here was something strange about the way the morning light touched her.
It wasn't golden or romantic like in the movies. It was pale, soft, filtered through half-drawn curtains that danced lazily in the breeze. Still, it made her look… real. Like all the fragments Em had stored away in her memory were finally catching up to something solid.
Ava.
Bare-faced. Hair messy. Breathing slow and even, curled into the pillow like the night hadn't scared her off.
Em hadn't moved in a while.
She just watched.
Let herself exist in that moment without trying to predict the next ten steps ahead.
She wasn't used to that.
Stillness had always felt like something dangerous. Something she couldn't trust.
But this?
This didn't feel dangerous.
It felt like... a beginning.
---
Ava stirred, slowly waking, brows furrowing as her eyes fluttered open. She blinked at the light, then at the room, then at Em—still lying beside her, half-propped on an elbow, gaze soft and a little too open.
"…Hey," Ava rasped.
Em smiled. "Hey."
There was a beat of sleepy silence. A shift of the sheets. A brush of bare skin.
Then Ava groaned and buried her face into the pillow. "If you're staring at me with some poetic monologue in your head, I swear to God—"
"I wasn't," Em lied easily. "Just thinking how you snore like a chainsaw."
A muffled "rude" came from somewhere in the pillow.
Em grinned.
Ava peeked out. "I do not snore."
"You do."
"I don't."
"I have audio proof. Mentally recorded."
Ava threw a pillow at her. Missed by a mile.
And somehow… that was it.
The world hadn't ended.
The sun had come up.
And she was still here.
---
They ended up on the porch, wrapped in mismatched blankets, two mugs of over-steeped tea between them. It was too hot to really need the blankets, but neither of them seemed willing to let go of the cocoon they'd built.
The world outside was still wet from a night rain. The ground smelled like pine and fresh earth, and somewhere in the trees, a bird was making a sound way too enthusiastic for that hour.
Ava sipped her tea. Winced. "This tastes like regret."
Em blew on hers. "Well, I forgot how long you're supposed to steep chamomile."
"Definitely not 'boil it until your ancestors feel it.'"
They both laughed—quiet and low, but it settled deep in their chests like something important.
The laughter faded, but the ease stayed. That was new.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Ava leaned her head against Em's shoulder, blanket pulled up to her chin. Em let her, resting her cheek on top of Ava's hair, their mugs balanced in one hand like some quiet ritual.
Then Ava murmured, "Do you ever think about what would've happened if we hadn't messed it all up?"
The question didn't sting.
It just… hung there.
Em exhaled through her nose. "Sometimes. But I think if we hadn't fallen apart, we wouldn't have gotten here."
Ava didn't answer right away. Then: "You think this is better?"
"I think this is real."
A long silence. Not heavy. Just full.
Then Ava whispered, "I'm scared it won't last."
Em's hand found hers under the blanket. Threaded through, slow and deliberate.
"Me too," she said. "But we're here."
---
Later, they cleaned the kitchen in that lazy, meandering way people do when there's no rush and too many memories in the walls.
Ava opened a cabinet and laughed. "You still organize mugs like a psycho."
"I categorize them. There's a system."
"Color, then height, then emotional value?"
Em blinked. "How'd you know?"
"You haven't changed."
Em looked over her shoulder. "Neither have you. You still hum that one stupid indie song when you're washing dishes."
Ava froze. "You noticed that?"
"I notice everything."
There it was again—that thread.
The one that connected them even after all the silences. All the space. All the time.
---
By noon, the rain had started again. Light, persistent, tapping against the windows like it was reminding them the outside world still existed.
Ava stood by the window, arms folded, watching droplets race each other down the glass.
Em came up behind her, arms slipping around her waist like it was second nature.
"You hungry?" Em asked against her hair.
"Mm," Ava murmured. "Kinda."
"Wanna drive down to town? We could get that greasy breakfast-for-lunch place you used to love."
Ava turned to face her. "You mean the one with the sassy waitress and the pancakes the size of my head?"
"Exactly."
Ava smiled. "Yeah. Let's go."
---
They didn't rush.
There was no drama in the moment. No grand declarations.
Just two people brushing fingers in the car, arguing over music like they'd never missed a beat.
And maybe that was the point.
Maybe healing didn't look like some perfect cinematic scene.
Maybe it was just making it to the next morning and choosing—again and again—to stay.
It wasn't the pancakes or the coffee or even the stupid checkered floors that made Ava stop talking mid-sentence.
It was the girl at the counter.
Blonde, familiar, wearing that same too-tight red uniform shirt Ava used to mock, now paired with a lip gloss that caught the light every time she smiled at a customer.
Jess.
Of course it was Jess.
Ava's words trailed off like smoke. Her body froze—just slightly, but Em caught it.
"Hey." Em's voice was low. Steady. "You okay?"
Ava blinked. "Yeah. Yeah, I just—forgot they had new menus."
Lie.
Her fingers curled around the laminated page like she needed it to stay grounded.
Jess hadn't seen them yet. Or maybe she had and just didn't care. That felt worse, somehow. Like all those years ago had never happened. Like Ava had been the only one bleeding from it.
Em didn't push. Just reached under the table, fingers brushing Ava's knee.
Ava didn't pull away.
---
They ordered quickly.
Jess didn't come to their table. Another waitress—a new girl with tired eyes and chipped nail polish—took their order. Ava exhaled when she left. Em didn't mention it.
Instead, they talked about nothing. Shoes. The weather. The way Em's car still made that weird sound when turning left.
It felt like treading water.
Then Jess laughed across the diner—bright, sharp, careless—and Ava flinched.
Em saw it. Felt the ripple pass through her like a static charge.
"You wanna leave?"
Ava looked up. "No. No, it's fine. I just didn't expect…"
Her voice cracked. She stopped. Then tried again.
"I used to come here all the time, you know? With her. Back when I thought I knew what I was doing."
Em didn't say anything. Just nodded.
Ava twisted her napkin into pieces. "It wasn't even love. I think I just… needed someone. Anyone. To prove I wasn't broken."
Em's voice was quiet. "You weren't."
A bitter smile tugged at Ava's mouth. "Didn't feel like it back then."
The food arrived. They didn't touch it.
---
Outside, the rain had softened. Everything looked a little blurred, like the world was giving them space.
They sat in the car for a while, engine off, windows fogging.
"I didn't want to tell you," Ava said finally, "but she's the reason I left."
Em blinked. "Left me?"
"Left everything."
Her voice was thin, stretched like a wire about to snap.
"She said she'd fix me. Said she could make me less... messy. And I believed her. God, I was so tired of being the girl who always breaks everything she touches."
Em's chest ached. Not with anger. Not even surprise. Just… something dull and sad and human.
"I wanted to be easy," Ava whispered. "And you—you saw everything. All the ugly parts. And you stayed. That terrified me more than anything."
Em swallowed hard. "So you chose someone who'd leave first."
Ava nodded. "I thought if I beat you to it, it'd hurt less."
It didn't. The pain still clung to her voice like smoke.
Em didn't pretend it was okay. Didn't offer forgiveness in neat, polished lines.
Instead, she said, "I hated you for that. For a long time."
Ava flinched, but nodded. "I deserved it."
"But I also never stopped hoping you'd come back."
The silence between them stretched—raw, aching—but it didn't break them.
Ava turned to her, eyes glassy. "And now that I'm here?"
Em reached out. Wiped a thumb across Ava's cheek where a tear had slipped out.
"You stay."
---
They drove home with the windows down, even though the rain had picked up again.
Ava stuck her hand out, fingers slicing through the wet air. She smiled at nothing, at everything, like maybe she was just now remembering how to breathe.
Em glanced over.
There she was.
The girl who used to hum along to broken radios, who danced barefoot on kitchen tiles, who kissed like the world was ending but loved like it might still be saved.
And yeah—maybe they were still a mess.
But they were here.
And for now, that was enough.