Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jean had known this day was coming. She had known since the moment Lisa received that email—the one with the university’s official letterhead, the one that confirmed her acceptance into one of the most prestigious research programs in the world. Jean had smiled then, had hugged Lisa tight, had whispered, I’m so proud of you.

She hadn’t let herself think about what it would mean when Lisa finally left.

Now, standing in the dimly lit apartment they had shared for the past two years, Jean felt that reality pressing down on her like a weight she couldn’t shake off. It settled in her chest, heavy and unrelenting, making it hard to breathe. Lisa’s suitcase sat by the door, neatly packed, her passport and plane ticket resting on the coffee table. The sight of them made it all feel so much more real.

Lisa was leaving in a few hours.

Jean sat on the edge of the couch, fingers gripping the fabric of her sweatpants as she watched Lisa move around the room with practiced ease—checking drawers, double-checking her carry-on, making sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. Jean had always admired the way Lisa carried herself, so effortlessly graceful, so self-assured. But tonight, there was something different in the way she moved. There was a hesitation, a weight in her steps that Jean could feel even from across the room.

It felt like any other night. Except it wasn’t.

Lisa glanced over her shoulder and caught Jean’s gaze. Her lips curved into a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Darling, you look like you’re at a funeral.”

Jean exhaled, forcing a small smile. “It kind of feels like one.”

Lisa’s expression softened. She set down the notebook she had been flipping through and crossed the room, settling onto the couch beside Jean. Their legs brushed, warm even through the fabric of their clothes.

“I know this is hard,” Lisa murmured, reaching for Jean’s hand, her fingers curling gently around hers. “Believe me, I know. But we’re going to be okay.”

Jean looked down at their intertwined fingers, at the way Lisa’s thumb traced slow, soothing circles against her skin. “You say that now, but…”

Lisa squeezed her hand, cutting her off before she could spiral further. “No but.”

Jean closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. She had spent the past few weeks trying to be strong, pretending like this wouldn’t change everything. Like she could handle it. Like she wouldn’t break the moment Lisa walked out that door. But now, with Lisa right here, warm and real beside her, Jean couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered.

Lisa was quiet for a moment. Then, she reached out, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind Jean’s ear before cupping her cheek. Her palm was warm, grounding. “I know,” she said, her voice just as soft. “I don’t want to go either.”

Jean leaned into her touch, her breath unsteady. “Then don’t.”

Lisa let out a quiet breath, her thumb brushing against Jean’s cheek. “You know I can’t.”

Jean did know. She knew how hard Lisa had worked for this, how much this opportunity meant to her. How it was everything Lisa had dreamed of since before they had even met. And Jean would never ask her to give that up—not even for her.

But it still hurt.

Lisa shifted closer, her forehead resting against Jean’s. “We’ll make this work,” she promised. “We’ll call, text, video chat—you’ll get sick of me before you know it.”

Jean let out a shaky laugh. “I could never get sick of you.”

Lisa smiled, tilting Jean’s chin up so their lips met in a kiss—slow, lingering, filled with everything they couldn’t put into words. It tasted like longing, like goodbye, like a promise that neither of them knew how to keep but would try to anyway.

When they pulled apart, Lisa rested her hand over Jean’s heart. “This? This isn’t going anywhere. No matter the distance.”

Jean swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded, even though a small part of her still ached with doubt.

Lisa studied her for a moment before standing up, holding out her hand. “Come on. Help me finish packing?”

Jean hesitated for only a second before lacing their fingers together. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Let’s do it together.”

They spent the next hour folding clothes, organizing Lisa’s things, making sure everything was in place. It felt strangely normal, like any other night—except for the way Jean kept glancing at the clock, watching the minutes slip away too quickly.

She tried to commit everything to memory. The way Lisa hummed under her breath while folding a sweater. The way her fingers skimmed along the edges of a book before carefully tucking it into her bag. The way she’d glance at Jean every so often, her gaze soft and warm, as if she was trying to memorize her too.

Lisa held up a small necklace—a delicate silver chain with a tiny star charm dangling from it. “I want you to keep this,” she said, stepping closer.

Jean blinked at her. “But it’s yours.”

Lisa smiled, reaching out to clasp it around Jean’s neck. “And now it’s yours.”

Jean’s fingers brushed against the cool metal, her throat tightening. She recognized the necklace—it was one Lisa wore often, one Jean had absentmindedly played with whenever they lay curled up together.

Lisa’s hands lingered at the clasp. “So you won’t forget me.”

Jean let out a soft, breathy laugh, though her eyes burned. “As if I ever could.”

Lisa brushed her thumb against Jean’s cheek once more before stepping back. “Good. Then it’s settled.”

Before they knew it, dawn was creeping in through the windows, bathing the apartment in soft golden light. The city outside was beginning to stir, but inside, it still felt like it was just the two of them.

Lisa zipped up her suitcase, then turned to Jean, reaching out once more. “Stay with me until I leave?”

Jean took her hand without hesitation. “Always.”

They sat together on the couch, leaning into each other, neither speaking. They didn’t need to. The silence between them was heavy with all the things they weren’t saying—all the I love yous and I’ll miss yous and please don’t go that they had run out of time to say.

And as they sat there, hands intertwined, Jean made a silent promise—no matter how far Lisa went, no matter how much it hurt, she would hold on.

Because Lisa was worth it.

Because they were worth it.

And because, even with an ocean between them, Lisa would always have Jean’s heart.

Chapter Text

The apartment felt emptier without Lisa.

Jean had known it would. She had braced herself for it the moment she watched Lisa disappear past the airport’s security checkpoint, flashing one last smile over her shoulder before she was gone. But knowing didn’t make it any easier.

She had spent the drive home replaying that last moment over and over again, gripping the steering wheel tighter every time she remembered the way Lisa had lingered before stepping forward, as if waiting for Jean to call her back. But Jean hadn’t. She had only stood there, nodding, smiling—steady as ever. Because that was what Lisa needed from her.

But now, standing alone in the apartment they had shared for years, Jean wished she had held her a little longer, kissed her one more time, whispered one last reassurance before letting her go.

The first morning alone was the hardest.

Jean woke up instinctively reaching for the other side of the bed, only to be met with cold sheets. Lisa’s pillow still smelled faintly of her vanilla perfume, but it wasn’t the same. The warmth was gone.

Jean let out a slow breath and stared at the ceiling. The silence was deafening.

Her phone buzzed.

My love: Good morning, darling. I just landed. Wish you were here.

Jean sat up, her heart skipping a beat at the familiar greeting. It had only been a few hours, but she already felt like she had spent a lifetime without Lisa beside her.

She quickly typed a reply.

You: Good morning. How was the flight?

A few seconds later, the screen lit up again.

My love: Long, tedious, and not nearly as enjoyable without you falling asleep on my shoulder.

Jean smiled, picturing Lisa’s usual teasing expression, the way she would brush stray strands of hair from Jean’s face whenever she dozed off mid-flight.

You: You always say I sleep too much on planes.

My love: Because you do. But I secretly love it. Watching you sleep is the highlight of every trip.

Jean rolled her eyes, but her chest felt lighter.

Lisa was far away, but she was still here.

*

The first week apart passed in a blur of messages, calls, and stolen moments in between their busy schedules.

Jean spent her days drowning in paperwork at the office, trying to distract herself. The work never truly ended—there was always another file to review, another meeting to attend, another issue to resolve. It kept her hands busy, but it did nothing for the ache in her chest.

Lisa, on the other hand, was just as busy settling into her new job, navigating unfamiliar streets, meeting new colleagues, adjusting to a different rhythm of life. She sent Jean photos of her new apartment—a quaint space with warm wooden floors, walls that still needed decorating, and a kitchen that she admitted she would probably never use.

“It’s no match for our place, but I think you’d like it,” Lisa had said over the phone one night, her voice tinged with something wistful.

“I think I would,” Jean had replied softly.

They always found time for each other, no matter how chaotic things got.

Their conversations became a lifeline—late-night calls with Lisa’s voice crackling through the speaker, laughter shared over the smallest things, reassurances whispered between yawns.

“You should go to sleep, love. It’s late over there.”

“Not yet. I want to talk to you a little longer.”

Lisa hummed softly, her voice warm even through the phone. “You miss me, don’t you?”

Jean hesitated. It wasn’t like her to admit things like that so easily. But this was Lisa.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “A lot.”

There was a soft chuckle on the other end. “I miss you too,” Lisa said, her voice quieter now. “More than I thought I would.”

Jean shifted in bed, staring at the ceiling. “You knew you’d miss me?”

“Of course,” Lisa replied without hesitation. “But I didn’t realize just how much. Every time I find something interesting, I turn to tell you—only to remember you’re not here.”

Jean felt a pang in her chest. She knew the feeling all too well.

Lisa sighed. “I saw a café today that reminded me of that place we love. You know, the one with the bad coffee but the best pastries?”

Jean smiled. “The one you always complain about but somehow keep dragging me to?”

“The very same.” Lisa’s laughter was soft, affectionate. “I wish you were here to try this one with me.”

Jean closed her eyes. “Me too.”

Silence stretched between them, comfortable yet tinged with longing. Then Lisa spoke again, her voice softer now, almost hesitant.

“We’ll be okay, won’t we?”

Jean tightened her grip on the phone. The weight of the question settled deep in her chest.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice steady. “We will.”

Lisa let out a quiet breath, relief threading through her exhale. “Good.”

They stayed on the call long after words ran out, filling the distance with their quiet presence. Eventually, Lisa’s voice became slower, her responses softer.

Jean listened as Lisa’s breathing evened out, soft and steady. She had fallen asleep.

Jean didn’t hang up right away.

She held the phone close, listening to the quiet reassurance of Lisa’s presence. The gentle rhythm of her breathing. The sound of her even in sleep.

And when Jean finally closed her eyes, she let that sound lull her into sleep as well.

Miles apart, but still together.

Their hearts still aligned.

Chapter Text

Jean sat on the couch, phone in hand, watching the clock tick past midnight.

Lisa was late.

She exhaled slowly, trying to reason with herself. It wasn’t a big deal. It was just a call—just one night where their schedules didn’t align. But the longer she stared at her silent phone, the more restless she felt.

She unlocked her screen and scrolled through their messages, re-reading their last conversation from earlier that morning.

My love: Long day ahead, but I’ll call you tonight. Don’t miss me too much, darling.

Jean had smiled when she first read that message. Lisa always knew how to make things feel lighthearted, even when they were apart.

Now, though, it only made the silence feel heavier.

She typed a quick message.

You: Hey, still up. Call me when you’re free.

She hit send and placed her phone face down on the coffee table, trying not to dwell on it. Lisa was busy. She was adjusting to a new country, a new job, new responsibilities—Jean understood that.

But knowing didn’t make waiting any easier.

She glanced around the apartment, taking in the dim glow of the lamp beside the couch, the soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the faint sound of cars passing on the street below. Everything was quiet, still. Too still.

She sighed, pushing herself up from the couch and making her way to the kitchen. Maybe tea would help. Maybe if she just did something—anything—she wouldn’t feel the weight of the quiet pressing in on her.

She moved through the motions on autopilot: filling the kettle, setting it to boil, pulling out her favorite mug. The same one Lisa used to steal just to tease her.

Jean hesitated, her fingers tightening around the ceramic handle.

Lisa always used to do little things like that—stealing her mug, draping herself across Jean’s lap while she tried to work, leaving affectionate notes in the margins of her books. Those little habits had become so ingrained in Jean’s daily life that their absence now felt glaring. It hadn’t even been that long since Lisa left, but the apartment already felt different. The bed was colder, the silence stretched longer, and Jean was beginning to realize just how much of her world had been shaped around Lisa’s presence.

She rubbed a hand over her face and let out a slow breath. She was overthinking this. It wasn’t like Lisa to forget about her.

Right?

The kettle clicked off, steam curling into the air. Jean poured the hot water into her mug and carried it back to the couch, settling in with the warmth pressed between her palms.

She took a sip, but the comfort she was searching for didn’t come.

Instead, her mind kept drifting.

It wasn’t just about the missed call.

It was about the nagging thought she hadn’t let herself acknowledge until now—what if this was just the beginning?

What if more nights like this followed?

Jean had always known long-distance wouldn’t be easy. They had talked about it, prepared for it. But no matter how much she had tried to steel herself for the change, nothing could have fully prepared her for the quiet ache that settled in her chest whenever she reached for Lisa and found only empty space.

She trusted Lisa. She did. But time zones and distance had a way of stretching even the strongest bonds thin.

And even with the best intentions, people drifted.

Jean swallowed against the uneasy feeling creeping up her spine. She didn’t want to think that way. She didn’t want to doubt them.

But sitting there, in the dimly lit apartment, her only company the ticking of the clock and a tea she suddenly had no appetite for, she couldn’t stop her mind from spiraling.

Her phone vibrated.

Jean’s heart leapt as she quickly grabbed it, but instead of an incoming call, there was just a single message blinking on the screen.

My love: I’m so sorry, love. Got caught up in research and completely lost track of time. You’re probably asleep now, but I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. I promise.

Jean let out a slow breath, staring at the words.

Lisa hadn’t forgotten about her. She had just been busy.

Jean knew that. She understood.

But that didn’t make the waiting any easier.

She stared at her phone for a long moment before typing a reply.

You: It’s okay. I figured you were busy. Get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.

She hesitated for a second, then added:

You: I miss you.

She set her phone down and leaned back against the couch, closing her eyes.

The tea had gone cold.

Chapter Text

The café was warm, filled with the soft hum of conversation and the scent of freshly brewed coffee, but Jean barely noticed any of it. The soft golden glow of the hanging lights overhead cast long shadows on the wooden tables, and the rhythmic clinking of cups and spoons blended seamlessly with the low chatter of patrons. It was the kind of place where time felt slower, where people lingered over drinks and quiet conversations stretched lazily into the afternoon.

But for Jean, time was crawling.

Her phone sat on the wooden table in front of her, screen dark, no new notifications.

She had been waiting for nearly an hour.

Lisa had promised to call. It wasn’t even supposed to be a long conversation—just a short check-in before Lisa returned to her research. A few minutes to hear her voice, to reassure each other that despite the miles between them, nothing had changed. But now the call was late, and Jean had a sinking feeling that it wasn’t coming at all.

She sighed, picking up her cup of coffee and taking a slow sip. It had gone lukewarm.

She didn’t even know why she was still sitting here, staring at her phone like that would somehow make Lisa’s name appear on the screen. Maybe it was foolish. Maybe it was just wishful thinking.

A shadow passed by her table, then paused.

“Well, fancy seeing you here.”

Jean looked up, startled, just as Kaeya slid into the chair across from her with an easy smirk, a cup of coffee in his hand. He set it down with a quiet clink before shrugging off his dark coat, draping it over the back of the chair.

She blinked. “Kaeya?”

“Didn’t expect to run into you,” he admitted, taking a sip of his drink. “This place is packed—I was about to give up on finding a seat when I spotted you.” He gestured vaguely at the bustling café around them, where nearly every table was occupied. “Mind if I join you?”

Jean hesitated for only a moment before shaking her head. “Go ahead.”

Kaeya gave her a grateful nod, but his sharp eyes flicked briefly to her phone, then back to her face. He didn’t say anything at first, merely watching her with a knowing glint in his gaze.

She knew that look.

Jean sighed, placing her cup down. “Lisa was supposed to call.”

Kaeya raised an eyebrow. “And she hasn’t?”

Jean shook her head, shifting slightly in her seat. “She’s probably still in the lab. She loses track of time when she’s working.”

Kaeya hummed, leaning back in his chair, drumming his fingers lightly against the tabletop. “Sounds like a familiar story. You do the same thing.”

Jean frowned, but she couldn’t deny it. How many times had she stayed up too late at her desk, surrounded by paperwork, missing texts, or forgetting to return calls because she was too focused on work? How many times had Lisa been the one waiting?

But still… it felt different when she was the one left waiting.

Jean exhaled slowly, pushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “It’s not the same.”

Kaeya tilted his head slightly. “Isn’t it?”

She hesitated, feeling the weight of his words settle over her. She didn’t know how to explain it, but the more she thought about it, the more she felt that nagging sense of unease creeping in.

Lisa had always been busy, even back when they were in the same place. She was brilliant, always chasing knowledge, always buried in her research. That was part of what Jean admired about her. But back then, it had been easier to find moments in between the chaos—to sit together on the library steps after a long day, to steal quiet moments of laughter over coffee, to lean on each other in the rare moments when work wasn’t pulling them in separate directions.

Now, those moments felt few and far between. And every missed call, every delayed message, only made the distance between them feel wider.

Kaeya’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. “You okay?”

Jean hesitated. Was she okay?

She wanted to say yes. She wanted to believe this was just a rough patch, that once Lisa settled into her new routine, things would get better. That they would find a way to close the growing distance between them.

But deep down, doubt was creeping in.

“…It’s just hard,” she admitted, wrapping her fingers around her cup. “We barely have time to talk anymore. When we do, it’s always rushed.”

Kaeya studied her for a moment, his usual playful demeanor softening into something more thoughtful. “Long-distance isn’t easy, Jean. You knew that going in.”

Jean exhaled, rubbing her temples. “I did. I just thought—”

Her phone buzzed.

Her heart leapt as she grabbed it, fingers tightening around the device. For a brief moment, hope flickered to life—only to wither away just as quickly.

My love: Sorry, love. Got caught up again. I’ll try to call later if I’m not too tired.

Jean stared at the words for a long moment, feeling something heavy settle in her chest.

She shouldn’t be surprised. She had seen this message before, in different variations. A promise to try. A quiet apology. An acknowledgment of the time lost, but never quite a reassurance that it wouldn’t happen again.

Kaeya, ever observant, didn’t miss the way her expression shifted. “She bailed, didn’t she?”

Jean forced herself to smile, though it felt hollow. “She’s just busy.”

Kaeya didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he reached across the table and slid Jean’s coffee toward himself.

“Well, since your date isn’t showing up, I guess I’ll keep you company.”

Jean rolled her eyes, but there was warmth in the gesture.

Kaeya had always been like this—knowing when to tease, when to pry, and when to simply be there. And in this moment, she was grateful for it.

She wasn’t sure what hurt more—the fact that Lisa hadn’t called or the fact that, deep down, Jean had already expected it.

Chapter Text

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

Jean sat on the couch, knees drawn to her chest, staring at the phone screen in her lap. The soft glow of the city outside filtered through the curtains, casting golden patterns on the wooden floor. The ticking clock on the wall marked the passage of time, each second stretching out unbearably long.

10:43 PM.

Still no message. No missed calls. Nothing.

She sighed, rolling her shoulders in an attempt to shake off the tension settling into her muscles. It had been days since she and Lisa had a proper conversation—really talked, not just exchanged brief, half-hearted How was your day? texts.

Jean knew Lisa was busy. The prestigious research position had been an opportunity too good to pass up, and Lisa had warned her from the start that the workload would be demanding. Jean had promised herself she’d be understanding, supportive. She didn’t want to be the kind of person who needed constant reassurance.

And yet…

Her fingers hovered over the call button, debating whether to dial Lisa’s number. Would she be asleep? Still at the lab? Or worse—too exhausted to even pick up?

Jean exhaled sharply, tossing her phone onto the couch beside her.

She hated this. The waiting. The silence. The way she was spending more time missing Lisa than actually talking to her.

A soft knock on the door startled her out of her thoughts.

“Jean?”

Barbara.

Jean sat up, smoothing out her sweater before calling out, “Come in.”

The door creaked open, and Barbara peeked inside, concern evident in her blue eyes. She hesitated for a second before stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

“I was about to go to bed and noticed your light was still on,” she said softly, approaching the couch. “You’re up late again.”

Jean forced a small smile. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Barbara sighed and sat beside her, tucking her legs under her. She didn’t speak right away. Instead, she simply observed Jean, her gaze soft but knowing.

Then, gently, she asked, “You miss her, don’t you?”

Jean looked down, rubbing the fabric of her sleeve between her fingers. “It’s only been a few weeks,” she said, as if saying it aloud would somehow make the ache in her chest easier to bear.

Barbara gave her a look that told Jean she wasn’t fooled. “But you barely talk anymore,” she pointed out, her voice careful but firm. “It’s not the same, is it?”

Jean swallowed hard. She hated that Barbara could read her so easily. Hated that she didn’t have a reassuring answer to give.

Barbara reached over and squeezed her hand. “Lisa loves you, Jean.”

Jean nodded, but the lump in her throat didn’t go away.

She wanted to believe that love was enough.

But what if it wasn’t?

*

Jean found herself in the back corner of Angel’s Share, nursing a cup of coffee that had long gone cold. The familiar scent of roasted beans and aged wood filled the air, but today, it did little to soothe her.

She stared down at the surface of her untouched drink, lost in thought.

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor snapped her back to reality.

“You look like hell,” Kaeya remarked as he slid into the seat across from her, arms lazily draped over the back of the chair.

Jean rolled her eyes, but there was no real annoyance in her expression. “Good morning to you too.”

Kaeya leaned back, watching her with an amused but knowing expression. “Still no call?”

Jean didn’t respond. She didn’t have to.

Kaeya sighed, drumming his fingers against the wooden table. “You know, when you first told me about this whole long-distance thing, I thought Lisa would be the one suffering.”

Jean frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kaeya smirked. “You are the ever-dedicated, ever-reliable Jean, after all. I figured you’d be drowning in work, too busy to mope around missing her.”

Jean shot him a flat look. “I’m not moping.”

“Sure, sure,” Kaeya said, taking a sip of his drink, the amusement never leaving his face.

Jean sighed, rubbing her temple. “I just thought we’d handle the distance better. We said we’d make time, but… it feels like she’s slipping away.”

Kaeya tilted his head slightly. “Have you told her that?”

Jean hesitated.

Kaeya’s expression softened, his teasing tone giving way to something more sincere. “Jean, Lisa’s smart, but she’s not a mind reader.”

“I know.”

“But you’re afraid to tell her how much this hurts.”

Jean looked away, her grip tightening around her coffee cup. “I don’t want to make her feel guilty. She’s doing something important.”

Kaeya leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “And so are you. Keeping a relationship alive is important too.”

Jean exhaled slowly. She knew he was right. But saying it out loud—admitting how much she was struggling—felt like another weight pressing down on her chest.

“You’re overthinking again,” Kaeya said lightly. “You don’t have to figure this all out by yourself, you know. Talk to Lisa. Talk to us.”

Jean finally looked up at him. “Us?”

Kaeya shrugged. “Barbara’s worried, Albedo’s noticed, even Diluc asked if you were okay the other day. Not to mention Klee keeps asking when Lisa’s coming back because ‘Jean looks sad.’”

Jean blinked. “Klee…?”

Kaeya smirked. “And I may or may not have told her that Lisa’s off on a special research expedition, searching for an ancient, long-lost library hidden deep in a rainforest.”

Jean blinked. “Kaeya—”

“Oh, don’t worry, I kept it realistic,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “I told her Lisa had to travel with a team of scholars, braving the humid jungle and unpredictable weather, all to uncover books and knowledge that had been forgotten for centuries.” He took a sip of his drink before adding, “I might’ve mentioned that the ruins she’s studying are so old that some of the texts predate even the Akademiya’s records.”

Jean sighed, shaking her head. “And Klee believed that?”

Kaeya chuckled. “Oh, absolutely. She thought it was so cool that Lisa was out there ‘being a real explorer.’ She even said she wants to visit someday—‘but only if there aren’t too many bugs.’”

Jean exhaled, rubbing her temple. “You’re impossible.”

Kaeya grinned. “Maybe. But at least Klee’s convinced that Lisa isn’t just ignoring you—she’s out there making history.”

Jean let out a small, tired laugh. It was ridiculous, but at least it was better than some grand tale of sea monsters and secret treasure maps.

And, in a way… a part of her wished she could believe it too.

Jean sighed, but to her own surprise, a small laugh escaped her lips.

Kaeya grinned. “See? There’s the Jean I know.”

She shook her head, but some of the weight on her chest had eased, just a little.

Maybe Kaeya was right.

Maybe she didn’t have to do this alone.

And maybe… it was time to talk to Lisa.

Chapter Text

Jean sat at her desk, fingers poised over her phone screen, rereading Lisa’s last message for the fifth time that day.

My love: Sorry, darling. Got caught up at the lab again. I’ll call you soon, promise. Love you.

She had sent it last night—no, technically this morning. Nearly sixteen hours had passed, and there was still no follow-up.

Jean sighed, locking her phone and tossing it onto the desk. It wasn’t as if Lisa was ignoring her on purpose. Lisa was busy. Lisa was brilliant. Lisa was doing what she loved, and Jean was so proud of her.

So why did it still hurt?

She ran a hand through her hair, exhaling sharply. It wasn’t like she had any right to complain. They had talked about this before Lisa left—how the time difference, their schedules, and Lisa’s demanding research position might make things difficult. Jean had reassured her, told her she understood. That they would make it work.

And yet, there were moments like this. Moments where Jean felt the distance so acutely it was almost physical, a dull ache in her chest that refused to fade.

She wouldn’t say anything, though.

Lisa already had enough on her plate, and the last thing Jean wanted was to make her feel guilty. Lisa had sacrificed so much for her already—turning down opportunities in the past, staying with her longer than she originally planned. Now, it was Jean’s turn to support her.

But that didn’t make it any easier.

A knock on her office door broke her from her thoughts. “Come in.”

The door creaked open, and Kaeya strolled in, hands in the pockets of his long coat. “You look like you’ve been overthinking again.”

Jean shot him a look. “That’s not—”

“Oh, please,” Kaeya interrupted, dropping lazily into the chair across from her desk. “I’ve known you since we were kids, Jean. You have that face again.”

Jean exhaled through her nose. “It’s nothing.”

Kaeya arched an eyebrow. “You’re telling me that the Master of Overworking and Emotional Repression is perfectly fine?”

She crossed her arms. “I said it’s nothing.”

He hummed, clearly unconvinced, but thankfully didn’t press further. Instead, he changed tactics. “You know, Klee asked about Lisa again.”

Jean blinked, feeling a small pang of guilt. “Oh.”

“I told her that Lisa is working on a big research project, helping a university sort through old, forgotten documents—things that have been buried in archives for decades.”

Jean tilted her head slightly. “That’s… different.”

“Well, the previous story wasn't exciting enough for her. I had to up the stakes.” Kaeya said, with a shrug. “Apparently, some handwritten manuscripts, old research notes, and even entire case studies from the early 1900s were mislabeled and left in storage rooms for years. Lisa and her team are going through them to see if there’s anything important—like lost research findings or personal journals from well-known scientists.”

Jean could picture it—Lisa in some dimly lit library, carefully turning fragile pages, her sharp eyes scanning over ancient handwriting with effortless ease. It wasn’t action-packed, but there was still something exciting about rediscovering forgotten knowledge.

“Klee wanted to know if Lisa was having any adventures,” Kaeya continued. “So, I told her that Lisa had to track down a missing research log that was referenced in an old paper but never published. Turns out, it was last seen in a professor’s personal collection years ago, and no one knows where it ended up. Lisa’s been reaching out to retired faculty, digging through old records, and even visiting private collections to find it.”

Jean raised an eyebrow. “That actually sounds like real work.”

Kaeya smirked. “I said I made it realistic.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “But I may have told Klee that Lisa had to charm an old professor into letting her see his private library, and that he made her answer a bunch of riddles first.”

Jean groaned. “Kaeya.”

“What? It’s mostly true. You know how eccentric retired academics can be.”

Jean sighed, but despite herself, she smiled.

“She wants to talk with Lisa, or atleast send her a message,” Kaeya added, watching her reaction carefully.

Jean hesitated, her smile fading. “Lisa’s… been busy.”

“She’s always been busy.” Kaeya leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk. “But that’s never stopped you two from making time for each other before.”

Jean stiffened. “I don’t want to be selfish.”

Kaeya sighed, shaking his head. “Jean, missing someone you love isn’t selfish.”

Jean swallowed. She knew that. Of course she knew that. But saying it out loud? Admitting that the distance was slowly wearing her down? That was different.

Her phone buzzed, making them both look at it.

My love: Hey, love. Sorry again for the delay. I miss you. Can we call tonight?

Jean exhaled slowly, tension easing just a little.

“Lisa?” Kaeya guessed.

Jean nodded.

Kaeya stood, stretching. “Good. Maybe now you’ll stop brooding.” He shot her a teasing smirk before heading for the door. “Tell her I say hi.”

Jean watched him leave, then picked up her phone, staring at Lisa’s message for a long moment before typing out a response.

You:  Of course. I miss you too.

She hesitated. There was so much more she wanted to say—how lonely she felt, how hard this was, how much she hated not having Lisa by her side.

Instead, she erased the half-written message and hit send.

She wouldn’t burden Lisa with this.

Not yet, at least.

Chapter Text

3:12 AM

Lisa’s office looked like a crime scene—papers scattered across her desk in chaotic piles, some marked with hastily scribbled equations, others with printed research notes she had barely glanced at. Open textbooks lay stacked on the floor, their spines bent at unnatural angles, victims of her frantic search for references.

The harsh glow of her laptop screen flickered in the dimly lit room, illuminating the deep shadows under her eyes. The only other sources of light were the small desk lamp—its glow weak, overworked, much like herself—and the flickering fluorescent bulbs overhead, buzzing faintly in the stillness.

The only sound was the ticking of the clock on the wall.

Lisa pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, willing the exhaustion away. She had been staring at the same problem for the past hour, reworking the same equation, looking for an answer that refused to show itself.

The numbers blurred, twisting into nonsense.

She needed sleep.

She needed a break.

Instead, she reached for her coffee cup—only to find it empty. Again.

With a quiet sigh, she leaned back in her chair, stretching her stiff muscles. The ache in her back was familiar, a dull, persistent pain she had learned to ignore. Her body had long since adjusted to the long nights, the missed meals, the constant pressure to push forward, to produce results.

But her mind was beginning to protest.

Lisa rubbed her temples, trying to force herself back into focus. This was important. The research, the work, the progress—they were all counting on her. There was no time for distractions, no time to slow down.

And yet, for the first time in weeks, her thoughts drifted.

To Jean.

To the unread messages in their chat.

To the last conversation they had, where Jean’s voice had been softer than usual, her words careful, as if she were holding something back.

Lisa had been in the middle of reviewing data when Jean called earlier that week. She had answered out of instinct, only half listening as Jean talked about her day. It wasn’t until later—when Lisa had replayed the conversation in her head—that she realized how distant Jean had sounded.

She had promised she’d call back.

She never did.

Her fingers hovered over her phone now, hesitating.

The last message from Jean was still there, simple and polite.

Darling: Of course. I miss you too.

Lisa swallowed.

It should have been comforting. It should have reassured her.

But it didn’t.

Jean never used to say just "I miss you too."

She used to write entire paragraphs about how much she missed Lisa, about how the apartment felt empty without her, about the little things—like how she had made Lisa’s favorite tea that morning, only to realize Lisa wasn’t there to drink it.

She used to send voice notes, filled with sleepy murmurs and laughter.

She used to call.

Lisa scrolled further up, searching for proof that she was imagining things.

But the messages told a different story.

Jean’s texts had become shorter. Less frequent.

At some point, Lisa had stopped noticing.

Her stomach twisted, guilt settling heavily in her chest.

She had promised they would make this work.

But what had she actually done to keep that promise?

Lisa let her phone slip from her fingers, pressing both hands against her face.

The past few weeks had been relentless. Meetings stretched on for hours, discussions turned into debates, and every breakthrough seemed to open up a dozen more questions. The project consumed her. She worked through meals, through weekends, through the quiet moments where she should have reached for Jean instead of her notes.

At first, Jean had been patient. She always was.

She had listened to Lisa talk about her research with endless enthusiasm, had nodded along to half-finished explanations, had reassured her when things got frustrating.

But when had Jean stopped telling her about her day?

Lisa didn’t know.

And that realization scared her more than anything.

She stood abruptly, shoving her chair back as she began pacing. The exhaustion that had weighed her down moments ago was replaced by a restless energy, an unsettling awareness that she had been blind to something important—something slipping through her fingers while she wasn’t paying attention.

Had she been selfish?

Had she asked Jean to wait for her, to be patient, to understand—without giving anything back?

She had always assumed Jean would be there, waiting, as she always had.

But what if she wasn’t?

Lisa stopped pacing, gripping the edge of her desk.

The thought sent a sharp, unexpected panic through her.

Jean had never said anything. Never complained, never asked her to stop working, never demanded more.

But maybe that was the problem.

Lisa had taken her silence as acceptance.

As if Jean hadn’t been feeling the weight of the distance between them.

As if she hadn’t been hurting too.

Lisa sat back down, her hands tightening into fists.

This wasn’t just about one missed call.

This was about all the times Lisa had chosen work over Jean without even realizing it.

She thought about Jean alone in their apartment, making dinner for one.

She thought about Jean reaching for her phone, hesitating, before deciding against calling.

She thought about Jean, patient and understanding, waiting for Lisa to notice the growing space between them.

Lisa exhaled, rubbing a hand down her face.

The worst part was, she wasn’t sure if she knew how to fix it.

There was always more work to do, more problems to solve, more deadlines looming over her.

But at what cost?

Lisa reached for her phone again, hesitating before unlocking it.

She thought about calling Jean. Thought about waking her up just to hear her voice.

But what would she even say?

She couldn’t promise to come home soon—not yet.

She couldn’t tell Jean things would be different overnight.

She could only tell her she missed her.

And maybe that wasn’t enough.

Lisa clenched her jaw, staring at Jean’s name on her screen.

Then, finally, she put the phone down.

The clock on the wall kept ticking.

3:36 AM.

Lisa leaned back in her chair, staring up at the ceiling.

She wasn’t sure when exhaustion finally won, pulling her into restless, uneasy sleep.

But when she dreamed, it wasn’t of research papers or equations.

It was of Jean.

Waiting.

And Lisa, never quite reaching her in time.

Chapter Text

Jean didn’t want to be upset.

She had promised herself she wouldn’t expect anything—that she wouldn’t hold Lisa to the same standards as before, back when they lived in the same city—the same apartment, and could simply walk into each other’s arms after a long day.

She knew Lisa was busy. She knew the research position she had worked so hard for demanded everything from her. She knew, logically, that this was just another day.

But it wasn’t.

Jean sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her phone screen. The time read 11:47 PM.

Lisa hadn’t called.

She hadn’t texted.

Jean had waited all day, her fingers twitching to send a message, to remind Lisa in case she had simply forgotten. But something stopped her every time.

She wanted Lisa to remember on her own.

It wasn’t about needing grand gestures. Lisa had never been the type for extravagant surprises, and Jean had never needed them. Their love had always been in the little things—the way Lisa would make her tea exactly how she liked it, the way she’d rest her chin on Jean’s shoulder after a long day, the way she’d slip her hand into Jean’s without a word when she knew she was overthinking again.

This anniversary, their first since Lisa had moved away, was supposed to be a quiet reassurance that despite everything, despite the distance and the missed calls and the lonely nights, they were still them.

Jean had spent the day pretending everything was fine.

She went to work as usual, drowning herself in paperwork. She met up with Eula for a morning run, though her usual competitive spirit had been dulled by the weight in her chest. Eula noticed, but she didn't comment on it. She had coffee with Kaeya, who, in his usual teasing way, had asked, “So, has Lisa sent her grand declaration of love yet?”

Jean had laughed it off. But when his smirk faded into something more thoughtful, she knew he had noticed the slight hesitation in her answer.

Then there was Barbara, who had texted her an excited, Happy anniversary! Did Lisa send you something romantic?

Jean had stared at the message for a long time before replying, Not yet, but I’m sure she will.

And now, at 11:49 PM, she wasn’t so sure anymore.

She finally unlocked her phone, opening her chat with Lisa.

The last message Lisa had sent was from yesterday.

My love: Another long day ahead, but I’ll call you before bed. I love you, darling.

She never called.

Jean’s fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Did you forget?

No. That sounded too accusatory. She backspaced.

Are you busy?

That was obvious. Of course Lisa was busy. Jean sighed, backspacing again.

The clock changed to 11:52 PM.

The knot in her stomach tightened.

Then, her phone buzzed.

Her heart leaped—until she saw the name.

Albedo.

She hesitated before answering. “Albedo?”

“Jean.” His voice was calm as always. “Are you still awake?”

“…Yeah.”

A pause. Then, more gently, he asked, “You were waiting for her to call, weren’t you?”

Jean closed her eyes.

She should have known Albedo would notice. He always did.

She let out a quiet breath. “It’s not a big deal.”

“You always say that,” he murmured. “Even when it is.”

Jean swallowed. “It’s just… she always remembers things like this.”

“I see.” Another pause. “Would you like to come over? Klee is asleep, but I could use some company. I was working on a painting.”

Jean knew what he was doing.

He was giving her an out—giving her something to do, someone to be with, so she wouldn’t have to sit here alone, staring at her phone like a fool.

Her chest ached with gratitude.

“…Yeah,” she said softly. “I’ll be there soon.”

As she grabbed her coat, her phone buzzed again.

Her heart skipped—

But it was just a notification from work.

No message from Lisa.

Jean clenched her jaw, shoving her phone into her pocket.

She left without looking back.

Chapter Text

The air outside was crisp, tinged with the faint scent of rain from earlier in the evening. Jean pulled her coat tighter around her as she walked through the quiet streets, her footsteps echoing faintly against the pavement. The city had long since settled into its late-night lull, and everything felt slowed, stretched, muted—the hum of distant traffic nothing more than a soft murmur beneath the hush.

It was the kind of night that felt like it had been waiting for her. The silence didn’t press in; it simply existed, like a blanket she could either hide beneath or wrap around her shoulders for comfort.

Albedo’s place wasn’t far. A short walk from her apartment, past a few sleepy blocks lined with dimly lit cafés and bookstores, most of them already closed for the night. The ones still open glowed like warm little pockets of safety behind fogged windows. A single bell chimed from inside a bakery as she passed it—someone cleaning up, maybe. The scent of sugar and coffee briefly drifted into the air before the door clicked shut again.

Up a narrow flight of stairs, past the flickering hallway light on the second floor, was Albedo’s studio apartment. She had been here countless times before—after long days, longer weeks. Sometimes to talk. Sometimes to rest. Sometimes just to exist beside someone who didn’t expect anything from her.

Tonight, she wasn’t sure what she needed. Only that she didn’t want to be alone.

She knocked once.

The door opened almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting for her. He probably had.

Albedo stood in the soft glow of his lamp-lit apartment, still in his usual attire—button-up slightly wrinkled from hours of sitting, sleeves pushed to his elbows, faint charcoal smudges staining the sides of his fingers and the edge of his wrist. His hair was a little messy, like he’d run a hand through it absentmindedly too many times.

“You made it,” he said, his voice low and even, as it always was.

Jean nodded. “Yeah.”

He stepped aside, wordlessly letting her in.

The familiar scent of the apartment greeted her the moment she crossed the threshold—linseed oil, worn books, a faint trace of dried flowers, and tea. It was the scent of late nights and quiet conversations, the kind of place that didn’t judge you for being tired.

Everything inside was exactly as she remembered—orderly in a way that still managed to feel warm. Books stacked on dark shelves, sketches pinned to the walls in careful arrangements, alongside a few unevenly drawn but brightly colored pieces obviously made by Klee. There was something grounding about it, like being inside a story that hadn’t ended yet.

Her eyes drifted to the easel near the window, its canvas lit by the soft gold of a desk lamp. She slipped off her coat, but her gaze lingered.

It was a painting of the night sky—rich blues melting into purples, scattered with gentle sweeps of stars. Still unfinished. The upper right corner was mostly blank, brush strokes waiting to meet the canvas, but the scene already had a quiet beauty. It felt distant and close all at once.

“I thought you were sketching,” she said, nodding toward it, her voice quiet.

“I was,” Albedo replied, following her gaze. “But sometimes, I need color to capture a feeling.”

Jean hummed in acknowledgment, though she wasn’t sure what to say. She moved toward the couch and sank into the cushions with a slow exhale, not from relief, exactly, but from a kind of surrender.

Albedo sat across from her—not intruding, not pushing, simply present. His gaze was calm, thoughtful, the way it always was when he was seeing instead of just looking.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he said after a moment. “But I think you want to.”

Jean stared down at her hands, turning her fingers against each other slowly. She didn’t answer right away.

“She forgot,” she said finally.

Albedo didn’t ask who. He didn’t need to.

“She forgot,” Jean repeated, softer this time. “Our anniversary. No text. No call. Not even a message that said she was running late.” Her voice wavered, but she held it together.

She waited for the wave of shame to crash down—the part where she’d tell herself she was being dramatic, or too needy—but it didn’t come. Only exhaustion.

“I know she’s busy. I know she’s chasing something important. But…”

Albedo waited.

Jean’s shoulders curled inward, like she could fold the hurt small enough to hide.

“But it still hurts.”

There. She said it.

The words settled into the air between them like a secret she hadn’t meant to tell.

Albedo leaned back slightly, his fingers threading together in his lap, thoughtful as always. “You’ve always understood her ambitions,” he said. “And she’s always understood yours. But understanding doesn’t erase loneliness.”

Jean looked up at him for a moment, then back down again.

“I don’t want to be the kind of person who resents her for following her dreams,” she murmured.

“And are you?” he asked, without judgment.

Jean shook her head. “No. But I’m scared I might become that person if this keeps going.”

Albedo didn’t speak right away. The silence between them remained gentle, like the pause between pages. Eventually, he stood and crossed to his desk. He opened one of the drawers and pulled out something small before returning to her.

“Here,” he said simply.

Jean looked up. He was holding out a small folded piece of heavy paper.

She took it carefully. “What is it?”

He didn’t answer, only nodded toward it.

She unfolded it slowly, her fingers brushing against the rough texture of pencil and ink.

Inside was a sketch—her and Lisa, standing close under an umbrella. Lisa was laughing, her head tilted back just slightly, and Jean was looking at her with something soft in her eyes—something she hadn’t realized she’d been showing.

Jean’s throat tightened. She remembered that moment. It had been a passing one, a few months ago, walking home after dinner. The rain had started suddenly, and they’d huddled together under a tiny umbrella. Lisa had made a joke about shared fates. Jean had smiled. It had felt light. Easy.

She hadn’t thought anyone else had seen.

“I started this a while ago,” Albedo said quietly. “It’s unfinished. Like a lot of things, I suppose. But I thought you should have it.”

Jean brushed her thumb gently along one of the penciled lines. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

He didn’t offer hollow reassurances. He didn’t tell her that Lisa would come around or that everything would get better. He just gave her this—something real, something gentle, something that saw her without asking her to explain.

And tonight, that was enough.

She leaned back on the couch, the sketch held carefully in her lap, her eyes closed. The ache in her chest didn’t go away. But it felt… shared. And somehow, that made it easier to bear.

Outside, the city kept sleeping. Inside, Jean allowed herself to rest.

Chapter Text

The phone rang once. Twice.

Jean paced her apartment, phone pressed tightly to her ear. She had sent Lisa a text hours ago—nothing accusatory, just a simple Can we call tonight?—but Lisa hadn’t responded until now.

Finally, the call connected.

“Jean?” Lisa’s voice finally came through, sounding breathless.

Jean exhaled sharply. “Hey.”

“Sorry, I just got back. It’s been a long day.”

Jean shut her eyes, leaning against the wall. “Lisa, it’s always a long day.”

Lisa was quiet for a second. “I know,” she admitted, a sigh on the other end. “I’m trying my best.”

Something inside Jean wavered, but she couldn’t ignore the frustration bubbling up. “Are you?”

Lisa’s silence stretched longer this time. “…What do you mean?”

Jean clenched her jaw, suddenly feeling like everything she had been holding back was teetering on the edge. “I mean, I feel like I’m the only one trying sometimes. I’m the one waiting. I’m the one rearranging my schedule just to talk to you for five minutes before you have to run off again.”

Lisa exhaled slowly, a forced patience in her voice. “Jean, I told you from the start that this wasn’t going to be easy.”

Jean let out a bitter laugh. “No. That’s not what you told me.” Her grip on the phone tightened. “You told me it was going to be okay. That we’d be fine. That we would make this work together.”

Lisa didn’t reply.

Jean shook her head. “You reassured me, over and over, that this wouldn’t change anything. But it has, Lisa. And I’m the only one who seems to care.”

Lisa sighed, and for the first time, Jean could hear frustration on her end too. “What do you want me to do, Jean? Drop everything? Come back?”

Jean hesitated, something in her chest twisting painfully. “I just want to know I still matter to you.”

Lisa was quiet again.

Jean pressed her fingers to her temple. “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about calling you, only to stop myself because I didn’t want to bother you? Do you know how many times I’ve sat in this apartment, waiting for a text, or watching the clock just to see if I could catch you at the right time?”

Lisa’s voice came softer this time. “Jean…”

Jean let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “I keep telling myself that I can handle it. That I just need to be patient. But I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending that this doesn’t feel one-sided.”

Silence.

For the first time in a long time, Lisa didn’t have an immediate response.

Finally, she spoke. “…I don’t want to lose you.”

Jean squeezed her eyes shut. “Then show me that I’m still important to you.”

Lisa hesitated. “I—” She stopped. “I don’t know if I can be what you need right now.”

Jean felt her chest tighten. “Then what are we doing, Lisa?”

Another pause. Lisa’s voice was quiet when she finally answered. “I don’t know.”

Jean felt something inside her crack. She had been bracing for some kind of reassurance, some kind of promise. But Lisa’s uncertainty lingered in the air like a slow ache.

Jean inhaled shakily. “Maybe we should stop pretending this is working.”

Lisa’s breath hitched. “…Jean.”

“I need to think,” Jean murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “And I think you do too.”

She didn’t wait for Lisa’s response before ending the call.

For a long time, Jean just stood there, staring at her phone, wondering if she had just made a mistake—or if she had finally said what needed to be said.

Chapter Text

Lisa stared at her phone screen long after the call had ended, her fingers trembling slightly. The lock screen dimmed, then darkened entirely, but she didn’t move. She just sat there, motionless, as though the silence might offer some kind of answer. It didn’t.

The stillness in her apartment felt suffocating. Not quiet—quiet was something she’d once cherished. This was something else. This was absence. The absence of Jean’s voice, the absence of certainty, of direction, of the future they had once spoken about in soft, tired tones after long days.

The dim glow of her desk lamp barely illuminated the room, casting long shadows over the stacks of research papers that surrounded her—neat in arrangement but overwhelming in presence. Diagrams, annotations, graphs, old notes in the margins from conversations she used to share with Jean. She couldn’t look at them now. Not without feeling the hollow throb behind her eyes.

Somewhere in the room, half-forgotten, her untouched dinner sat on the edge of the table—cold and congealed on its plate. The fork still resting on the napkin beside it, exactly where she’d put it hours ago. It was meant to be a break, a pause between experiments. She never took it.

Lisa swallowed hard, trying to blink away the sting in her eyes. But it didn’t go away. It just lingered, heavy and warm at the corners, waiting for permission to fall.

Jean’s words still echoed, etched into the quiet like scratches on glass.

"You told me it was going to be okay. That we’d be fine. That we would make this work together."

Lisa exhaled shakily and pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead, trying to steady herself. But her hand shook slightly. She lowered it again.

She had meant it when she said those things. Every word. Back then, it had felt so simple—because they’d always found a way through. Even in the chaos of work and responsibility, even when the days blurred into each other, Jean had always been there. Grounding her. Loving her. Waiting for her.

But things had changed.

She had changed.

Lisa hadn’t wanted to admit it, not even to herself. She had buried the discomfort, dismissed the guilt. She had told herself she was just tired. That things would settle. That it was just a bad week. A bad month. That Jean understood. Jean always understood.

But that didn’t make it okay.

Because Jean had been understanding while Lisa had slowly, quietly, stopped showing up. Not physically—she was still around, still texting, still answering calls when she could. But emotionally… she had been slipping away without meaning to.

Lisa’s eyes burned. She tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling, the blur of light from her lamp catching the edge of her vision.

She had let the distance grow. Let her work eclipse the space that used to belong to them. She had let their conversations dwindle into brief exchanges—just enough to say “I love you” and “good night,” but not enough to be real anymore. Not enough to feel like them.

And worst of all, she had made Jean feel alone.

She let out a small, fractured breath and shut her eyes.

She had told herself that the late nights and missed calls were temporary. That her research would slow down eventually, and they would find their rhythm again. That Jean would wait.

Because Jean loved her.

And Lisa loved her back. Fiercely.

But love alone wasn’t enough, was it?

She had forgotten their anniversary.

Forgotten.

The word alone was enough to send a wave of nausea through her. It wasn’t that she didn’t care—it was that she hadn’t even realized it until Jean brought it up. And by then, it was too late.

What kind of person does that?

Lisa sat forward slowly, burying her face in her hands. She stayed like that for a long moment, breathing carefully through the tightness in her chest. Each breath felt like it snagged on something sharp.

"Then what are we doing, Lisa?"

Jean’s voice. Steady, but not cold. Not angry.

Just… tired.

Lisa had no answer. Not one that would fix it. Not one that mattered.

Because Jean was right.

She deserved more than hurried promises. She deserved more than being second to a career Lisa couldn’t seem to put down, even for the person she loved most.

She deserved someone who would remember.

Lisa lifted her head again, slow and heavy. Her fingers hovered over her phone. She wanted to call back. To say wait. To say please. To promise she’d do better.

But she didn’t.

Because she didn’t know if it would help.

Because for the first time, Lisa wasn’t sure if trying would be enough anymore.

Not when the damage had already been done.

Not when Jean had sounded like she was already half-gone.

Lisa looked down at her phone again, the screen still dark, waiting.

The ache in her chest wasn’t just sadness. It was fear. The quiet kind. The kind that said, what if this is it?

What if she’d spent so long assuming she had time, only to realize too late that time was exactly what she’d run out of?

Lisa curled her fingers into her palm and let the silence stretch on.

She hadn’t lost Jean yet. But it felt closer now—like the sound of footsteps walking away in a hallway she wasn’t sure how to follow.

And she didn’t know if she could catch up.

Chapter Text

Jean sat on the edge of her bed, staring blankly at the soft glow of her phone screen.

No new messages. No missed calls.

Lisa hadn’t reached out since their argument.

The apartment felt eerily quiet, the kind of silence that made her chest feel heavy. The usual comforting sounds—traffic outside, the hum of the fridge, the ticking of the wall clock—felt like a distant echo. She had come home hours ago, but her bag still sat unopened by the door, and she hadn’t bothered to take off her shoes.

It had been a long day at work, but the usual exhaustion didn’t settle in the way it normally did. There was no sense of relief in changing into her sweatpants, no comfort in being home. Just a cold, dragging ache that refused to ease. A weight pressing down on her shoulders, making everything feel slower. Numb.

Jean let out a slow breath and set her phone down on the nightstand, running a hand through her tangled hair. She had spent the past few days in a haze—keeping busy, throwing herself into schedules and deadlines, anything that could keep her mind off that hollow space Lisa used to fill. But distraction was a poor substitute for peace. And no matter how much she tried to ignore it, one question still lingered, gnawing at her every quiet moment:

Is this it? Is this how we end?

She had told Lisa they needed space. It had come out in a moment of pain and frustration, but she had meant it—at least part of her had. She thought Lisa would argue, would fight for them the way she always had. But Lisa, for once, didn’t.

And that scared Jean more than anything.

Because Lisa had always been the one to pull her back when she faltered. The one who caught her when she started to slip, who turned heavy nights into laughter with a single dry joke, who whispered tired reassurances that everything would be okay. Even when Jean wasn’t sure she believed it.

But this time… Lisa had stayed silent.

Jean felt her throat tighten.

She wanted to believe they could fix this. That they would come back to each other, just like they always had before. But this time felt different. And for the first time in years, she wasn’t sure if Lisa even wanted to try anymore.

A soft knock at the door pulled her from her spiraling thoughts.

“Jean?”

Barbara’s voice was gentle, cautious, like she was afraid of pushing too hard. Jean didn’t respond right away. After a moment, the door cracked open, and Barbara peeked her head in, frowning.

“You didn’t come down for dinner.”

Jean let out a tired sigh. “I wasn’t hungry.”

Barbara stepped fully into the room, her gaze scanning the unmade bed, the cluttered desk, the untouched glass of water on the dresser. She walked over and sat beside her, the mattress dipping slightly with the weight.

“You’ve been like this for days…” Barbara said softly. She hesitated. “Did something happen with Lisa?”

Jean stiffened but didn’t meet her eyes. Instead, she stared down at the small tear in the fabric of her pants and rubbed her thumb over it, back and forth.

Barbara didn’t push. She just waited.

Finally, Jean spoke, voice low and weary. “We… had a fight.”

Barbara frowned. “A bad one?”

Jean gave a weak, humorless laugh. “Yeah. The kind that makes you wonder if it’s the last one.”

A heavy pause settled between them.

Barbara glanced down, then reached out and gently placed a hand over Jean’s. “Do you think you’ll… break up?”

Jean’s breath caught.

The words stung more than she expected. She had thought them herself, of course—but hearing them out loud made them real in a way that unsettled her.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to. But… I don’t know if we can keep doing this. I don’t know if she wants to anymore.”

Barbara gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I don’t think Lisa would just give up on you.”

Jean shook her head slowly. “You didn’t hear her. She didn’t say anything. She just… let me walk away.”

Barbara’s voice dropped even softer. “Maybe she thought that’s what you needed.”

Jean didn’t answer. She didn’t know how to explain that it wasn’t about the silence—it was about what the silence might mean.

It wasn’t just that Lisa hadn’t called.

It was the possibility that maybe… she didn’t want to anymore.

And that terrified Jean more than anything.

𖹭

Lisa sat curled up on the couch, her knees pulled to her chest, her laptop still open on the coffee table—but the screen had long gone black.

She hadn’t touched it in hours.

The apartment was dim, lit only by the warm flicker of a half-burned candle on the kitchen counter. Outside, the city was still alive—honking horns, muffled music from a nearby window, the occasional distant shout. But inside her apartment, everything was still. Still, and unbearably quiet.

Lisa had moved through the last few days like a ghost—answering messages with polite efficiency, finishing projects, submitting files, all without once letting herself stop long enough to feel.

Because when she stopped, it all came crashing in.

She hadn’t messaged Jean. Not once.

Not since that last call.

She told herself it was because Jean needed space. That she was respecting that. That pushing now would only make things worse.

But deep down, Lisa knew better.

She hadn’t reached out because she was afraid.

Afraid that if she called, Jean wouldn’t answer. Afraid of confirming what she hadn’t dared to say out loud—that maybe she had already lost her.

Lisa stared down at her phone, lying face-up beside her. It felt heavier than it should have. Her fingers hovered over it more times than she could count, always stopping just short of unlocking the screen. Just short of typing something—anything.

She wanted to say she was sorry. That she missed her. That she still believed in them, even if she’d forgotten how to show it. That she was scared, and exhausted, and trying, even if it didn’t always look like it.

But the words felt stuck in her throat.

What if it was too late?

What if Jean had already moved on?

Lisa curled tighter into herself.

And then—something shifted.

A sudden, quiet clarity beneath the fear. A thought, simple and undeniable:

She doesn’t want to lose Jean.

Not like this, atleast.

Not in silence. Not with unfinished words hanging in the air. Not without at least trying to fix what they still had left.

Lisa sat up slowly, her heart pounding louder than any sound in the apartment.

Maybe she didn’t know what Jean would say. Maybe she’d already made up her mind. But Lisa couldn’t sit here, miles away, wondering what might’ve happened if she had just done something—anything.

She couldn’t let their story end over a phone call.

Lisa stood and crossed the room with sudden purpose, tugging her half-zipped suitcase out from under the bed. Her hands moved before her mind could catch up—reaching for clothes, charger, passport. She didn’t bother folding anything neatly this time. She just needed to go.

A flight. She’d figure that out next. It didn’t matter if it was expensive. It didn’t matter if it was last-minute. All that mattered was getting to Jean.

Because if this was going to fall apart—if they were going to end—Lisa needed to see her. Face to face. Heart to heart.

She needed Jean to know.

Lisa paused only once, her fingers hovering over the last item she tossed into her bag—an old hoodie of Jean’s, faded from too many washes, still smelling faintly like lavender and mint.

She closed the suitcase with a sharp click, grabbed her phone, and opened the airline app.

For the first time in days, her hands didn’t shake.

She was going to her.

No more silence.

No more waiting.

Not when there was still time to fix this.

Chapter Text

Jean wasn’t expecting anyone when the knock came at her door.

It was late—too late for casual visits—and she wasn’t in the mood for company. She had spent most of the day lost in work, hoping that if she buried herself in enough paperwork, the silence wouldn’t feel so heavy. It wasn’t really working.

The light in her office had gone dim hours ago, but she hadn’t noticed. The shadows in the room had stretched long across the walls, mirroring the weight inside her chest. Every page she turned felt heavier than the last, every word blurred together until the text stopped meaning anything at all. The silence wasn't just a lack of sound—it was an absence. And that absence had a name.

The knock came again, more insistent this time.

Jean sighed, her hand running through her hair as she closed the document she had been staring at for the past twenty minutes without making any progress. She stood up, rubbing her eyes, her limbs sluggish from too long spent still.

Barbara, who was curled up on the couch scrolling through her phone, glanced up from beneath the soft throw blanket draped over her legs. “Are you expecting someone?”

“No,” Jean murmured, walking toward the door, her voice low and distracted.

“Maybe it’s Kaeya,” Barbara offered, ever the optimist. “Or Diluc. He brought us dinner last time.”

Jean hummed, but something in her gut told her otherwise. A tightness in her chest, a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. There was something unfamiliar about the knock—familiar in the wrong way. She couldn’t explain it.

She opened the door—

And the breath caught in her throat.

Lisa stood on the other side, suitcase in hand, looking at Jean like she was afraid she might not be welcome.

The hallway behind her was quiet, the kind of quiet that made her arrival feel unreal—like she might vanish if Jean blinked. Lisa’s curls were wind-tousled, and her coat clung to her from the chill outside, but her eyes… her eyes held that same warmth Jean remembered, tinged with uncertainty.

“Hey,” Lisa said softly.

Jean felt like the floor had disappeared beneath her feet.

Her mind struggled to catch up. Lisa was here. Here. After weeks of only seeing her through a phone screen, after so many missed calls and tired apologies. Jean had imagined this moment a hundred times, but in every version, Lisa had given her a warning, a heads-up—something. This was unexpected.

“Lisa?” Jean’s voice came out quieter than she intended, barely more than a whisper.

“In the flesh.” Lisa gave a small, uncertain smile, then lifted a small bag. “I, uh… hope you don’t mind. I may have gotten on the first available flight.”

Jean opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her heart was racing, and she wasn’t sure if it was from panic, joy, or something tangled between the two.

“You—” She exhaled sharply, trying to piece together a response. “Lisa, you’re supposed to be working—”

“I took time off,” Lisa said simply, shifting her bag onto her shoulder. “I needed to see you.”

Jean wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Her hands gripped the door just a little tighter, fingers curling into the edge like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

Barbara, still sitting on the couch, peered over Jean’s shoulder. “Lisa?”

Lisa blinked in surprise, as if only just realizing they weren’t alone. “Oh! Barbara, sweetheart, you’re still up?”

Barbara huffed with mock offense. “It’s barely ten. You’re just used to Jean’s ridiculous sleeping schedule.”

Lisa let out a soft chuckle, and for a second, things felt normal—like she had never left. Like the space between them hadn’t stretched so wide. Like the silence hadn’t crept in.

But reality settled back in quickly. Jean was still standing in the doorway, still gripping the handle like she wasn’t sure whether to let Lisa in.

Lisa must have noticed because she hesitated, her voice turning quieter, more vulnerable.

“I know I can’t just show up and expect everything to be okay,” she said. “But I meant what I said. I want to fix this, Jean. And I figured the best way to start was by actually being here.”

Jean’s heart ached at the sincerity in her voice.

For so long, she had felt like she was the only one holding on. Like Lisa was always just out of reach, slipping further away. But now, Lisa was standing right in front of her, choosing them—choosing her.

Barbara looked between them, then stood up. “I, uh—I’ll go to my room. Give you two some space.” She gave Lisa a small smile before disappearing down the hall, her footsteps light but purposeful.

Jean exhaled slowly. The air in the room felt heavier now, weighted with possibilities she hadn’t dared hope for.

“…Come inside.”

Lisa’s eyes flickered with something unreadable before she nodded, stepping forward.

Jean stepped aside, her hand lingering on the door as she closed it behind her. The sound of the latch falling into place felt final and fragile at the same time.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Lisa was home.

And maybe—just maybe—so was Jean.

Chapter Text

The apartment felt eerily quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against Lisa’s ears and made her heart beat a little too loudly. She sat on the couch, her hands clasped tightly together as she stared at Jean across the room. Jean stood by the window, her back straight, arms crossed over her chest. The dim glow of the streetlights filtered through the glass, casting shadows across her tired face.

Lisa had walked through this door a thousand times before. This apartment, this couch, this window—it was theirs. A space they had built together, filled with quiet mornings, late-night conversations, and the warmth of simply being. It was home.

And yet, right now, it felt distant. Like she was stepping into someone else’s life, into a place where her presence no longer fit the way it once did.

Jean still hadn’t said anything.

Lisa cleared her throat, her voice quieter than usual. “Jean.”

Jean didn’t turn around.

Lisa exhaled through her nose. “Look at me.”

A few beats passed before Jean finally did, her blue eyes unreadable. Lisa had never been the type to fumble for words, but she suddenly found herself unsure of what to say.

Jean was tired.

Lisa could see it in the way her shoulders sagged just slightly, in the dullness behind her usually sharp gaze. And it wasn’t just exhaustion—it was hurt.

Lisa hated that she was the reason for it.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Jean admitted, rubbing a hand over her face. “There’s just… too much.”

Lisa hesitated. “Then let’s start with the truth.”

Jean let out a bitter chuckle. “The truth?” She shook her head. “The truth is, I don’t know if this is working anymore.”

Lisa felt a sharp pang in her chest, but she forced herself to keep her expression neutral. “Jean…”

Jean sat down on the opposite couch, resting her forearms on her knees. “Lisa, I kept telling myself that it was fine. That the distance was temporary, that we could handle it. But lately, I feel like I’ve spent more time missing you than actually talking with you.” She exhaled sharply. “And I kept waiting. I kept telling myself that you’d call first, that you’d make time. And then when you didn’t…”

She trailed off, and Lisa’s stomach twisted.

Jean let out a hollow laugh. “I started resenting it. The waiting. The silence. I started wondering if I was the only one trying.”

Lisa’s throat felt tight. “You weren’t. I swear, you weren’t.”

Jean looked at her, tired but skeptical. “Then why did it feel like it?”

Lisa’s heart clenched. “Because I wasn’t showing it enough.”

She ran a hand through her hair, choosing her words carefully. “Jean, I love my work, and I don’t regret taking this opportunity. But I made the mistake of thinking that just because I wanted us to be fine, that meant we were fine. I didn’t check in enough. I didn’t reach out the way I should have. And I—” she swallowed hard, voice dropping, “—I hate that I made you feel like you were alone in this.”

Jean was quiet for a long time. Then she sighed, leaning back against the couch. “Lisa, I don’t want to be alone in this. But I also don’t want to be the only one making an effort.”

Lisa nodded, her grip tightening on her own hands. “You’re right. You shouldn’t have to be.”

Jean studied her for a moment, then looked away. “So what now?”

Lisa exhaled slowly. “What do you want to do?”

Jean ran a hand over her face again, looking exhausted. “I want to believe we can fix this. I really do. But I’m scared.”

Lisa bit her lip, hesitating before reaching out. She took Jean’s hand, squeezing it gently. “I’m scared, too. But I don’t want to lose you.”

Jean’s fingers twitched around hers, like she was debating whether to pull away. But after a moment, she squeezed back.

“We have to try,” Jean murmured.

Lisa let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Then we will.”

Jean gave her a small, uncertain smile. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

And right now, something was enough.

Chapter Text

Lisa stood in the hallway, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. The tension in the apartment was suffocating, thick enough that even breathing felt like an intrusion. The shadows on the wall stretched long with the fading evening light, and for a moment, she found herself wishing she could fold herself into them, disappear entirely.

She had never needed to ask this question before—not in this home, not with Jean.

But tonight was different.

Lisa’s hands were curled loosely at her sides, her fingers twitching as though they didn’t quite know what to do with themselves. Her voice, when it came, sounded foreign even to her own ears.

“Where should I sleep?”

There was a pause. A long one.

Jean had been drying dishes in the kitchen, but at those four words, she stilled. The only sound left was the gentle ticking of the wall clock and the faint hum of the refrigerator. The dish towel in her hands stopped moving, clenched a little tighter, a small crease forming where her thumb pressed in too hard.

She turned, slowly. Her expression was unreadable, carefully composed like everything else Jean did—but Lisa wasn’t fooled. She knew the signs. The slight shift in her posture. The hesitation that flickered—just briefly—across her pale blue eyes.

Jean was calculating. Not cold, but cautious. She weighed every word as if it could tip the scales, shatter the fragile glass that now stood between them. And Lisa knew what the answer would be before she heard it.

But still, hearing it hurt.

“The guest room,” Jean said softly.

There was no cruelty in it. Just restraint. And that, somehow, made it worse.

Lisa felt her chest tighten, the air folding in on itself. She nodded once, lips twitching into a small smile—a polite one, practiced and distant.

“Alright.”

It didn’t sound like her. It didn’t sound like them.

She lingered in the hallway a moment longer, one foot still pointed toward Jean as if waiting for her to change her mind. To say no, stay. I want you to stay.

But Jean only turned back to the sink. Her shoulders were square, her back straight. The posture of someone bracing themselves against the weight of a decision already made.

Lisa turned away.

The guest room was too quiet. Too cold. She stood in the doorway for a long time before stepping in, glancing around at the unfamiliarity of it all. The bed wasn’t their bed. The pillows weren’t molded to her shape or Jean’s. Everything in this room felt borrowed, distant.

There were books on the shelf she didn’t recognize. The nightstand was bare. Even the air smelled wrong—like dust and lemon cleaner and something sterile. Not like home. Not like Jean.

She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall. Then at the ceiling. Then at the door she hadn’t bothered closing all the way. The silence pressed in around her, louder than any argument they hadn’t had.

How had they gotten here?

She lay back eventually, pulling the stiff blanket up to her chest. It smelled like lavender fabric softener and not like Jean. She folded her arms tightly around herself and closed her eyes.

But sleep didn’t come.

She drifted instead—half-awake, half-dreaming, floating somewhere between regret and remembering. She thought of Jean’s laugh, low and unguarded, the way it used to fill their mornings. The warmth of her hand on Lisa’s back in the kitchen when they passed each other, that unthinking intimacy that didn’t need announcing. The feeling of knowing—completely, without doubt—that she was wanted.

Now, all of that felt like a memory she wasn’t sure she was allowed to have anymore.

Somewhere down the hall, Jean was probably just as awake. Lisa could imagine her lying in their bed, staring at the ceiling too, the same restless thoughts circling like storm clouds.

Tomorrow. They would talk tomorrow.

𖹭

Morning came with a grey, overcast hush. Rain tapped gently against the windows, soft but persistent. The kind of weather that made everything feel suspended, slowed down. As if even the world itself was bracing for something unspoken.

Lisa hovered in the doorway of the kitchen, her fingers brushing the frame. She wasn’t sure if she should go in, if the invisible line drawn last night was still there.

Jean sat at the table, already dressed, her coffee half-finished. Her expression was unreadable. She didn’t look up right away.

Barbara sat across from her, her posture a little too careful. She stirred her tea with slow, deliberate movements, her eyes flicking between the two older women with a kind of quiet nervousness that she was trying hard not to show.

“I was thinking of stopping by the bookstore later,” Barbara said, voice light. A little too light. “They just got a new shipment of idol biographies and industry behind-the-scenes books.” She glanced up, trying to make it sound like normal conversation. Like she wasn’t trying to stitch the room back together with her words. “Maybe we could all go together?”

Lisa caught the way her fingers fidgeted slightly around the handle of her spoon. The way her voice trembled, barely.

Jean didn’t answer right away. She lifted her coffee cup, took a sip, set it back down with the precision of someone who needed a task to keep her hands occupied.

“Maybe,” she said after a beat. “I’ll see how my day goes.”

Barbara gave a small smile. A silent I’m trying. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Lisa moved further into the kitchen, slow steps. She poured herself a cup of tea and sat across from Jean, careful not to let their knees brush beneath the table.

Barbara carried on, filling the silence with soft, practiced conversation. Updates about her schedule, stories from her work, little observations that didn’t need responses. Lisa appreciated it—this gentle attempt to patch the cracks.

Still, the quiet between her and Jean pulsed like a wound. Unspoken words hovered in the air, waiting to be acknowledged, dissected, spoken aloud.

Lisa glanced at Jean.

Her face was calm, but her hands were tense. Lisa knew those hands. Knew how they trembled, just barely, when Jean was overwhelmed. Knew how they softened when brushing back her hair. Knew how they used to reach for hers in the quiet spaces between everything else.

She missed that.

She missed her.

The rain outside softened to a misty patter, barely audible. Somewhere in the distance, a car passed. The world went on. The tea in her cup was growing colder by the minute.

She wondered if Jean had slept at all. If she’d thought about knocking on the door. If she’d stood outside it, once, maybe even reached for the handle before pulling her hand back.

Lisa would’ve opened it. She still would.

But neither of them moved.

They sat there, three people pretending the air wasn’t stitched with silence, that the pause in Jean’s voice last night hadn’t echoed through every corner of the apartment.

Eventually, Barbara rose, excusing herself with some quiet comment about her afternoon rehearsal. She offered them both a smile—gentle, almost pleading—and left her empty cup in the sink.

And then it was just the two of them again.

Lisa looked at her hands. Then at Jean’s. Then at the space between them.

They needed to talk. That much was obvious.

But for now, they settled for the quiet. For shared space, if not shared warmth. For small gestures, half-smiles, and Barbara’s fragile hope holding them in place like threadbare stitches on a seam too strained.

Tomorrow, Lisa promised herself again.

Tomorrow, they’d talk.

But tonight, they’d endure.

Chapter Text

Lisa had spent the entire night lying awake in bed, the soft blue glow of her laptop casting long shadows across the room. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away from the screen. She wasn’t even sure how many times she’d reread the email—ten? Twenty? Maybe more. And still, the words felt unreal, like they didn’t belong in this reality.

Transfer Request Approved.

She exhaled slowly, her breath shaky. Her fingertips hovered above the keyboard, then drifted to the edge of the trackpad, tracing its smooth surface over and over again, as if that repetitive motion might somehow ground her. As if the message might change if she touched it differently, or stared long enough.

But it didn’t change. The words remained the same.

It had taken weeks of quiet planning, of running her doubts in circles. Weeks of late-night calls to old colleagues, tentative emails written and rewritten to the board, long spells of silence where she just lay on her back staring at the ceiling, questioning everything. Wondering if she was making a mistake. Wondering if she already had.

She had braced herself for rejection. In some ways, she had almost wanted it. Because if they said no, the decision would be out of her hands, and she could pretend she hadn’t had a choice.

Lisa had once believed this was her dream. That the years of studying, of research, of sacrificing sleep and weekends and holidays—of missing birthdays and quiet dinners with Jean—had all been leading to something meaningful.

But staring at the confirmation now, all she felt was hollow.

No relief. No pride. Just that slow, persistent ache she had been trying not to name.

Because the truth was, the more time passed, the more it became obvious:

She had made the wrong choice every day she stayed away from Jean.

Lisa drew in a steadying breath, then closed the laptop with quiet finality. The click of the lid shutting echoed louder than it should’ve. It sounded like an answer. Like something done and irreversible.

The decision had been made.

And this time, there was no hesitation.

𖹭

Morning seeped into the apartment with a soft golden hush. Pale sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, spilling in lazy beams across the hardwood floor. It was the kind of morning that might have felt peaceful once—before the silence between them became so loud.

The apartment was still. The only sound was the faint clink of porcelain, the occasional rustle of fabric. Lisa stood just inside the doorway, her suitcase propped upright beside her, the wheels quiet against the floor.

Her heartbeat was loud in her ears. Louder than her footsteps had been in the hallway. Louder than the elevator ding. Louder than the pounding silence in the days before she made her decision.

Jean sat at the small kitchen table, a mug of coffee in her hands, her gaze distant and unfocused. She wore an old, oversized sweater—probably one of Lisa’s, stretched at the sleeves—and soft gray sweatpants. Her hair was slightly mussed, like she hadn’t bothered brushing it yet. Her shoulders were hunched, her posture slouched, tired in a way Lisa hadn’t seen before. Not tired like she’d been working late. Tired like she hadn’t let herself hope in a long time.

Across the kitchen, Barbara rinsed out her teacup. The sound of water running was the only thing filling the space. At the sight of Lisa, Barbara froze for a moment, her eyes flickering between her sister and Lisa with a careful, almost-too-neutral expression. But there was something hopeful in her gaze too—fragile, like she didn’t want to expect too much.

Lisa took a breath. Then another. Then she stepped forward.

“Jean.”

Jean’s head turned sharply at the sound of her name. Her eyes widened, and for a second, she just stared. Her expression cracked—just slightly. A flicker of emotion Lisa couldn’t read passed through her features before her face settled back into something guarded.

“Lisa?” Her voice was quiet. Rough, like she hadn’t spoken much that morning. “Do you need something?”

Lisa opened her mouth. Then closed it again.

She didn’t know how to say it. Not yet. So instead, she moved to the table and pulled out the chair across from Jean. The scrape of the wood on the floor felt too loud. She sat down, placed her phone on the table gently between them. The screen was still lit, the email open.

Jean’s eyes dropped to it. She leaned forward slightly, her brows furrowing as she read. Then again. Her lips parted as confusion shifted into disbelief. Her grip around the coffee mug tightened.

“You—” she started, but her voice broke. “Lisa, this is your job.”

Lisa nodded slowly. Her fingers trembled faintly against the ceramic edge of her own cup, untouched.

“It was my job,” she said softly. “Now… I’ll find a new one. Something closer. Something here.”

Jean didn’t respond right away. Her eyes searched Lisa’s face, like she didn’t believe it—like she couldn’t. “You’re really giving it up?”

Lisa gave a small smile. It was tired, but steady. “I’m choosing us.” The words felt quiet but solid in her mouth. “I should’ve done it a long time ago.”

Jean’s mouth opened again, but no sound came out. Her hand trembled faintly around her mug, her knuckles white. Her eyes shimmered, but she didn’t blink.

They sat in stillness, the moment stretching, fragile and full of things unsaid.

And then, finally, Jean reached across the table.

Lisa didn’t hesitate. She met her halfway, their fingers intertwining instinctively. Her hand fit perfectly against Jean’s—warm, grounding, familiar.

From the sink, Barbara made a soft, breathy sound—part sigh, part sniffle—and quickly turned away, pretending to busy herself with the dishes. Lisa caught it, but didn’t say anything.

Jean squeezed her hand, her grip firm like she was afraid to let go.

“Lisa,” she said again, quieter this time. There was wonder in her voice now. Fragile hope. “You’re really here.”

Lisa’s voice caught in her throat. She swallowed around it.

“I’m home.”

Jean let out a shaky, broken laugh, her other hand rising to wipe at her eyes before the tears could fall. “No more goodbyes?”

“No more goodbyes,” Lisa repeated, her voice a whisper.

Jean pushed back her chair and stood, and Lisa rose with her. The moment their arms wrapped around each other, something inside Lisa finally eased. Jean held her like she was afraid Lisa would disappear again—tight and trembling, fingers curled into the fabric of her shirt. Lisa buried her face into Jean’s shoulder and breathed her in—faint vanilla, old books, Jean.

Jean's breath hitched against her neck. “I missed you,” she whispered. “I tried not to, but I did. Every day.”

“I know,” Lisa said, her voice breaking too. “I did too. I just—I was scared. That I’d disappoint you. That you’d hate me if I came back too late.”

Jean leaned back just far enough to look at her. “You’re not too late.”

The words were simple, but they felt like forgiveness.

Like a second chance wrapped in morning light.

Lisa blinked back the sting in her eyes. “I don’t want to be anywhere else anymore.”

Jean smiled then. A real one. Soft, a little cracked, but real. She cupped Lisa’s cheek, and Lisa leaned into it, closing her eyes for a moment as Jean’s thumb brushed under her eye gently, like she could erase the months of absence with touch alone.

They stood there like that for a long time.

No more silence. No more distance.

Just the soft rhythm of two heartbeats finding each other again.

Lisa’s eyes fluttered shut.

She was home.

Exactly where she was supposed to be.