Work Text:
“Ha, I thought you might be up here.”
Maritime jumps, startled out of her reverie by the voice behind her, and turns to see Maxine, half buried under the enormous patchwork quilt that she’s carrying.
Okay, Maritime has accepted Maxine’s uncanny ability to show up at the exact right moment to stave off a Depression Spiral™. In the halls after class, sliding into an open seat at dinner - she’s even been outside Maritime’s bedroom door at two in the morning with a mug of tea and open arms.
The rooftop of House BlueWorld, though, is a new one.
“Hey, Max,” Maritime sighs with a little smile. “You good over there?”
“Yeah, yep, lemme just -” The quilt shuffles a few steps forward and drops next to Maritime with a whumph , revealing a pink-cheeked, slightly out of breath Maxine. “There we go.” She huffs, warm breath curling away into the night sky.
“You’re ridiculous,” Maritime says, but scoots over and pulls the quilt over her legs anyway. “Thanks.” Warmth starts to creep back into her toes almost immediately - it must be one of those heated ones - and she realizes belatedly that they were almost numb. Whoops. She tugs the quilt higher, and looks up, motioning for Maxine to sit. “Hey, aren’t you back in your regular room now? The one that’s half a block away instead of like, two floors down?”
“Yeah, so?” Maxine shuffles in next to her, hiking up her skirts and swinging her legs carelessly over the edge of the roof. “I’m not about to miss a rooftop chill sesh. And just cause the storm’s over doesn’t mean it’s not still super cold , c’mon.”
She’s not wrong. The tiny, stinging hailstones had fallen for almost a week, forcing anyone without several replacement umbrellas to stock up on ramen and hole up in the dorms until it all passed. Maritime had been in such a hurry tonight to see literally anything other than the four walls of her bedroom that, yes, she may have forgotten to bring a coat. Or socks.
Trust Maxine to overcompensate with the most heaping collection of fabric in the known universe. Maritime shakes her head. “So you lugged over the biggest, heaviest thing you could find. Of course.”
“Of course!” When Maxine smiles, it’s with her whole face - dimples in her cheeks and crinkles at the corners of her eyes. It’s… really cute.
Maritime looks down very quickly at the quilt, and says the first thing that comes to mind. “So! Um. Did you… make this?”
“Hm? Oh,” Maxine follows her gaze to the patchwork squares. “Yeah, I did.”
God she’s so cool .
“Or, actually I helped make it? This is from when my Nānī was teaching me to sew, I think. She did most of this part.” Maxine smooths over a portion of the border, in what probably used to be a vibrant yellow.
Maritime reaches out to brush over the same spot. It’s soft, like synth-silk but warmer. “I like it. I guess she did a good job of teaching you.”
A grin spreads across Maxine’s face. “Yeah, I guess so.”
They sit, chatting comfortably for a minute or two until the conversation wanes. But the quiet is comfortable, too - Maxine hums softly, and Maritime fiddles with the edges of the quilt again. She lifts and pokes at it, studying its weight and its texture. There’s a thread loose at one corner, and she twists it idly between her fingers. Maybe she’ll try to recreate it in the mesh later, she has been wanting to practice with different fabrics -
“Hey… did you want to talk?”
Somehow the question catches Maritime off guard. Maxine has never failed to ask, on nights like these, and always listened to the answer, whether it’s yes or no or sort-of-maybe . Tonight, her eyes are sleepy and soft as she holds Maritime’s gaze.
It takes a moment to find her answer, but. “...No,” Maritime says slowly. “No, this is good, right now. Maybe later.”
“Mm. Okay.” Maxine curls further into the quilt with a yawn.
Yeah , Maritime thinks. This is good . For now, she would rather keep sitting here, sharing Maxine’s quilt, and looking out over the roofs, the courtyards, and, distantly, the ocean.