured through the curtains, soft and pale. Everything was still. Peaceful. Then I heard it. The click of the front door opening. At first, I froze. I thought maybe I’d imagined it. But then I heard it again, the slow creak of hinges, the faint shuffle of footsteps on the hardwood floor. Someone was inside. Perhaps an attacker!?

My heart started pounding. I grabbed the nearest thing I could find: a baseball bat I kept near the dresser, a leftover piece of paranoia from my motel days. I crept out of the room, my grip tightening around the handle, ready to swing if I had to.

And that’s when I saw her.

Standing by the doorway, calm, composed, and utterly unbothered by the fact that I was holding a bat like my life depended on it. She wasn’t some stranger breaking in. She looked like she belonged there. She in fact, liked the way I decorated. You can tell by her eyes, that she was expecting something worse.

That’s how I met her.

Naomi Misora.

She was holding a box, looking at me with a sort of detached curiosity. “Oh,” she said, blinking once. “You must be Love Wilde.” Her voice was low, steady, the kind of voice that could talk you into a secret without meaning to.

I dropped the bat. “Who are you? Why are you in my apartment?” I demanded, my words tumbling out too fast. “Did the owner send you? Are you lost?”

Naomi set the box down and sat at the table like she’d done this a thousand times before. Within minutes, we were sitting together, she was drinking coffee, black, no additions. I was drinking strawberry milk. Two entirely different drinks. One was bitter, and black, the other, pink and tasty.

She explained everything. How she’d been searching for a new apartment because her last one was too old, too shabby, too unsafe. The owner, she said, had told her this place was available. She’d already signed her own lease just last week.

I listened, half in disbelief, half in confusion. Then the anger came, not at her, but at the situation.

Moments later, the owner and the manager arrived, and what followed was chaos. Naomi stood beside me, her composure cracking just slightly as she began to raise her voice. She wasn’t the type to lose her temper easily, but that day, she did. She demanded answers. How could they have rented the same apartment to two different people, Without eithers permission?

I just stood there awkwardly, watching her argue, my hands folded tightly in front of me. It was strange somehow, she looked even more commanding when she was angry.

That was the day my life changed.
The two women stood side by side in the living room as the owner and manager unfolded the papers in front of them. The air between them felt tense, thick with disbelief and irritation.

The lease was set down on the table, the corners curling slightly from being handled too much. Naomi leaned in first, eyes scanning the text, her brow furrowing deeper and deeper with each line she read. Then she saw it tucked neatly into the middle of the page, written in smaller print. Roommate agreement.

Naomi blinked, re-read it twice, then let out a long breath that ended in a quiet, frustrated groan. She dragged her hand down her face, muttering under her breath, “Un-fucking-believable.” Then she straightened, her expression flat but her voice edged with disbelief. “My luck is… absolute shit.” She exhaled sharply and face-palmed.

Love took the paper next. She squinted down at the text, her pale fingers brushing across the ink as if to make sure it was real. She let out a small nervous laugh, glancing away. “Oh boy…”

Neither of them could get their money back. At least, not this early into the lease. The terms were clear and unmerciful. The owner shrugged when they asked, as if he’d seen this kind of mistake a thousand times before. Naomi didn’t have the funds to rent another room, and Love didn’t have the heart to push for a fight.

With a half-hearted apology and a promise to “check back later,” the owner and manager packed up their folders and left, closing the door behind them. The sound of the lock clicking echoed faintly through the room, marking the start of something neither woman had planned for.

Naomi stood still for a moment, then sighed and moved toward the velvet couch. She sank into it heavily, her shoulders slumping. The deep red cushions seemed to swallow her frustration whole. “ I am such a fucking idiot, ” she muttered, staring down at the carpet. “How did I miss that?”

Love hesitated, then stepped closer. Her soft footsteps made barely a sound against the polished floor. She reached out and gently patted Naomi’s back lightly, politely, careful not to overstep the woman's boundaries.

“ Naomi, was it? ” Love’s voice was almost careful, especially gentle. “I’m sorry this situation is so messy. I really thought I’d be getting my own apartment…” She gave a small tentative smile, her tone warming slightly. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t mind having a roommate. I’ve always wanted to share the experience of one! ”

Naomi tilted her head slightly, looking at the girl beside her. The stranger with white-silver hair that shimmered faintly in the morning light filtering through the curtains. She seemed nervous but sincere. The kindness in her voice didn’t sound forced. Naomi’s frustration softened, if only for a moment.

“Thanks,” Naomi said finally, though her voice was still blunt, measured, and defensive. “I’m still not trusting a stranger, though.”

Love nodded, accepting that answer without protest, instead giving her a small concerned smile.

Naomi stood, brushing invisible dust from her jacket before slipping it off and tossing it onto the arm of the couch. She stretched slightly, then reached into her pocket, pulling out a small red flip phone. “I’m gonna call a friend,” she said simply.

“Alright,” Love replied, smiling politely. “ There’s privacy in the bathroom… or the balcony, if you’d rather. ”

Naomi blinked. “Balcony?” she repeated, her voice rising just slightly. She’d always wanted an apartment with one. An open space where the city noise faded into something distant and manageable. Without another word, she walked away toward the kitchen, where the glass door to the balcony stood slightly ajar.

The cool air outside hit her immediately. The city stretched beneath her, alive and indifferent. She flipped open her phone and waited for the faint buzzing to connect.

A few seconds passed, then a familiar voice answered. “Naomi?”

“Raye,” she said, her tone softening, exasperated but relieved. “Remember the apartment you were showing me? I signed the lease. And stupidly, I find myself with a roommate.”

On the other end, Raye Penber leaned back in his chair, one hand wrapped around a cup of coffee that had long gone lukewarm. The morning light through the windows caught on the frames of his face. “Wow, really?” he said with a short laugh. “The newspapers said otherwise. Did you meet the roommate yet?”

Naomi let out a small, breathless laugh. The kind of laugh that comes from pure disbelief. “Yes,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “A young lady with white-ish silver hair. Kinda short… maybe five-two and a half?” She paused, as if replaying Love’s nervous smile in her mind. “Oddly understanding, though.”

Raye chuckled softly, the sound low and genuine. “Maybe this’ll be good for you. It might not look good right now, but maybe it’s a chance to have a friend. You’re so busy with work, Naomi. Would it be wrong of me to assume you don’t have any girl - friends?”

Naomi leaned her elbows on the balcony railing, the wind tugging at her straight black hair. “She doesn’t seem like a horrible person,” she admitted after a moment. “Matter of fact, she was kind to me and didn’t try to kick me out or hit me with a bat when I gave her a surprise visit.”

Raye laughed, the image too easy to imagine. “That’s a good start.”

Naomi smiled faintly, almost despite herself.

“I have to go,” Raye continued, glancing at the clock on his wall. “Maybe chat with her. See if it could work. You never know. you might end up liking the company.”

“You’re right,” Naomi said softly. “Thank you for your help, Raye. I… always find myself wanting to thank you every day.”

He hesitated just long enough for the warmth in his voice to show. “You’re strong, Naomi. You don’t need to thank me. Just have a decent day, I'll call you later. alright? Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” she murmured.

The call ended with a soft click. Naomi stood there for a moment, her hand still resting on the railing. The breeze lifted her hair, carrying with it the scent of morning rain and the faint city heat rising from the streets below. She exhaled, tucking the phone back into her pocket, and looked up at the skyline.

Inside, she could hear the faint rustle of movement. Love probably tidying the kitchen or setting a cup on the table. Naomi stayed on the balcony for another minute, letting the air cool her face, before finally turning back toward the apartment. The wind followed her through the door, brushing against her hair like a whisper.

Naomi remained outside for a few more minutes, resting her arms along the cool iron railing of the balcony. The air smelled faintly of rain and dust, and though the morning sun had begun to peek through the hazy clouds, the city still carried the sleepy hum of dawn. The balcony itself was large—surprisingly so for an apartment this size—and stretched wide enough to hold a small table, a couple of chairs, and even a few potted plants if one were inclined to decorate. She could almost imagine it already: a soft chair, a tiny garden of lavender and mint, maybe even a lamp for the evenings. A calm space to think.

For a moment, Naomi’s lips parted slightly, her thoughts wandering. Should i suggest putting some outdoor furniture out here? she wondered, staring at the empty expanse of tiled floor. It was the kind of idea that felt domestic, maybe even sentimental. She quickly dismissed it with a quiet laugh under her breath. Maybe I should ask my new roommate first…

Her hand slid along the glass door, and she stepped back into the apartment, closing it softly behind her. The sound of running water reached her ears. Love was in the kitchen, washing the dishes, her movements gentle but steady. Naomi lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching as the younger woman rinsed a plate, then carefully stacked it beside the sink.

“Hey…” Naomi spoke softly, her voice carrying just enough to break the quiet hum of the room. Love glanced over her shoulder, offering a polite, almost curious smile.

“So, if this is gonna work,” Naomi continued, brushing a loose strand of black hair from her face, “I’d like to talk to you about some rules, and what we expect of each other.”

Love finished rinsing the last dish and reached for a towel to dry her hands. Her pale hair fell across her face, catching the light in faint silvery strands. “ I’m okay with that,” she replied gently, her tone open, nonconfrontational. “ Do you want to talk about it back in the living room? ”

Naomi nodded once. “Yes,” she said simply, turning to wash her own hands at the sink before following Love out of the kitchen.

The two women entered the living room. The wide, bright space with high ceilings, a soft velvet couch, and light spilling in from the balcony doors. The room felt too clean, too new, as if it hadn’t yet been lived in long enough to develop warmth yet. Naomi took a seat in the single armchair, crossing her legs neatly, while Love sat across from her on the larger couch that faced the television. There was a long pause between them, filled only by the faint hum of the city outside.

Naomi lowered her gaze briefly, her expression unreadable. “I’ve never had a roommate before,” she admitted, her tone flat but honest. “ This experience is… unexpected. And new. ” She took in a quiet breath before continuing. “I expect you to respect my personal space. And not enter my room.”

Love tilted her head slightly, nodding. “The room you’re gonna inhabit is smaller,” she said softly, not defensive but factual. “I much rather stay in my own space.”

Naomi exhaled slowly, looking at her with a mix of curiosity and caution. “If we’re gonna talk about this,” Love continued, folding her hands neatly on her lap, “I do have some rules.”

Naomi raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“Number one,” Love began, her voice calm but firm, “if you’re gonna invite someone, please let me know. I don’t want unexpected company.” She paused for a moment to make sure Naomi was listening. “Number two, we both need to clean, so we’ll each take turns. And number three…” she hesitated, her expression momentarily softening, “don’t bother me when I’m asleep. Got it? Sleepy time is ME time. ”

Her delivery wasn’t harsh, it carried a quiet strength, the kind that came from someone who’d lived through enough chaos to value peace and solidarity. Naomi nodded.

“Okay,” she replied. “Here are mine. Number one,
no touching my computer, There are things in it that I'd rather not share with a stranger yet. Number two, don’t touch my leftovers, I work hard and expect my food to be ready for the microwave.” She leaned slightly forward, her lips curving into the faintest smirk. “Number three, if you have a man over, don’t get too loud, okay? ”

The words hung in the air for a moment before Love’s reaction cracked through the quiet like thunder.

“Hell no!” she exclaimed, her cheeks flushing as she grabbed the nearest pillow and tossed it toward Naomi in defense. “I don’t want a man over! Don’t joke like that!”

Naomi let out a small laugh, her voice breaking the tension for the first time between the two women. “Ha ha, you have a problem with men or something?”

The humor in her voice faded, though, when she noticed Love’s expression change. Her eyes dimmed, her posture shrinking slightly as her hands curled together in her lap. She looked down, her voice quieter now, almost fragile, like a child.

“I… just recently broke off my engagement with my fiancé,” Love said softly, the words spilling out like something that had been trapped behind her ribs for too long. “He wanted to postpone our marriage, And I didn't want that. ”

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the weight of unspoken memories. Naomi blinked, her throat tightening as she realized how serious the statement was. The air in the room felt different now. And less about boundaries and rules, and more about two strangers quietly trying to understand each other’s ghosts.

Naomi leaned forward slightly, instinctively reaching a hand out before stopping herself midway. She hesitated, then leaned back again, giving Love the space she seemed to need.

“I… I’m sorry,” Naomi said softly. “ I didn’t know.”

Love lifted her gaze, her smile small but steady. “It’s alright,” she said. “It’s the past.”

Naomi studied her for a moment longer. She could tell there was more to the story, perhaps more pain hidden beneath the calm voice and gentle eyes, but she didn’t push it. She simply nodded, her tone quiet. “Really… I’m sorry.”

Love waved her hand slightly, forcing a small laugh. “No, no! It’s fine, really. It doesn't matter anymore.”

For a while, neither of them spoke. The room fell into a calm sort of quiet. Like it had existed between people who hadn’t known each other long enough to be friends, but had already shared too much to be strangers.

Outside, the wind picked up again, brushing softly against the balcony doors. Somewhere in the distance, the city carried on with its endless rhythm. And inside that apartment under the dull glow of the morning light Love Wilde and Naomi Misora sat together, two women from two different worlds, both unaware that this uneasy beginning would soon unravel into something neither of them could have predicted.

Love stood up slowly from the couch, smoothing her hands over the fabric of her skirt as if to gather her thoughts before she spoke. The apartment was quiet again.  sunlight spilling faintly through the sheer curtains, dust motes drifting lazily in the beams of light. Naomi watched her from the armchair, waiting, sensing that the younger woman had something more to say.

“I don’t really know how to bond well with others,” Love admitted finally, her voice carrying a small tremor of vulnerability. “In fact… I’ve been isolated from the world since I was a little girl.”

Naomi tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable but attentive. Love’s tone wasn’t self-pitying, more like, it was matter-of-fact, like someone stating a scientific observation about herself.

Love continued, brushing a strand of silvery-white hair behind her ear. “I don’t know what you’re interested in yet,” she said softly, her words careful, deliberate. “ But there’s something we can do together… to get to know each other. ”

Naomi’s brows lifted with mild curiosity. “I see…” she said, leaning forward just a little, her elbows resting on her knees. “What do you have in mind?”

There was a moment of silence. Then, without another word, Love turned on her heel and hurried off toward her bedroom. Naomi blinked, hearing the faint sound of drawers opening and the rustling of clothes. For a few seconds, the quiet apartment filled with the subtle rhythm of movement. Hangers sliding, fabric brushing, a faint hum of energy that hadn’t been there before. Very childlike.

When Love emerged, Naomi’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. The younger woman had changed entirely, now dressed in a long, flowing brown skirt that brushed just above her boots. She wore soft black tights underneath, a crisp white long-sleeved shirt, and around her neck, a deep green scarf that gave her a touch of warmth and contrast. Her hair shimmered faintly under the light, brushed out and long. She looked alive, like someone ready to step into the world again after months of staying inside.

“It’s fall,” Love said simply, adjusting the scarf with a small smile. “And I need groceries. How about…” she leaned forward slightly, her tone lifting into something almost hopeful. “we go shopping, and get to know each other?”

Naomi blinked, caught off guard by the sudden burst of enthusiasm. Love walked over and bent slightly to face her, her soft eyes meeting Naomi’s.
“...Alright,” Naomi replied, her voice quiet but sure.

Their eyes locked for a brief second, time seemed to pause. Naomi couldn’t explain it, but something about Love’s face, the curve of her smile, the subtle sadness behind her bright expression, it all felt strangely familiar. Like an echo from somewhere she couldn’t quite remember.

“You…” Naomi said softly, almost to herself. “You feel very familiar.”

Love’s lips curved faintly, confusion and curiosity mingling in her expression. “Oh… That’s… good, right?” she asked with a small nervous laugh.

Naomi didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stood and reached for her jacket, pulling it over her shoulders with practiced ease. “Let’s go then,” she said simply, and Love followed close behind.

The two women walked down the hallway side by side, their footsteps echoing faintly against the polished floor. They entered the elevator together, and as the doors closed, the soft hum of machinery filled the silence. Love glanced at Naomi’s reflection in the mirrored panel. She was composed and serious, but not unkind. She noticed how Naomi’s hands remained tucked into her leather jacket pockets, relaxed but alert.

When the elevator opened into the main lobby, a faint scent of coffee drifted in from somewhere nearby. They walked through the lobby’s tall glass doors, descending into the underground parking area where the air was cooler, dimly lit, and smelled faintly of oil and asphalt.

“So,” Love asked as they walked, her voice echoing slightly in the enclosed space, “you got a car?”

Naomi glanced at her, her tone nonchalant. “No… motorcycle.”

Love blinked, surprised. “Oh.”

They rounded a corner, and there it was Naomi’s bike, a sleek black machine that gleamed under the overhead lights. It was clean, polished, clearly well-cared for. Love stopped for a moment, admiring it.

Naomi reached for the helmet slung over the handlebar and handed it to her. “I don’t want you to hit your head,” she said simply. “Put it on.”

Love stared at the helmet for a second. “…There’s only one?”

“Yeah.” Naomi slipped on her gloves, tightening the straps with practiced movements. “Put it on.”

There was no arguing with her tone. Love obediently slid the helmet on, fumbling slightly with the strap. Naomi swung her leg over the motorcycle and settled into place. Love followed, climbing on carefully behind her.

The engine roared to life, echoing through the parking structure like a low growl. Naomi revved it once before easing out of the space. As they exited the lot, the world above greeted them in a rush of motion. The early fall air cool against their faces, the city alive with movement and sound.

Love wrapped her arms around Naomi’s waist as the bike glided into the street. Los Angeles stretched before them in streaks of color large buildings, billboards, palm trees flickering by in blurs of green and gold. From this angle, from this speed, the city looked alive in a way it never did when she was walking.

“So, what store first?” Naomi called out, her voice raised slightly over the wind.

Love leaned closer, her scarf whipping lightly against her cheek. “Mm… firstly, Are you hungry? There’s this sixties-themed diner I like going to, if you wanna.”

Her voice was bright with excitement, the kind of energy that came from trying to share something personal. Naomi let out a short laugh, turning slightly to glance back. “You’re paying, though,” she teased.

Love smiled, her arms tightening instinctively around Naomi’s torso as she adjusted her balance. Naomi’s breath hitched slightly at the contact, and she giggled nervously. “Lower your arms, you’re pressing against my chest.”

Love’s entire face went red. “Ah! Sorry!!!” she stammered, quickly letting go and gripping the edge of the seat instead. Naomi laughed quietly, shaking her head.

The motorcycle sped onward through city streets lined with golden leaves, past cafés and shops, into the heart of the morning traffic. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Love Wilde felt something different than the emptiness that had followed her since Rue. She felt present. The air, the city, the warmth of Naomi’s back in front of her. It all felt startlingly real.

And Naomi, though she wouldn’t admit it yet, felt it too. That inexplicable thread pulling her closer to this mysterious, gentle stranger as though fate had quietly tied them together long before they ever met in person.

Love leaned forward slightly, tapping Naomi’s shoulder as the city blurred past them. “Right up ahead,” she said, her voice raised over the rush of the wind. “That’s the diner!”

Naomi followed Love’s direction, guiding the motorcycle through a left turn onto a quieter street. The world here felt a little different, slower, comfortable somehow. Neon lights flickered even in the daylight, and a soft buzz of music floated from somewhere nearby. After about twenty minutes of driving, they reached the place.

The sign above the building read Rosie’s 66, painted in faded pink and turquoise letters, glowing faintly against the cloudy morning. The walls were silver and red, styled like a vintage American diner from another decade. The big glass windows reflected the city around them, catching glints of sunlight and car lights.

Naomi parked the motorcycle carefully near the curb, killing the engine. The roar died down into a soft hum and the silence that followed felt almost too still. She swung her leg over and stepped off first, then turned to help Love, offering a gloved hand.

“Careful,” Naomi said, her tone soft but direct.

Love took her hand, steadying herself as she climbed off the bike. Her skirt brushed lightly against her boots as she adjusted the scarf around her neck. Together, they crossed the sidewalk and stepped inside the diner.

The moment the door opened, a small silver bell jingled above their heads. ding-a-ling! - and warmth washed over them.

The inside was like stepping through time. Red vinyl booths lined both sides of the diner, chrome accents gleaming under soft fluorescent lights. A jukebox in the corner hummed quietly with a tune from another era, The Supremes, maybe, or The Beach Boys. The air smelled of butter, sizzling bacon, and vanilla milkshakes.

Naomi looked around slowly, her dark eyes scanning the walls plastered with framed black-and-white photos of movie stars, classic cars, and faded menus. She took a breath, nodding faintly. “I like this spot,” she said firmly, walking toward an empty booth near the window. “Let’s sit here.”

Love’s smile widened. “What a coincidence,” she giggled as she slid into the seat across from Naomi. “I love this spot! Every time I come here, the workers know I sit here all the time!”

Naomi raised an eyebrow. “You… come here often?”

Love perked up immediately, the corners of her mouth curling into a bright, proud smile. “Every other week! I’m practically friends with the staff. In fact,” she added with a little sparkle in her tone, “one of the workers here is my friend. She's the one who helped me find… "our" apartment.”

Naomi leaned back into the booth, crossing one leg over the other. “That… is interesting,” she said evenly, but there was a quiet note of curiosity behind her voice. Just then, a familiar voice cut through the low hum of the diner. “Love! It’s so nice to see you, as always. The usual?”

It was Katty Briggs, a blonde waitress with her hair tied up in a perfect sixties-style ponytail, wearing pink lipstick and pastel roller skates that shimmered under the diner lights. She practically glided to their booth with a grin.

“Hey, Kitty-Kat!” Love greeted cheerfully, waving. “Actually, I think I’m gonna get something different today.”

Naomi watched the exchange curiously. The easy warmth between them, the way Love’s face seemed to light up around people she knew. Katty smiled and handed each of them a laminated menu.

“Alrighty, if you need me, just give me a ring,” Katty said sweetly before rolling away, her skates clicking softly against the checkered floor. Naomi leaned forward slightly, glancing toward Love. “She seems… nice,” she said, almost surprised at how genuine she sounded.

“Yeah! We’ve known each other for about eight months,” Love said, flipping through the menu with a grin. “Sweet lady.” The menus were filled with photos of towering burgers, golden fries, and tall milkshakes topped with whipped cream and cherries.

“Mm… everything here looks good,” Love murmured, scanning the glossy pages before looking up. “What are you gonna get, Naomi?” Naomi took her time, eyes moving carefully across the list. “Mm… a chicken sandwich with fries on the side,” she said finally, “and a large Coke.” She set the menu down neatly in front of her. “You?”

Love smiled, tapping her finger against the edge of the table. “Mm… I already have something in mind.”

Naomi didn’t press further. She just gave a quiet nod, folding her hands and glancing out the window. A few minutes later, Katty rolled back over with her notepad. “Ready to order?” she asked, clicking her pen.

“Yeah,” Naomi said, her tone brisk but polite. “A chicken sandwich with fries and a Coke.” Katty nodded and jotted it down, then turned her bright smile toward Love. “And you?”

Love took a deep breath, ready to deliver her masterpiece of an order. “Two double cheeseburgers with bacon on them,” she began cheerfully, “three large fries on the plate, a small chicken salad with Italian dressing, a vanilla milkshake with whipped cream, two large cookies, a medium blueberry pie, a cup of water, a cup of Sprite, and a to-go plate and bag, please!”

Katty blinked, then giggled, flipping to a new page on her notepad just to fit everything. “You got it, sweetheart!” she laughed, skating off toward the kitchen.

Naomi turned slowly to stare at Love. Her face a mixture of disbelief, concern, and the faintest hint of amusement.

“How… are you so thin?” she asked finally, her tone a mix of sincerity and awe. “I’m concerned.”

Love laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. “I love eating,” she said with an innocent shrug, eyes bright and teasing.

Naomi nodded slowly, a tiny smile creeping onto her face despite herself. “I… can see that,” she said dryly. Love giggled again, and for a moment, the air between them softened. Two strangers becoming something a little closer than that.

The jukebox hummed a new song, the scent of food drifting from the diners kitchen, and the morning outside brightened into gold. It wasn’t much, but for Love Wilde and for Naomi Misora it was the first meal that could be considered a beautiful beginning of friendship.. Girl friends as they say.

Fifteen minutes later, their meals arrived and it looked as though the table had barely survived the weight of Love’s order. Plates upon plates crowded the surface: two towering double cheeseburgers with bacon, three heaps of golden fries, a small chicken salad glistening with Italian dressing, two oversized cookies stacked like pancakes, and a slice of blueberry pie glowing under a scoop of melting vanilla ice cream. And of course the vanilla milkshake, perfect swirl of whipped cream crowned with a cherry, sweating in its silver cup beside a fizzy cup of Sprite.

Naomi’s single chicken sandwich and fries looked like a small, polite island in a sea of chaos.
Love pressed her palms together, eyes closed with playful reverence. “Thank you for this meal!” she announced brightly, voice full of delight.

Not a second later, she dove in.

Naomi had seen hunger before real hunger, the kind that carved desperation into a person’s face  but this was different. Love ate like it was an art form. She picked up the burger on her plate with both hands, biting into it with such focus it was almost impressive. Fries disappeared between her fingers before Naomi could blink. Somehow, Love made the act of eating look alive, almost beautiful in its lack of restraint.

Naomi, by contrast, ate with slow and with precision. one hand on her sandwich, the other resting lightly on the table, posture neat and measured. She chewed slowly, studying her new roommate from across the booth.

Love didn’t seem to notice the scrutiny. She was halfway through her first burger when she reached for her Sprite, but Naomi beat her to it. Naomi picked up the cup carefully and leaned forward. “Here,” she said, voice quiet, almost soft. “ You’ll choke on your food if you don’t drink something. ”

Love blinked up at her surprised, maybe, or flustered. Then smiled brightly. Naomi tilted the straw toward her lips. “Mm… thank you~,” Love said after taking a sip, her tone sweet and sing-song.
Naomi smiled faintly, lowering the cup. “You’re welcome.”

For a few moments, there was only the sound of silverware and the faint hum of a jukebox tune playing in the background. “Naomi,” Love said between bites, her tone cheerful, “how’s the food? Good?” Naomi swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, it’s delicious. I’ve never had a chicken sandwich this good before.” She reached for a fry, tasting the salt and crisp edges.

“Mm! That’s great to hear!” Love beamed. She set her burger down for a moment and leaned back, stretching her arms above her head. Then, she slid the milkshake toward Naomi. “I haven’t used this straw yet,” Love said, smiling in that disarmingly open way of hers. “Wanna share?” Naomi hesitated. Her instinct was to refuse, to maintain the quiet distance that kept things simple, professional. But the milkshake did look good… and Love’s eyes, soft and inviting, made it harder to say no.

After a pause, Naomi nodded. “…Alright.”

She leaned forward, taking a slow sip from the straw. The milkshake was cold and creamy, rich with vanilla. She swallowed, meeting Love’s gaze across the booth. “It’s… delicious.” - “I knew you’d like it!” Love cheered, clasping her hands together with delight.

Naomi couldn’t help it, she smiled, small and genuine. “Mm. Watching you stuff your face is amusing,” she said teasingly. “You’re like a hungry chipmunk, stuffing your cheeks like that.” Love laughed, brushing crumbs from her lips. “That’s me! A very cute chipmunk.” Naomi reached across the table almost without thinking, grabbing a napkin and gently wiping the corner of Love’s mouth. “Here…” she murmured.

Love froze for a second, caught off guard by the unexpected tenderness of the gesture. Naomi’s touch was light and careful, almost hesitant. When she realized what she was doing, Naomi’s expression shifted, the faintest trace of color rising to her cheeks. She quickly placed the napkin down, retreating her hand.

“Sorry,” she said briskly, focusing back on her sandwich. “You had something on your face.” Love’s smile returned, softer now, touched with warmth. “You’re sweet, Naomi.” Naomi didn’t answer. She just took another bite of her sandwich, eyes lowering to her plate. The words lingered between them like static in the air.

Love picked up her second burger and continued eating, humming quietly under her breath, a tune Naomi didn’t recognize. The sound was low, almost comforting, blending with the diner’s background music. As the meal went on, Naomi found herself watching again. Not in suspicion this time, but something else. Something unfamiliar. Love’s laughter and the way her eyes lit up when she talked about food, the casual, unguarded joy... it was magnetic in a way Naomi didn’t expect.

She’d met people like Love before, on the surface, bright, talkative, easy to read. But there was something else beneath it. A quiet flicker behind her smile. And for the first time in a long while, Naomi didn’t feel like she was working, or observing. She just felt present..Love finished her second burger and sighed with contentment, patting her stomach. “Ahh… perfect. This place never disappoints.”

Naomi smirked faintly. “No kidding. Though I’m still amazed you can walk after all that.” Love giggled. “You get used to it~.” Outside, the light from the window had softened, the afternoon beginning to fade into gold, it was early noon now. Katty rolled by again, checking in with a cheerful wave. Naomi waved back absently, her mind half elsewhere. “ I'm gonna save the rest of this for later. " Naomi signaled to katty, Ready for the check. - Love would place their food seperated, but in the same bag. As they were handed the bill. Naomi looked down at the table.

“ 32 dollars.. Thats.. Very.. Cheap? " Naomi stood up. " Right? Thats why I love this place" she stood up as well. " it's cheap, had tasty food, and I love the atmosphere! " she grabbed her stuff, set down 42$. And walked out with Naomi. “ I feel like I'm gonna burst. " Love pouted softly. “ Well, you ate more than a girl your size should. ” the two woman carefully walked across the road. Toward Naomi's bike. “ Mm.. Store next I assume? ” Naomi handed her the helmet. " Yes please! ”

 

The grocery store trip ended with far more than either of them had planned for. They didn't talk much when they were inside the store, instead, Naomi followed behind Love. Which she didn't really like, truthfully. It was a bit awkward with the silence and such that Love decided to cut the grocery store trip short. Getting a lot of stuff, but some things are more unnecessary than others.

Love’s arms were overflowing with bags of produce, snacks, a few novelty items she definitely didn’t need but couldn’t resist. Love bought two cute little ghost cups. Naomi followed beside her, balancing a few heavy paper bags of her own.

When they reached the elevator, Love tried to hold everything at once, wobbling slightly under the weight of the multiple bags in hand. “Ah, shit- I think I might’ve… overdid it,” she laughed sheepishly.

Naomi rolled her eyes, taking a few of the heavier bags from her. “ I know you did. Here,” she said firmly. “I’ll hold the heavy ones.”

Together, they made it up to their apartment. The familiar scent of new paint and faint candy like scent from the hallway candles greeting them as they entered. The sound of paper bags rustled against the kitchen counter as they both set everything down.

Naomi smiled faintly, letting out a soft sigh. “That was fun,” she said, taking off her leather jacket and hanging it over one of the dining chairs. She stretched her arms above her head, her posture finally relaxing. “I’m pretty tired, though… I think I’ll go relax on the couch.”

She turned toward the sink, washing her hands. “I don’t have a bed right now, so I might just have to sleep there for a while anyway.”

Love paused mid-motion, holding a carton of milk in her hands. She looked up slowly, almost nervously.

“You… don’t have to do that,” she said gently. Her tone was soft and careful as if she was about to step over an invisible line. “ If you’re okay with it… and you don't mind.. we could share my bed. At least until the movers come and unpack yours? ” she meant this in a friendly way, yet it almost came across as suggestive.. Not that she was trying to flirt with Naomi or anything!!?!

She turned away shyly, her silver hair falling across her shoulder. The suggestion hung in the air like a question too intimate for two people who had only known each other a day. Well, not even a day, like, a few hours actually.

Naomi’s pride tensed immediately. Like the Kind of instinct that told her to keep distance, to keep control and boundaries of their situation. “It’s alright,” she said after a moment. “I don’t want to take up your space. The couch will do.”

But as she looked down at her small pile of belongings, the luggage she’d dragged in that morning.. She felt her stomach twist. Just clothes. No pillow. No blanket. No toothbrush, no towel. Nothing that made this place feel like hers.

The realization burned. She crossed her arms and tried to hide it. Love watched her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, quietly, she disappeared into her room.

Naomi blinked, unsure what to expect until Love reemerged, her arms wrapped around a thick black blanket covered in small white skulls. She held it out like an offering.

“Here,” Love said, her voice small but steady. “It’s the least I can do.” Naomi hesitated, staring at the blanket, then at the young woman in front of her. She didn’t understand it, the softness, the way Love offered kindness so easily, without hesitation or suspicion. “You… didn’t have to do that,” Naomi said quietly.

Love shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. You can keep it. I have plenty more.” Naomi stared at her. At the gentle way she smiled, at the way her words carried no expectation. She thought, fleetingly, Was her soul always this beautiful? “…Thanks,” Naomi said finally, taking the blanket.

Despite it being early afternoon, the exhaustion from the all-nighter and the heavy lunch was catching up to her. Her body ached for rest. “I’m gonna take a nap,” she murmured, already walking toward the living room. Love nodded, watching as Naomi settled down on the couch, the skull-patterned blanket draped over her shoulders. Naomi closed her eyes, her breathing slowly steadying.

Love stood quietly in the doorway, her hands folded in front of her. There was a small, peaceful smile on her lips. “Naomi,” she whispered softly to herself, “I wonder how our friendship will turn out.” Her gaze drifted to the cookbook on the counter, the pages fanned open to a recipe she loved. “Will this be a forever thing?” she wondered aloud, but very quietly.

The apartment was silent except for the hum of the refrigerator and Naomi’s slow, even breathing. Love turned back to the counter, opening her cookbook. “Mmm…” she hummed under her breath, flipping through the pages. And for the first time since she’d moved in, the apartment felt like a home to both the women. “ while she naps.. I think I'll make something special! ” Love gently clapped her hands. “ something.. Not so heavy.. ” she giggled to herself, slipping off her scarf, moving her sleeves to her elbows, turning to the sink as she washed her hands.

[End of Chapter 1]