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Knock, knock.
CJ screws her eyes shut and pulls her blanket over her ears, hoping that whoever’s at her door will just leave. She’s way too exhausted for this—first half of the day spent fighting, last half spent doing construction work. She deserves to rest.
Knock, knock.
CJ rubs her eyes, kicks the covers off, and climbs out of bed. “Coming!” she calls. Whoever it is, they better have a good excuse for waking her up. If one of the town elders came to complain about something, she might shut the door on them.
“What is it—oh, Isha!”
Isha is waiting in the hallway, hand curled by her side. “Sorry, did I wake you?” she asks, tilting her head slightly, and CJ’s eyes are drawn to how her pretty blue hair falls in neat waves in front of her shoulders, released from its normal braids. She isn’t wearing her normal clothes, either, but a more casual blouse that still keeps to her signature light blue color scheme. She looks nice in it. Of course she does. CJ self-consciously remembers that she’s still wearing pajamas, and shakes her head.
"Nah, you caught me just before I went to bed,” she says, and steps back to let Isha in.
“Thank you,” Isha says graciously, bending down to take off her shoes. The inn floor is probably dirty enough that a couple of shoeprints wouldn’t make a difference, but CJ appreciates the consideration.
“Here, sit down,” she says, and then remembers she doesn’t have any chairs. She climbs onto the bed and sits up, patting the space in front of her, and, after a brief moment of hesitation, Isha joins her.
Isha holds her hand out, fingers curled up into a loose fist. “I made this for you,” she says quietly, and opens her hand.
In the palm of her hand rests a small coin-sized blossom, with intricate red petals and the appearance of cloudy glass. “As thanks,” Isha says, pressing the flower to CJ’s hand.
It’s cold. Ice, CJ realizes. She holds it up to the ceiling, tilting it to catch the light. “It’s so pretty,” she says, eyes wide.
Isha watches expectantly. “It’s strawberry-flavored,” she offers.
CJ wrenches her attention away from the blossom to look back at Isha. “Huh? It’s for eating?”
Isha nods.
“But it’s so pretty,” CJ says, holding the flower up in front of Isha’s face to emphasize her point. “It’d be sad to just eat it.”
Isha leans back. “It’ll melt if you just keep holding it,” she points out.
“Okay, fine,” CJ says, and pops the ice flower into her mouth. It’s the perfect size, like candy.
It’s cold. She assumes she isn’t not supposed to bite it—she hopes not—so she just holds it still in her mouth, trying to keep it from touching her teeth. Isha said it was strawberry-flavored, but she can barely taste it. If Isha didn’t tell her beforehand, she probably wouldn’t be able to tell what flavor it was.
Then—oh. As she runs her tongue over it again, the thin layer of ice encasing it melts away, exposing something softer, like snow. It melts quickly in CJ’s mouth, sweet and distinctively like strawberries. The last of it dissolves, and CJ licks her lips.
“Isha, you’re a genius!” she says, and lunges forward to hug her.
Isha stiffens a little, caught off guard, and CJ reminds herself that she probably should start asking first—different place, different customs—but before she can pull away, Isha tentatively wraps her arms back around CJ, pulling her closer. Her hair tickles CJ’s face.
“Seriously,” CJ says, resting her head on Isha’s shoulder, “you could probably run a business selling these.”
Isha laughs softly into CJ’s ear. “I think they’re a little too short-lived to make a business out of. But I’m glad you liked it,” she says, voice tapering off into a whisper. “I meant it as a thank you.”
"Oh, uh, huh? You're welcome, I guess,” CJ mumbles into Isha’s shoulder. She knows that by now, the time for her to let go has probably come and passed, but Isha is soft and warm and CJ is so, so tired that she can’t help but linger—and besides, if Isha wanted to let go, she could have done so herself, couldn’t she? It’s a two-way street. “But, um, what exactly am I being thanked for?"
Isha is silent for a moment, and CJ starts to wonder if Isha even heard her, when she says, quietly, "You've been working so hard for my town."
"Hey, I told you, I like this town. It's no big deal."
"That’s not it, though," Isha says, barely a whisper. She grips the fabric of CJ’s back. "I'm not sure if I would have been able to turn the elders down if you and the others didn't step in, so… thank you, CJ."
"No problem, Isha," CJ says. Admittedly, it had been surprising to see Isha so hesitant, back then, since she’s usually so strong-willed. CJ remembers dismissing Isha as stubborn, brushing her off as a snob, when they first met—couldn’t she bother to negotiate a little?— but the more they’ve spent time together, the more CJ has grown to appreciate her stubbornness.
CJ carefully unwraps her hands from Isha. Isha lets go, too, resting her hands on her lap, and CJ sits back down on the bed, close enough that their knees are almost touching. She meets Isha’s eyes. “You’re usually so confident, though. Was there anything bothering you about the mines?”
Isha returns CJ’s gaze, shoulders set. "It's undeniable that the mines have improved the town finances. Only a couple of months since the mines opened and we’ve made more revenue than we normally make in a year."
Isha goes quiet, shifting slightly. CJ tries to think of something to say.
"But it changed the town,” Isha continues, gaze growing distant. “It used to be quiet. Peaceful. But now it’s always noisy and busy. We may have better finances, but maybe the elders would have preferred it if things stayed the same."
CJ fumbles for the right words. “It’s not your fault,” she says. “You saw what had to be done, and you did it. The town needed money, and you found a way. Besides, if you didn’t take over the mines, maybe someone else would have, and that would be double worse because it’d be crowded and you wouldn’t even get money out of it, so I think it’s a good thing that you did! And I promise I’m not just saying this because I’m one of the people who—"
"I don't regret it," Isha says.
CJ looks back up. Isha is smiling at her, face gentle, eyes creased as if she were reminiscing on a shared secret, and inexplicably, CJ feels herself grow flustered, something warm rising in her chest.
"Good," CJ says weakly. "You shouldn’t."
Even in the dim inn room, Isha is stunningly pretty, hair shining like icy sapphires where it catches the light. Her eyes are ringed with what look like shadows, until CJ squints and realizes that they’re eyebags, not just an effect of the bad lighting.
“You have eyebags,” she blurts.
Isha freezes. Evenly, she says, “I usually cover them up.”
“Trouble sleeping?”
Isha nods mutely, looking a little embarrassed. “Ever since my father disappeared, I…” She exhales, lowering her gaze to her hands. “It’s just been a little hard to fall asleep. The house is so quiet without my father there.”
And she looks so—not fragile, that isn’t the right word, but vulnerable, that CJ can’t help but want to comfort her. She pulls Isha into her arms again and leans upward to press a gentle kiss to her forehead, like her father used to do for her when she was younger.
Isha breathes in shortly, shoulders going lax under CJ’s touch. When CJ pulls away, Isha blinks up at her. “What was that for?” she asks, and CJ wonders if she’s imagining the faint pink tint to her cheeks.
“It’s a good luck charm,” CJ says. “For good dreams. It’s kinda a family tradition.”
“Your family sounds lovely,” Isha says, smiling softly.
CJ smiles back. “Maybe I can introduce you sometime.”
“Maybe,” Isha agrees. Her hand finds CJ’s, and she squeezes gently. “I’d love to introduce you to my father.”
“We’ll find him together,” CJ promises, rubbing circles with her thumb on the back of Isha’s hand. Isha nods, and CJ lifts her gaze back up to meet her eyes. “You know, you don’t have to leave.”
“Leave?”
“You could stay here and sleep with me,” CJ says. Hastily, she adds, “I mean, like, sharing the same bed, not, uh—"
“Are you sure?” Isha asks.
“‘Course,” CJ says. “I offered, didn’t I?”
Isha’s eyebrows furrow as her lips press together. “You don’t have to help me,” she says.
“So? I want to,” CJ says automatically, and then wonders if that was Isha’s way of trying to refuse politely. She’s usually more straightforward than this.
“You want to help everyone,” Isha says, and somehow, it sounds like a reproach. She must have taken Garoo’s words to heart.
CJ crosses her arms. She’d think that people would want her to help out more, not less. “Yeah? I like helping people. They're happy, I'm happy, it's a win-win. There's no problem."
"I know," Isha says, gaze softening. "And I like that about you." CJ flushes, averting her eyes. She doesn’t know how Isha can go from reproaching to embarrassingly, unabashedly straightforward, all in a few moments. "But Garoo's right. You need to know your limits. Don’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with."
“I can take care of myself,” CJ insists. “Besides, it’s different with you.”
Isha tilts her head. “Different?”
“‘Cause we’re friends,” CJ says. Isha doesn’t respond immediately, frozen in place, and CJ starts to wonder if she overstepped. “...Right?”
“Yeah,” Isha says quietly. “We’re friends.”
CJ sneaks a look back at Isha’s face, and is relieved to find that she’s smiling. “You won’t make me uncomfortable,” CJ tells her. “Promise. I used to share a bed with my mother all the time.”
Isha studies CJ’s face, as if searching for traces of deception, and nods. “If you’re sure.”
CJ stands up to turn the lights off while Isha settles herself under the covers. The window still illuminates the room slightly, and CJ slowly makes her way to the bed, trying not to stumble on anything.
Isha‘s head rests on the edge of CJ's pillow, facing the center of the bed. If CJ lies down on the pillow facing her, their faces will be only a couple of inches apart. She hesitates.
“CJ?” she hears Isha ask.
CJ slowly climbs under the covers and lies down next to Isha, trying not to breathe too loudly. She feels her face heat up. She hopes Isha can’t notice in the darkness. “Sorry that the mattress is so hard,” she whispers.
“I don’t mind,” Isha says. She reaches out to rest her hand on CJ’s hand, where it was curled up in front of her face, and CJ relaxes. Isha’s hand is a little cold, but CJ welcomes it.
“‘Night, Isha,” CJ murmurs, closing her eyes.
“Good night,” Isha echoes.
CJ curls up a little, hand clasped with Isha’s, and begins to drift to sleep. Whatever comes next, she and Isha will face it, together.