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The apartment door swung shut behind them with a quiet thunk, muffling the sound of light rain that had just begun to fall — not quite a storm, just that soft, misty kind of drizzle that clung to coats and hair like static. The hallway echoed briefly with the scuffle of shoes being kicked off, then faded into the low, familiar hum of home.
Gem was the first through the door, breathless and half-laughing as she nearly stumbled while tugging off her sneakers. She nudged them into a messy pile by the wall, then shrugged out of her rain-speckled coat and flung it over the nearest chair with the grace of someone too tired to care. Her clothes were slightly rumpled. Her sleeves were pushed up unevenly.
She stretched up onto her toes with a theatrical groan, arms overhead, back cracking audibly. “God, it’s over,” she mumbled, almost in disbelief. Then, louder — like she needed to hear it out loud: “It’s over.”
Pearl followed a few steps behind, more composed, but unmistakably softened in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to be in weeks. Her shoulders were no longer stiff. Her pace had slowed. She closed the door carefully behind her, hands full with grocery bags that crinkled as she set them down near the coffee table. For a moment she lingered there — hand still on the knob, gaze tilted toward the floor. And then she turned.
When her eyes found Gem’s, something quiet flickered through her expression — a small, unguarded smile that passed through her like light on water. It was gone just as quickly as it appeared.
Gem was already humming under her breath, some shapeless little tune twisted by too much caffeine and too little sleep. Her steps were loose, unsteady in a harmless kind of way. Her hoodie sat wrinkled on her shoulders, the drawstrings lopsided. She looked like someone who’d just finished running a marathon and hadn’t quite registered the finish line.
They’d made it.
They’d survived.
Pearl crouched beside the coffee table and began unpacking things with that usual methodical care — chocolate bars, instant ramen, a small carton of strawberry milk, dark chocolate Pocky, peach-flavored soda. As the bags emptied, her posture gradually softened — as if her body had just remembered it no longer needed to study for anything.
Meanwhile, Gem waltzed past her and dumped her own bag directly in the center of the rug with an unnecessary thud — chips, cans, and candy scattering in every direction.
Pearl flinched, inhaled sharply — more startled than annoyed — then let out a slow, theatrical sigh. Her gaze lifted, flat but amused.
“Really?”
She said it dryly, but her tone was light. Just falling into the rhythm of the roles they’d learned to play. Her look was sideways, vaguely exasperated, but her mouth tugged upward at the corner before she even tried to hide it.
Gem just grinned, mischief in her eyes with no remorse.
Pearl rolled her eyes — and started tidying anyway.
Gem dropped to her knees beside her, and together they began sorting the mess into little piles. Spicy chips, dried seaweed, sour gummies, canned coffees, energy drinks — all Gem’s. Dark chocolate, fresh-baked cookies, dried fruit snacks — all Pearl.
It was wordless work, but not quiet. Bags crinkled. Wrappers rustled. Every so often, one of them nudged or swatted the other’s hand out of the way without comment.
Gem looked over just as Pearl began to unwrap a chocolate bar with the kind of slow, practiced precision that suggested ritual more than hunger. She peeled the foil back in perfect lines, smoothing it flat along the table before breaking off a small square.
Pearl popped the piece into her mouth and let her eyes close for just a second — just long enough for Gem to see the tension slide off her face.
“I haven’t had one of these in so long,” she murmured, mostly to herself. “I used to get them all the time, but lately… I guess I forgot I’m… allowed to treat myself.”
Gem didn’t answer right away. She just watched her, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes — soft, maybe. Knowing. Then she nudged a half-crushed bag of chips across the rug toward her with two fingers.
Pearl accepted it with a faint, grateful nod.
Then, without really thinking, she broke off another piece of the chocolate and held it toward Gem — not ceremoniously, not deliberately. Just offered it, easy and instinctive.
Gem blinked in surprise. Her lips parted, and she smiled — smaller this time. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, leaned forward, and took the piece of chocolate right from Pearl’s fingers.
For half a second, Pearl froze.
Heat flickered across her face — a bloom of pink rising high on her cheeks — but she looked away before Gem could notice. Or maybe just before Gem could say anything.
They didn’t speak. Didn’t comment.
And then, as if it had always been the plan, they both eased down into the nest of pillows and throw blankets that had gradually overtaken the living room floor. No need to coordinate it — they just moved together. Their backs found the couch cushions. Their legs stretched out, half-crossed, already nudging close.
Gem plucked a handful of bottles and ingredients from the snack pile and skipped off toward the kitchen counter, her socked feet nearly slipping on the laminate as she went. Once everything was set down, she pulled her hair into a quick tie behind her head — a loose, practiced knot at the nape of her neck. No apron this time, but she didn’t seem to need one.
Pearl stayed where she was, still crouched near the coffee table, watching her go with mild interest. She didn’t follow — just listened to the clink of bottles and the soft patter of Gem’s socks sliding across the tile.
In the soft lamplight, the kitchen counter became their makeshift bar. Bottles of cheap fruit spirits, convenience store mango juice, a crumpled sleeve of sugar packets, and a half-used bottle of café strawberry syrup she’d “borrowed” from Lizzie. From the fridge, Gem grabbed a half-filled tray of ice cubes and an entire orange, already rolling up her sleeves as she gave the paring knife a little twirl in her hand before peeling the orange.
She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t pause to measure or overthink. Just poured, stirred, adjusted — swishing the ice in the bottom of a dented metal tumbler with the kind of casual confidence that looked more instinct than effort, nodding and humming faintly to herself as she went.
Pearl, now mostly done sorting snacks, stayed still. Her head tilted slightly as she watched, something thoughtful and unreadable behind her eyes. She didn’t speak until the scent of citrus started to drift through the air.
“Have you worked as a bartender or something?” she asked eventually. “Because if you have, you’ve never told me.”
Gem glanced over her shoulder. “Nope. Just… it’s kind of like making café drinks.” She popped open a can and added it to the mix with a fizz. “Ratios, balance, flavor, all that. Only difference is alcohol bites back.”
A second later, with a bit more pride in her voice, she added, “Also I read the Wikipedia page on mixology, so I’m basically certified.”
That earned a short laugh from Pearl — low and real, catching her off-guard. “That explains everything,” she murmured, and she meant it — not the joke, but the ease. The way Gem moved like this was second nature. Like making something, anything, gave her an anchor to orbit around.
Gem kept going, narrating a little as she worked — not trying to show off, just… talking. Filling the air with something that felt soft and light.
“You’ve got four main parts — the base, the acid, the spirit, and the garnish.” She held up the mango juice. “Base is sweet. Syrup works too. Acid’s sharp — lemon, lime, whatever cuts through.”
She glanced at Pearl as she added a generous splash of liquor. “The spirit is, well, what makes it fun. It’s all about balance. You want the sharpness of the alcohol to play nice with the acid and the sweetness, so nothing overwhelms the rest.”
Then she sliced off a wide piece of orange peel and gave the knife another idle spin. “And then you throw something on top to make it pretty.”
Pearl raised an eyebrow. “That what the orange is for?”
“Mmhm. Presentation counts.” Gem started curling the zest into neat little spirals. “Can’t drink anything ugly.”
Pearl gave her a flat look and a smirk. “As if we didn’t buy wine in a can .”
“Hey,” Gem said, pointing the knife at her. “I’m saving our dignity. Let me have this.”
Pearl laughed again, smaller this time. She didn’t look away.
She returned to assembling the drink, giving the shaker a few practiced flicks of her wrist. It clinked quietly in her hands as she poured, stirred, and finished building it — a pinkish-red mixture of mango juice, fruit spirit, and strawberry syrup over ice. She took a tiny sip, squinting thoughtfully, then gave a small nod.
“Okay. Not poison.”
After rinsing a second glass, she poured with the same care as before and brought it over, pinky lifted in mock-formality. The liquid glowed faintly peach in the lamp glow, the little curl of orange zest perched on top like it belonged there.
“Your drink, Madame.”
Pearl took it with a touch of theatrical skepticism, eyes narrowing. She sniffed it — then sipped. And paused.
The alcohol hit first — sharp and unexpected — but it mellowed quickly into something smooth and citrusy, bright with strawberry and just enough sweetness to feel like a treat. She blinked, surprised. Then took another, smaller sip.
“…Okay, wow,” she said slowly. “That’s… actually really good.”
Gem let out a quiet breath of laughter. She looked proud, but not smug — just quietly pleased to have gotten it right. “Thanks. Glad to hear I’m not all talk.”
She turned back to the counter to pour herself a glass, humming softly again — not the same tune as before, just whatever her brain pulled out of the static.
Pearl didn’t speak. She just watched — not the drink, not the counter, not even the way the light played off the shaker’s steel.
Just Gem.
Her eyes lingered on her longer than she meant to. Her fingers curled loosely around the glass in her lap, and the soft smile on her lips didn’t fade.
The apartment had slipped into something softer — dim and golden, washed in the quiet flicker of fairy lights strung haphazardly across the window frame. A warm floor lamp cast gentle shadows onto the couch, flickering slightly every time someone shifted against the plug. Their shared playlist hummed low in the background, shuffling between regular songs neither of them had admitted to adding first.
At some point, they’d changed into loungewear — Pearl now curled up in an oversized hoodie that swallowed her arms, hood down, hair loose and slightly mussed from how often she kept tugging it back. Gem wore just her tank top and sweatpants, drawstrings undone, one leg tucked beneath her and the other half-stretched across the pillow-littered floor. Her hair was pulled into a messy tie again, but several strands had already fallen loose around her face. Neither of them seemed to notice. Or care.
The floor had transformed into a cozy, chaotic nest — the kind built slowly and unintentionally over hours that quietly bled into the night. Empty noodle cups lay scattered among stray chips and crumpled napkins, while half-drunk cans of soda and sugary cocktails formed a loose ring around them. The pillows and blankets they’d pulled down from the couch had merged into a sprawl of overlapping softness — a patchwork terrain that invited lounging, stretching, leaning in without thought.
At some point, they’d both just settled into it. Legs tangled loosely. Shoulders drawn close. Half-reclined and face to face like there was nowhere else they needed to be and no one waiting for them elsewhere.
A lineup of unfinished drinks stood like mismatched chess pieces across the rug — some fizzing faintly, others long gone flat. One corner of the floor had become Gem’s unofficial drink-testing lab, complete with an open notebook where she’d begun rating their creations in messy, looping handwriting. She’d scribbled things like “weirdly good??” beside a coconut-peach spritz and a “no” simply underlined below a disastrous root beer–mint combination that Pearl had gagged on mid-sip before trying, unconvincingly, to play it cool.
Gem had nearly cried laughing. Pearl still wasn’t convinced her tastebuds had fully recovered.
They sat across from each other, backs against the couch, half-reclined in the pillows they’d dragged down earlier. Their knees bumped now and then — lazy, unbothered. Neither pulled away.
They were a few drinks in by now. Not drunk — just softened around the edges. Flushed cheeks, slower words, looser laughter. The kind of warmth that bloomed just below the skin, made everything feel slower, closer, safe.
Pearl was still absentmindedly picking at snacks — she unwrapped another stick of chocolate Pocky with slow fingers, then broke it in half and popped one end into her mouth. Gem, on the other hand, had just dared herself into another handful of the sour gummies they’d both sworn off earlier — and regretted it instantly.
She hiccupped hard, eyes watering as she fanned her mouth in panic.
“Mistakes were made—” she wheezed, reaching blindly for her drink and downing it in frantic gulps.
Pearl tried to hold it together. She really did. But the look on Gem’s face was too much — wide-eyed, panicked, betrayed by her own taste buds. She snorted once. Then again. Then burst out laughing, mouth hidden behind her hoodie sleeve as her shoulders shook.
“And why ,” she choked out between gasps, “would you wash it down with a soda? ”
Gem didn’t bother trying to justify herself. She just laughed too — hiccupping, breathless, curled forward with one hand pressed to her chest like she was in genuine distress. Her drink sloshed a little in the cup. Her tank top had slipped slightly off one shoulder.
The moment stretched into helpless giggles — first loud, then quieter, then louder again when Gem tried to speak and couldn’t get past the hiccups. It was the kind of laughter that emptied everything else out. That made the room feel like it was floating.
Eventually, the storm passed. Their shoulders relaxed. The silence that followed wasn’t silence at all — just a softer sound, one that let the background playlist rise again like a tide.
Their conversation wandered. It didn’t need direction anymore. They drifted from snacks to school gossip to their final exams — comparing multiple choice questions, complaining about poorly worded prompts, trying to remember whether they’d both misread their sections.
“Do you remember when Dr. Larsson fainted during her lecture?” Pearl asked, tone casual — but her eyes already gleamed with the beginning of another laugh.
Gem’s head snapped up. “Please,” she said. “Like I could forget.”
That broke them again — full-body laughter that made Pearl double over and Gem press her face into a pillow.
Eventually, the conversation drifted — not because they ran out of things to say, but because the space between them felt steady enough to wander. They moved through topics like loose stones in a riverbed: old part-time jobs, embarrassing high school moments, the weird habits they picked up when no one was watching.
Pearl told Gem about her first job at a stationery store, how she’d once memorized all the 12-digit inventory codes by heart. “I thought it’d save me time,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But it just made everyone uncomfortable. Like, why does the new girl know every UPC by memory?”
Gem snorted into her drink and shared her own horror story from a summer working at a garden center. “I was in charge of watering the plant areas,” she said, voice wry, “and I accidentally left the hose on this weird incline. I flooded the whole damn aisle. Like—ankle-deep. My manager yelled at me for hours.
Pearl laughed — an actual laugh, soft and unguarded, without that dry twist of irony she so often wore as armor. Gem glanced at her sideways and didn’t stop. It was like each time she got Pearl to laugh, something small and private unfolded in her chest. Not quite pride. Just… joy. Quiet and real.
The talk shifted again, this time to places they wanted to go. Pearl admitted she’d always wanted to visit Kyoto in the spring — see the cherry blossoms, get lost in quiet temples, maybe sketch in the parks like she used to dream about in class. Her voice went quieter as she said it, like she’s afraid wanting something so beautiful might jinx it. Gem’s answer was less poetic but just as sincere: she wanted to try the coffee in every major European city. And she said it with like a promise to herself — one she fully intended to keep, no matter how impractical.
There was no script here. No rush. Just the slow comfort of being themselves without apology.
At some point, Pearl found another pack of fruit gummies from the edge of the floor and offered some to Gem. When Gem opened her mouth expectantly, Pearl grinned, leaned back, and tried to toss one in.
It missed by a mile and pegged Gem directly in the eye.
She let out a loud yelp and flopped backward like she’d just been fatally struck. “I’ve been hit,” she groaned dramatically from the floor, clutching her chest like a soldier in an old war film.
Pearl was already doubled over, wheezing. “Oh my god— I’m so sorry,” she managed between hiccups, but she was doing absolutely nothing to help. Her face was red, her laughter uncontrollable, she nearly fell sideways trying to catch her breath.
Still groaning, Gem stretched out on the carpet with one arm over her eyes. Pearl eventually gave in and dropped beside her, still giggling as her breath evened out.
Their shoulders bumped, then settled. Neither of them shifted away.
For a moment, there was only the low hum of the room: the faint whirr of the fridge, the soft glow of fairy lights pooling across the rug, the distant tick of the wall clock.
Gem leaned back against the couch, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Even now I lie awake…”
She didn’t mean to sing it. It just slipped out, a line that had been looping in her head for days.
“Knowing history has its eyes on me.”
Pearl didn’t miss a beat.
Her voice joined in, low and sure — harmonizing with the final line like it was second nature:
“History has its eyes on me…”
And then, without thinking, she kept humming the gentle “woah”s that followed, filling the quiet like a thread of comfort.
Gem blinked. She turned to look at Pearl — not startled, not wide-eyed, just… still. Like her brain needed a second to catch up to what had just happened.
“You know that one?” she asked, voice low. A smile was already tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Pearl shrugged, glancing away like it wasn’t a big deal. “After you showed me Wait For It, I… kinda listened to the entire thing.”
Gem’s smile widened — not the gleeful kind, but something softer. Quieter. Like warmth steeped in surprise.
She wasn’t sure what got her more: the fact that Pearl recognized the line, or how naturally she’d jumped in. No pause. No hesitation. Just there — in sync.
She didn’t say anything else. Didn’t need to.
Shoulder to shoulder, the quiet settled around them like a blanket.
The drinks had helped. Sure. But the closeness between them wasn’t something new.
It had always been there — waiting beneath everything else, just waiting for the noise to fall away.
A few drinks later, Pearl’s cheeks were flushed with a warm, rosy glow. The soft light of the fairy lights above cast a golden haze around them, wrapping the room in a cozy, intimate bubble. They sat close together on the living room rug—cross-legged, shoulders brushing, nestled among a scattered patchwork of pillows. The evening had slowed, words and movements softened by alcohol and comfort.
Pearl’s usual sharp sarcasm had mellowed into gentle teasing, her laughter lighter, more frequent. Her hoodie sleeves were pushed up to her elbows, and her knees occasionally brushed against Gem’s, who watched her with a fond, half-lidded grin. Pearl’s hands moved lazily in the air, as if the words needed a little help finding their way out.
There was a flirtatious undercurrent threading through their conversation—not urgent or heavy, but a slow, easy joy born of being fully seen and safe in each other’s company. Their banter felt like a well-loved song, familiar yet fresh, with just the right amount of offbeat rhythm.
Pearl’s glass was empty, and with a soft clink, she set it aside and playfully poked Gem’s arm.
“You know…” Pearl started, blinking slowly, a lazy smirk tugging at her lips, “you’re actually really good at this.”
Gem raised an eyebrow, amused.
“At what? Drinking you under the table?”
Pearl waved her hand dismissively, then fixed Gem with a dramatic stare. Without breaking eye contact, she downed the last of her drink in one go, swallowing hard and exhaling with a loopy smirk—then nearly tipped sideways in the process. She burst into a tipsy laugh, pulling her sleeve over her mouth.
“No—this,” she insisted once the giggles subsided. “The bartending thing. I’m serious. You could make real money with this. Like, actual tips. You should get a license or whatever. I’d come just to see you behind the bar.”
Gem hummed, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, clearly amused and flattered.
“You think so?” she asked. “Imagine me behind a real bar. I’d crack under pressure.”
Now more quietly and unsure, “Someone would order a— I dunno, a water— and I’d manage to fuck that up.”
Pearl grinned, turning slightly toward her, chin tucked into the sleeve of her hoodie.
“Maybe,” she said, voice low and sincere, “but you’d look good doing it.”
That gave Gem pause. Just for a second, her eyes flicked up to the fairy lights like they’d give her somewhere to rest her thoughts. She swirled the last of her drink, glass clinking softly, her smile still there — but smaller now. Gentler.
She didn’t answer right away.
The quiet between them wasn’t tense. It just felt full. Like the air itself had settled a little heavier, a little warmer.
Then Gem exhaled through her nose and tilted her head, glancing sidelong.
“So do you flirt like this with all the waitresses,” she said, raising an eyebrow, “or am I just special?”
Pearl gasped — dramatically, hand pressed to her chest like Gem had wounded her.
“Excuse you.”
Then she leaned in, just a little too close — her voice dropping into a terrible attempt at a sultry whisper.
“You’re my favourite bartender.”
Gem laughed, loud and open, and gave her a gentle shove. “You’re the worst .”
Pearl grinned like she’d won something.
The conversation faded for a moment — not because they ran out of things to say, but because the quiet felt good. Comfortable. Safe. The kind that wrapped around them instead of wedging between.
Somewhere in the hush, one of them yawned — quiet and sudden.
The other smiled.
A lazy, drowsy kind of warmth settled in their bones. The night was winding down.
Neither of them said it out loud, but neither of them wanted it to end yet.
The conversation drifted into something looser now, soft and shapeless like the way their limbs stretched across the rug. A mostly-empty bag of sour gummies lay between them, passed lazily back and forth without much thought. The fairy lights above blinked softly, casting a golden glow over their flushed cheeks and relaxed postures.
Pearl’s phone buzzed against the rug. She groaned a little, picked it up without much urgency, and squinted at the screen.
“Grian… what do you want now…” she muttered, not even trying to hide the exasperated fondness in her voice.
Gem perked up, the name catching her attention. “Wait—Grian? As in Grian from my marine bio mentorship group? Freshman, little short, dirty-blonde hair?”
Pearl snorted, voice lighter now, almost bubbly with the tipsiness. “That’s the one.”
Gem blinked at her. “Huh… I didn’t know you two were close. How’d you meet?”
Pearl didn’t even pause. “I was… there when he was born?”
Gem’s head tilted slowly, eyes narrowing as she processed that. “…Wait. What? Seriously?”
Pearl just nodded, popping another gummy into her mouth like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Mm-hmm.”
Gem stared, half-laughing as she tried to wrap her head around it. “All this time I’ve been thinking he was just a weirdly enthusiastic friend.”
“Sorry, he is that,” Pearl said with a shrug. “He’s also my little brother.”
“Sorry? That explains so much. I thought he was being nosy because he was asking about you, but he’s just—protective, huh?”
Pearl rolled her eyes, but the smile that tugged at her lips was undeniably affectionate. “He thinks he’s subtle. He’s not.”
Gem let out a soft laugh, still surprised. Then she looked at Pearl again — her posture tucked in, hoodie sleeves were loose at her wrists, mouth still curled from her last smile — and something in her tone shifted. Warmer. Quieter.
“He really looks out for you, huh?”
Pearl didn’t answer right away. Her fingers drummed softly against her glass, the gummy between them untouched for once. Then she gave a small, almost sheepish nod, eyes dropping to her lap.
“Yeah… He does.”
She didn’t say anything more. She didn’t need to.
And Gem didn’t press. She just smiled to herself and let the moment stretch, gentle and unspoken, tucking it away like a pebble in her pocket. Something to hold onto. Something worth keeping.
Pearl’s flushed and loud now, eyes glassy with warmth, voice rising in an off-key chorus as she belts out whatever song the speaker shuffles to next. Neither of them knows all the lyrics, but that doesn’t stop them — yelling half-remembered lines, clapping to the beat, adding exaggerated flourishes for dramatic effect. The world outside their apartment doesn’t exist. It’s just them, some cheap alcohol, and a never-ending playlist.
Pearl’s never quite been this unguarded around Gem — slouching into the couch, hair mussed, hands painting the air with every verse, her laugh sharp and real between lines.
She lifts her drink mid-chorus, arm swinging wide in time with some triumphant bridge — and the glass tips.
A splash of liquid arcs across the room and lands squarely on Gem’s shirt.
For a second, everything freezes.
Pearl stares at the spreading wet patch, her expression flickering from confusion to slow-motion panic.
“Oh no—! Shit—I didn’t—Gem—”
She promptly drops the glass directly onto the rug and lunges for the abandoned napkins with too much urgency, scrambling with fumbled hands. The motion knocks over a half-empty snack bowl, popcorn spilling like confetti.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—I just—God, I’m such an idiot—”
But Gem’s already laughing. The cold of the spill had made her squeak, high and startled — but it’s the look on Pearl’s face that breaks her. Wide-eyed, slurring apologies, flailing with a crumpled napkin like she’s trying to smother a fire. It’s too much.
“It’s fine, I promise—stop panicking, you’re gonna spill more—Pearl—Pearl—” Gem tries to twist away, but Pearl won’t give up. She keeps dabbing at the wet patch with increasing desperation, her cheeks flushed redder than wine.
They collapse sideways into the couch cushions, tangled in a nest of pillows, blankets, and snack debris. Pearl’s hair gets caught on the edge of a throw blanket; Gem, wheezing with laughter, reaches out to help untangle it, even as her shirt clings damply to her ribs.
Pearl’s still apologizing through her giggles now, the panic finally melting. “You’re soaked—I’m so sorry—”
“Pearl. It’s fine.” Gem’s voice is warm and breathless, her hands rising to gently cup Pearl’s flushed face.
Her thumb swipes across Pearl’s lower lip — slow, aimless, maybe even accidental. But it lingers just a second too long. Pearl goes still at the touch, eyes flicking up.
And then Gem laughs again, helpless and light, like it’s too late at night to be embarrassed and too good of a moment to overthink.
The moment slides away like water on tile.
But it lingers just long enough to be noticed.
Pearl stills, just slightly. Her eyes meet Gem’s, something quiet flickering under the surface — but then Gem laughs again, soft and helpless, and the moment folds back in on itself before it can stretch too far.
They dissolve into hiccuping laughter and breathless wheezing, drunk and glowing and ridiculous.
Neither of them are quite upright anymore. Just limbs slung across each other, breath uneven, cheeks flushed, everything soft and warm and too messy to be anything but perfect.
Their laughter ebbed slowly, tapering into a soft kind of silence. Pillows were scattered across the couch. A blanket had half-slid to the floor. Gem slouched bonelessly into the cushions, flushed and loose-limbed, a half-eaten Pocky stick dangling lazily from her mouth. Her head was tilted into a pillow, eyelids heavy, but her smile hadn’t budged — drowsy, content, lit from the inside out.
Pearl wiped at her eyes, the last of her giggles fading into breath. Her gaze drifted to her phone where it rested, face-up and charging on the coffee table. She stared at it for a long moment. Her smile faltered, just slightly.
She reached for it.
“Okay,” she said, quieter now. Her voice had lost its edges — not slurred, exactly, but softened by wine and warmth. “If I show you this, you’re not allowed to make fun of me.”
Gem cracked one eye open, a slow grin spreading across her face. “Mmm… no promises.”
Pearl didn’t laugh. She held the phone in both hands now, thumbs still.
“I’m serious,” she said, more gently this time. “I… had a phase. A whole thing.”
She glanced up at Gem like she might change her mind — but Gem was just watching, calm and unpressuring, Pocky stick twitching slightly in her mouth.
Pearl looked back down before she scooted forward on the couch, thumbs moving quickly over the screen. A few swipes later, she angled the phone toward Gem and murmured, “Just—don’t laugh.”
The image lit the screen: Pearl, unmistakably. But not this version of her. This one had jet-black hair, long and dramatic, swept over one eye. Heavy eyeliner. A sharp, cocked brow. Her mouth tilted in something like a sneer. A grey tank top clinging to her shoulders, showing off arms that were surprisingly defined. The expression she wore was tough and cocky — or at least, trying to be. There was a hardness to it, like she’d been daring someone to challenge her.
Gem stared, suddenly quiet — not out of judgment, but because something about it hit her deeper than expected. She hadn't expected that version of Pearl to stir something so sharp inside her.
No laugh. No comment. Just silence.
Pearl glanced sideways, caught her wide eyes. Misread them.
“Looking back, I was kind of a dick,” she said quickly, like cutting in would break the spell. “Just super negative and angry all the time.”
She shifted. “I, uh… went all in. The attitude, the look. I was…” She gave a small, hollow laugh. “Kind of insufferable.”
Still nothing from Gem.
Pearl frowned. “Gem?”
“…You’re so pretty.”
Pearl blinked. “What?”
Gem sat up, very slightly, and made a vague, fluttering gesture at the phone. “Like— you still are, obviously, but— God. This is doing things to me.”
Pearl made a startled, breathless laugh and immediately yanked the phone back. “Okay, that’s enough of that. ”
Gem collapsed into the pillow again, hiding most of her face behind it like she needed a second to recover. “How do you look good in everything...?”
Pearl laughed too, but more quietly this time. The edges of her expression shifted as she placed the phone back on the table. For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Her hand lingered near the charger.
“I think I just…” Her voice dropped an octave, more to herself than to Gem. “Needed to be someone else for a while. Back then.”
Gem didn’t respond right away. Just watched her, present and quiet.
Pearl didn’t explain further. She let the silence stretch, then breathed out — a little shaky — and reached into the snack bowl. She popped a chocolate into her mouth like she hadn’t said anything at all.
“Anyway,” she said with a small, crooked grin, “that’s my big secret.”
Gem smiled, slow and fond. “Never told me you had guns,” she said, nudging her playfully in the arm.
Pearl rolled her eyes, grateful for the shift. She shoved her sleeve up and flexed dramatically. “Still do.”
Gem smiled, but her eyes lingered on Pearl a second longer — softer now, thoughtful.
The moment passed. But it didn’t leave.
The last of the liquor— a cheap fruit liquor they’d mostly forgotten they had, some off-brand peach thing with a cartoon on the label — sloshed unceremoniously into their glasses. Gem squinted at the pour, then shrugged.
“Bottom of the bag,” she declared, “but it’ll do.”
Pearl snorted, adjusting the blanket tangled around her legs. Her cheeks were flushed pink from warmth and drink, her eyelids low but content.
Gem lifted her cup. “To surviving.”
Pearl raised hers too, the plastic rim wobbling slightly in her grip. “To passing exams.”
Their cups clinked together with a soft tap. For a beat, neither drank. Their eyes met instead — a little dazed, a little sleepy, but warm.
Gem’s smile tilted. She hesitated.
Then she smiled faintly. “To us.”
Pearl didn’t blink. Just smiled back, smaller this time. Quieter. “To us.”
Without a word, Pearl turned her body a little toward Gem, looping her arm through hers with exaggerated precision — clumsy, dramatic, ceremonial. Gem followed her lead, grinning like a kid at summer camp, and they drank from each other’s cups, arms entangled like some kind of lopsided wedding toast.
Pearl nearly spilled hers. Gem laughed against the rim of the cup.
When they pulled apart, Pearl leaned back into the couch, her head hitting the cushions with a soft thump .She let her eyelids flutter closed, mouth still tugged in a quiet smile.
Gem rested her cheek against her palm, watching her — that same smile mirrored on her own lips. Her other hand reached to lazily tap her cup against Pearl’s again, a softer echo of the toast from before.
Nothing needed to be said.
The night cradled them in its hush — empty cups and scattered snacks, the low buzz of warmth in their blood, the safety of the couch, the closeness of each other. No confessions. No pressure. Just two people sharing a moment of survival
Maybe something was changing. Maybe not yet.
But whatever it was…
It felt good.