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Sitting deep in the corner of the couch in the apartment you shared with Grace, one arm stretched lazily along the backrest while the other stayed on your lap beneath the weight of a hardbound book.
Living room was washed in the gold of early evening, curtains half-open as the city beyond the windows hummed with a distant, lived-in murmur that never quite became noise.
On the coffee table were the ordinary signs of your life with Grace now between a ceramic mug with some tea gone cold, two coasters that never seemed to stay where they belonged and a little white hair clip Emily had abandoned there earlier.
Speaking of which, she sat right beside you, tucked into the sofa cushion with the kind of trust children gave so rarely that it could still catch you in the chest if you weren’t ready for it.
Her knees were drawn up a little, book resting carefully in her lap as one hand held it open while the other hovered near the line she was tracing with her eyes, still not used to not hunting braille in front of her. The hoodie she wore swallowed her small frame, sleeves covering half her hands while the hood was lying flat between her shoulders.
Grace had bought it for her on a rainy afternoon three weeks ago right after she came back with Emily.
You turned your head slightly toward her, keeping your voice low and patient just like Grace did.
“Go on,” you murmured. “You’ve got it.”
Ever since the injection of Elpis had cleared the cataracts from Emily’s eyes and returned sight to a life that had known the world almost entirely through texture, temperature, sounds and braille, you and Grace had been teaching her, little by little, how to read print.
She had always loved doing it, even despite whatever ‘medice’ those awful doctors gave her at Rhodes Hill Care Center that ruined her sight.
Her lashes dipped as she concentrated, lips parting just a little. You could almost see the work her mind was doing of translating sight into certainty.
“B-but…” she began softly before stopping to check herself, eyes narrowing with effort.
“The…” She knew that one at once and said it with more confidence. “The for-est…” A tiny pause again to sound out what her eyes gave her.
“Greet…greeted…”
She glanced up at you, as if to make sure the world was correct, further gaining confidence as you nodded in approval.
“The forest greeted them…” She drew a careful breath, shoulders lifting slightly under the oversized white hoodie. “With a dark and cold si-lence…”
She lingered on the last word, sounding it in pieces before smoothing it into something whole, voice sweet and so meticulous it made something unbearably tender twist inside your chest.
Then came the comma, she knew punctuation now and respected it.
“The bushes empty.” Face brightened at once because she knew she had done it right.
“But the forest greeted them with a dark, cold silence, the bushes empty,” she repeated the whole line all at once, fully storing the words and their appearance on paper.
To you it felt like witnessing a miracle so small and domestic that it became all the more sacred for happening on a couch with a blanket half-fallen to the floor and crumbs from Emily’s earlier biscuits still on the cushion.
“That was perfect,” you told her softly, leaning closer and smiling without being able to help it. “You read every word.”
Emily’s chin tucked into the collar of her hoodie, a shy little movement that never failed to undo your eyes.
“Your turn now.” She folded the ends of her sleeves into her fists while declaring the next words and a breath passed through your nose as though you had just been sentenced.
“My turn,” you echoed.
Emily nodded, entirely unmerciful while, with exaggerated resignation, you shifted the book currently resting on your lap and opened to the braille page you had promised to attempt.
A deal was a deal, after all.
It had started almost as a joke, Emily would learn how to read with her new sight and, in return, she would teach you how to read braille.
Grace, upon hearing this arrangement for the first time, had leaned against the kitchen counter and covered part of her face with one hand in a failed effort to hide the smile that had broken over it. Later she had muttered that the two of you were “unbelievably cute,” then immediately looked as if she regretted saying it out loud considering you’ve never let her live it down.
Now, looking down at the embossed dots waiting beneath your hand, you made a dramatic groan of despair that Emily burst into laughter before you even touched the page.
Loud and unguarded laughter too, none of the tentative little sounds she had first made in the apartment during those early days.
“It’s not hard at all,” she informed you proudly.
“That is an outrageous lie and you know it.”
She grinned, cheeks lifting while observing you closing your eyes and letting the fingers of one hand settle over the braille.
The sensation was stranger than people assumed and finer.
Not like touching bumps on paper, more delicate than that as your fingertip traveled across tiny raised constellations arranged in cells, each pattern compact and exact.
It required a different kind of patience.
Sight could sweep, touch had to listen.
Small and firm dots pressed lightly against your finger pad and, as your hand adjusted, they began to feel less like texture and more like signal.
Moving too slowly at first to pause after nearly every cluster as your brain tried and failed to convert sensation into language.
Emily’s hair brushes your arm as she leaned closer, ending catching for a second against the fabric of your sleeve. She was so near now that the warmth of her small shoulder touched yours as one of her hands came to rest beside yours on the page, not over but following the same path.
It made your heart ache in the gentlest possible way.
“This is the story of… devo…ted…” you said, eyes still closed as though that somehow improved your chances.
Emily made an approving little hum.
“Man…” you continued, more confident now. “Who…”
Slowing down at the next word, fingertip tracing the cell again while your closed eyes further squeezed.
“S-sacri…” A frown pulled at your mouth. “Sacrificed?”
“That’s right,” Emily whispered pleased and smiling with your eyes still shut and kept going.
“Everything for his…” You got through “family” only because you had guessed the shape of the sentence before fully reading it and Emily caught you at once.
“You cheated,” she said.
“I used context,” you replied.
“That’s cheating.” Emily dissolved into giggles again, leaning even more against your arm while her hand stayed close to yours, and every now and then, when you drifted to the wrong cell or skipped too far, she corrected you with the utmost seriousness, tapping lightly where your finger should return.
More determined than ever you went back to the line.
“This is the story of devoted man who sacrificed everything for his family,” you read again, this time truly feeling each word as it came beneath your hand.
“Of a devoted man,” Emily amended gently. “You forgot ‘a.’”
“You are a merciless teacher.”
Her shoulder shook against yours before you reached the next line and immediately stumbled.
“Louie?” you said baffled and Emily went very still for one suspended second before laughing so hard she nearly folded in on herself.
“It says Louisiana.”
“I didn’t laugh when you got words wrong.” You narrowed your eyes at her in counterfeit severity that only made her chuckle more.
She tipped her head against your upper arm for a brief second still laughing and the trust in that tiny thoughtless gesture moved through you with such force that you had to look back down at the page to hide what your face did with it.
“No,” she said between giggles, “but you made a face.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“What kind of face?”
She considered, then attempted to imitate your expression by squinting and pulling her mouth into a dramatic line of scholarly disapproval so absurdly accurate that you barked out a laugh.
“I live in my own home with bullies.”
Emily, in perhaps the gravest tone she possessed, said, “Grace says you’re dramatic.”
“She said that?”
Emily nodded with complete certainty.
From the entryway came the quiet sound of the door unlocking, neither of you heard the first turn of the key over your own amusement, but the second sound of wood shifting and soft thud of the door closing again reached you both.
Grace stepped inside, the tiredness in her face was the first thing there was to see, jacket still on.
Then she saw Emily tucked against your side with the book in both your laps along with your hand still hovering over the braille.
There was an open softness on your face that was reserved for exactly two people in the world now and one of them had been impossible to imagine just months ago.
It was almost visible the way the exhaustion washed out of her, eyes warming with a look drowning in disbelief.
For the briefest instant, behind that look, another older one re-emerged of that first night back here after forty-eight hours of near-total silence.
What had supposedly been an investigation into the newly discovered body at the Wrenwood Hotel and had become a fight of survival against a mad scientist and endless amount of infected people turned into mindless flesh eating creatures.
Emily was gripping her jacket with a tiny hand so tightly the fabric had wrinkled under the strain while they stood in the apartment doorway.
Hesitating at knocking on the door of her own home because taking care of a child was enormous.
Emily wasn’t just a little girl either, but one who had spent her life in laboratories and under observation in the care of people who used the word care like a tool.
Grace had thought only for a sick, guilty instant that maybe this would be too much to lay at your feet without warning.
Then the door had opened and you had seen her, strode quickly and pulled her into your arms so tightly she had felt the fight leave her body by degrees it had nearly made her cry.
The tears had come hot at the corners of her eyes before she could stop them.
For the first time in endless hours she had not needed to remain active or alert.
Emily’s grip on Grace’s jeans had tightened when the embrace began.
Then, slowly, that tiny grip had eased.
The first sign that Emily’s panic had shifted because she had seen something neither laboratory walls nor nor sterile observation rooms had ever shown her with any consistency.
Love that did not demand.
When Grace had finally stepped back and drawn in a breath she almost couldn’t trust, Emily had stayed tucked against her leg and looked up at you with those uncertain, newly healing eyes.
“She…” Grace had started, then stopped because there was too much to explain and not enough breath left in her body to elaborate it. So she had chosen the only thing that mattered. “I was hoping she could stay with us.”
Not bad you asked how long or looked at the child as a complication to be measured in days or paperwork.
Instead, she still remembered the way you had crouched immediately until you were at Emily’s eye level, careful not to move too quickly and asked in the gentlest voice Grace had ever heard.
“Are you hungry?”
Emily had nodded, still pressed to close to your girlfriend’s side and that was the moment it became inevitable.
“Grace,” Emily announced, making her daydream moment dissolve as her mind now focused on the white haired girl. “He read ‘Louisiana’ like ‘Louie.’”
Grace blinked as she registered the words before a smile broke across her face sudden and bright.
By the time she reached the couch, her hand came up to her face as she leaned slightly toward you and Emily, fingers slipping along the frame of her glasses before easing them off now that she no longer was in need of having her face into a computer’s screen.
“How are you two doing?” she asked, voice tired but warm, barely above a murmur.
Emily’ lips pressed together for a moment as she tried not to smile too soon, shoulders lifting just slightly in anticipation before answering with the most exaggerated innocence she could manage.
“W-we’re d-doing g-good.”
You had taught her that, it was impossible not to knowledge the way it was possible to see Grace’s brain glitching as she had not yet decided whether what she had just heard was real.
Emily held her composure for all of half a second longer before her mouth twitched.
“Well,” you added, clearing your throat with theatrical seriousness, “we’re h-having a l-lot of f-fun reading t-things together.”
Grace’s jaw dropped and her gaze snapped from Emily to you and back again.
Pure betrayal in her expression.
“I do not s-sound like that.” She stated, pointing a finger between the two figures in front of her.
The words came out with just enough of her natural hesitation to make the entire situation collapse in on itself as Emily exploded into laughter and you lost it a second later.
Grace froze for a fraction of a second longer before she heard herself and her shoulders dropped, mouth pressing into a thin line of defeat.
Despite herself, she laughed too.
Soft at first, a breath through her nose, then a quiet, helpless sound she tried and failed to suppress as she shook her head.
“That is—” she muttered, already turning away slightly, as if retreat was the only option left to her dignity. “That’s not fair.”
“I am going to change,” she declared, tone attempting firmness and landing somewhere around resigned surrender.
She started toward the bedroom and just as she reached the hallway…
“Alr-right,” you called after her, stuttering again on purpose, Emily mimicking your gesture, voice smaller but just as mischievous.
You couldn’t see her face but you felt the groan she emitted in defeat, muffled just enough to suggest she had pressed her lips together to keep it in.
Once she was no longer visible you and Emily high-fived, perfectly synchronized.
It took longer than it should have for Grace to come back but when she did return, the difference was immediate.
Gone was the blue suit and heels, replaced by soft, loose fabric that moved with her.
A long-sleeved shirt, sweatpants that sat low on her hips while her hair came slightly undone now, a few strands falling naturally around her face from the act of pulling clothes on and off.
God, you had to physically remind yourself to breathe with how even more beautiful she looked.
She plopped down softly on the couch right beside Emily, cushion dipping under her weight as she settled in close.
Almost unconsciously, she mirrored your posture with one arm slid along the back of the couch, resting behind Emily’s shoulders.
Emily turned fully and wrapped herself around Grace in a small but tight hug, pressing her face into her side.
“How was work?” You asked her softly, gone the teasing for her usual stuttering despite how hard it was not to do such a thing.
“Good.” She breathed just as proud enthusiasm took over her tired expression. “I finally finished that report my boss had been asking for.”
“Aww great! You saved a copy for me to read, right?”
“Yeah, of course.” She smiled tiredly but her blue eyes shined with gratitude. How was the reading session?” she then asked quietly, her voice softer now and closer to what it had been before the teasing began.
Emily didn’t lift her head when she answered. “He said I was doing really good.”
Grace’s mouth curved into a smile you felt more than saw. “That’s great to know,” she murmured, her fingers moving slowly through Emily’s white hair before she looked up and found you staring.
Gone completely somewhere between the way her arm held Emily and the softness in every little feature on her face.
“…Hey,” she said softly, your name following it like a quiet tether pulling you back.
Blinking once, reality returned in a rush.
“Yeah,” you said, straightening slightly, trying, but failing, to smooth it over with something resembling composure. “Yeah, I—uh—been killing it.”
Grace’s eyebrow lifted and Emily’s shoulders started shaking again.
To probe your point, you grabbed the book and opened it.
Doing the opposite with your eyes as they sealed shut and you lost sight of your beautiful girlfriend while your fingers found the braille again.
“…And then,” you read, with entirely fabricated conviction, “the protagonist—uh—finds himself in front of a…very beautiful woman—”
Grace’s gaze dropped to the page, the slowly lifted back to you.
“—who is sitting right in front of him,” you continued smoothly, “and—uh—there’s also this extremely adorable little girl—”
Emily snorted.
“—who is, clearly, the most important thing in the world… well, one of the most important things because the beautiful woman is also very important… arguably equally important—”
Grace’s lips pressed together as her arm around Emily tightened just slightly.
“…and together,” you finished, “they represent everything that matters to him.”
A very specific kind of silence broke only by Emily already giggling into Grace’s side while said blonde was looking at you, softly and knowingly with her head tilted just a fraction.
You opened one eye in time to see her smile deepening before she glanced down at Emily, brushing her fingers lightly through her hair again.
“Alright,” she said gently. “Time for bed.”
Emily made a small sound of protest, reluctant whine that barely made it past her lips to get over classed by a yawn deep enough that it stole the argument right out of her.
“Okay…” defeated, she raised white flag but not before crawling across the small space, arms wrapping around you with surprising strength for someone so small, holding tight.
Both of your arms came around her at once, careful but firm. “Goodnight,” you whispered against her hair and she squeezed once more before letting go.
Grace stood, already reaching for her as Emily went willingly this time, arms lifting and Grace gathered her up with ease.
“I’ll take her to bed,” she said quietly as you watched them go.
From down the hall came the low, muffled sounds of Grace’s voice that you couldn’t make out the words but only the cadence.
A gentle rhythm of reassurance along the faint rustle of fabric before full stillness.
Footsteps came, slow and careful until Grace appeared in the doorway, one hand resting briefly against the frame as she paused there for a moment.
“She’s asleep,” she said quietly.
“That fast?” Voice matching hers without thinking.
A small breath of a smile touched her lips as she stepped back into the room.
“She was trying to stay awake,” Grace murmured. “Didn’t work.”
She reached the couch and sank down beside your body, shoulder brushing yours without apology as one arm came up almost automatically, resting along the back of the couch behind, other free hand hovering for a moment over the book, then lowered, fingers lightly grazing the page near yours.
“Wasn’t in the second book where he has a little girl?” she asked, considering that she knew the book you had bought in the braille version was one you already had read before.
“I was doing my best improvisation.” You huffed softly.
“That’s not how reading works.”
“It is if you’re good enough.”
She turned her head slightly toward you, one eyebrow lifting.
“You said ‘Louie.’”
“That’s going to follow me forever, isn’t it?” Said while taking a breath between clenched teeth in a grimace.
“Yes.” There was no hesitation or apology in her answer that made you smile.
Her shoulder leaned into yours just slightly more. “…You’re good with her,” Grace said after a while, her voice softer than before and quieter in a way that carried something deeper underneath it.
Not answering immediately but instead glancing down at the book and uneven line where print met braille.
“I’m learning,” you said.
Grace shook her head faintly.
“That’s not what I meant.”
You turned to look at her but really looked this time, not caught off guard by how beautiful she was (though that didn’t make it any less true) to find her blue gaze was already on you.
“She trusts you,” Grace continued quietly. “That doesn’t… just happen.” Before she tilted her head slightly, resting it against your shoulder and your arm shifted naturally behind her back.
She than lifted her head slowly, eyes moving over your face in a careful attentive way.
There was no hesitation in her expression, something she had acquired after the night of horror that will forever sit deep in her memories.
Your hand left the page first as those fingers their way on her right cheek and she leaned in.
Her other hand came up, hesitant only for a second before resting lightly against your arm just as you pulled her in and your lips met, soft and unrushed.
Her lips were warm and soft as she leaned into you more fully, the hand on your arm tightening just a little as she let herself go with it.
Your hold around her steadied and got more secure as you felt the way her shoulders completely relaxed beneath your arm.
When she pulled back, it wasn’t far bur just enough to look at you again, her forehead rested lightly against yours, eyes softer now than you had seen them all day.
There was a faint flush at her cheeks.
“…Hi,” she murmured and it caused a smile from you as your hand held her close without thinking.
“Hi.”
Her lips curved as she stayed exactly like that before she exhaled softly, gaze flickering briefly toward the hallway in the direction of Emily’s room before returning to you.
“Thank you,” she said.
It wasn’t just for the kiss, you knew that as you pulled her just a little closer again, arm tightening around her frame as.
Her head lowered again to rest on your shoulder without hesitation, hand sliding from yours to settle lightly against your chest.
Now with Grace in your arms, there was nothing left to ask for.