Chapter Text
The first rays of morning sun spilled across the quiet streets of Bath, catching the edges of the city’s cobbled alleyways and casting golden light on the wide windows of the department store. Inside the building, the air buzzed with the faint hum of electricity warming the overhead lights and the occasional click of security gates retracting as the store prepared to open for business.
Freen, wrapped in a light gray hoodie with the sleeves slightly pushed up her forearms, stood in the stockroom just past the employee entrance. Her long dark hair was tucked under a black baseball cap, the familiar logo of the store embroidered on the front. She leaned against the edge of a tall metal cart, clipboard in hand, checking the morning freight manifest.
It was 7:45 a.m., fifteen minutes before shift start, but she’d been here since 7:15. That was normal for her.
"You’re really doing the most," came a dry voice from behind.
Freen didn't have to look to know it was Nam. She didn’t even flinch, just kept reading. "You're really doing the least," she said, pen moving down the manifest. "Still got ten minutes to clock in."
Nam groaned dramatically and limped into the room like she had just come off the battlefield instead of the city bus. At 28, she wasn't old, but every morning she acted like she'd been dragging freight for three decades. Her long, curly hair was shoved messily under a knit beanie, and her dark eyes had the tired look of someone who wanted to be anywhere else.
"I swear this job is aging me in dog years," Nam muttered, swinging her backpack into a corner and slumping onto a wooden crate.
Freen smirked but didn’t answer. Nam wasn’t lazy exactly—she just had a gift for making herself look busy without ever actually lifting anything heavier than a feather duster unless someone important was watching. Despite that, Freen didn’t mind her. They shared the same area, and over the past eight months, a reluctant camaraderie had formed.
Nam tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling. "What's today? Tuesday?" she asked.
"Wednesday," Freen corrected.
"Hate that for me."
The two stood in a comfortable silence for a while, easing into their morning rhythm.
It was around 8:00 a.m. when Poom shuffled into the backroom, clutching a half-empty bottle of iced coffee and looking like he hadn’t slept at all.
"Rough night?" Freen asked, already knowing the answer.
"Couldn’t sleep," Poom said, rubbing at his eyes. "Dreamt I finally asked Becky out and she just laughed. Like, really laughed. In a crowd."
Nam burst out laughing. "That’s horrifying."
Freen tossed him an energy bar from her locker. "She wouldn’t do that."
Poom shrugged, tearing it open. "You say that because you think everyone’s nice."
Nam snorted. "She says that because she actually talks to people, unlike you, Gollum."
"I talk to people!" Poom protested. "I talk to customers. Sometimes. When forced."
Freen shook her head fondly. It was always like this. Every morning, the three of them somehow ended up congregating near the freight room like it was a ritual. Poom didn’t even work in Home, but Freen’s presence was a magnet.
At some point during the lull between banter and clock-in, Becky passed by the freight door, backpack slung over one shoulder and a notebook tucked under her arm. She paused briefly when she saw Nam.
"Hey," Becky said softly.
"There she is," Nam replied. "My favorite little introvert."
Becky gave a tiny, crooked smile and glanced toward Freen. Their eyes met, and Freen felt that familiar flutter again, the one she buried beneath years of practiced emotional stillness.
"Morning, Freen," Becky said.
"Morning."
Nam raised an eyebrow. Becky never initiated conversation unless she had to.
"Freen was just telling us how she has to do all the heavy lifting because I keep faking injuries," Nam teased.
Becky smiled wider. "She seems strong enough to handle it."
Freen blinked. Was that a compliment? Nam looked between them like a cat clocking something worth knocking off a shelf.
Becky hesitated again. "I’ll see you guys later. Fitting room’s already got returns waiting."
Poom watched her go with a mix of longing and awe. "She smiled at me yesterday. Does that mean anything?"
"She probably smiled at the floor near you," Nam said.
"Let him dream," Freen said, punching Poom lightly in the arm. "Besides, it’s progress."
By 10 a.m., the floor was buzzing. Freen and Nam had knocked out most of the top stock pallet, and Poom had temporarily been pulled to help Home due to short staff. They worked around each other like a seasoned crew, their banter bouncing across the shelving aisles.
During their lunch break, the four of them gathered around a corner table in the backroom. Becky sat next to Nam, peeling the label off a bottle of iced tea while Poom tried not to stare at her too obviously. Freen sat across from them, picking at a sandwich.
Nam was in rare form.
"Okay, real question: if a zombie apocalypse hit right now, who’s most likely to survive?"
"Becky," Freen said instantly.
Becky looked up, surprised. "Me?"
"Yeah. You’re quiet. Observant. Probably already figured out five escape routes."
Poom nodded. "I could see that."
"Alright," Nam said. "Then who's dying first?"
"Nam," Freen and Poom said in unison.
Nam gasped. "Betrayed."
Becky giggled, and the sound was like sunlight.
They spent the rest of lunch trading stories from old jobs, laughing harder than they should have for how tired they all were. Even Becky relaxed, leaning into the jokes and smiling more than usual. It felt, for once, like they were all on the same wavelength.
When the break ended, they walked out of the room together. Nam elbowed Freen.
"You and Becky have chemistry, you know."
Freen frowned. "She barely talks to me."
"Still. It’s a vibe."
Freen brushed it off. Nam had a habit of pointing out things that were better left unspoken.
At noon, just as Freen was heading back into the backroom from a side aisle, a manager’s voice echoed from the hallway.
"Freen! Can you come here for a second?"
It was Carly, the Home team lead. A clipboard hugged to her chest, she stood next to a nervous-looking teen with a lanyard hanging askew around her neck.
"This is Charlotte. She's starting in Small Appliances today. HR forgot to update the schedule, so she's not on the floor plan. Can you show her the ropes?"
Freen wiped her hands on her jeans and nodded. Charlotte, barely nineteen by the look of her, gave a small wave.
"Hi. Uh, I’m Charlotte. First real job."
"Welcome to the warzone," Freen replied with a faint grin.
She walked Charlotte through the backroom layout, introducing her to a few staffers along the way. They passed by Poom, who offered a tiny wave, and then Nam, who dramatically dropped her clipboard like she’d been working too hard.
“Oh, the new blood,” Nam said. “Bless your heart. You still have hope in your eyes.”
Charlotte blinked. “Thanks?”
“Ignore her,” Freen said quickly.
By 2:00 p.m., Charlotte was shadowing Freen through aisles stacked high with blenders, coffee makers, and rice cookers. She asked questions—a lot of questions—but Freen didn’t mind. It reminded her of when she first started.
“So you’ve been here four years?” Charlotte asked.
“Yeah. Started as a seasonal. Never left.”
“Do you like it?”
Freen paused. “Depends on the day.”
At 4:30 p.m., the shift ended. Poom waited by the back entrance, backpack slung over one shoulder, watching Becky from across the hallway. Freen caught him staring and lightly elbowed him.
“Ask her out tomorrow. You keep waiting, someone else will.”
Poom turned beet red. “You think she’d say yes?”
Freen didn't answer. She just offered a tired smile and nodded toward the exit.
Nam appeared behind them, tossing her apron into her locker.
“What, no invite to the traditional post-shift bubble tea?” she asked, pretending to be offended.
“You always invite yourself,” Freen said.
“Exactly. Keeps the tradition alive.”
They ended up piling into Freen's car, as always—Poom in the front, Nam sprawled across the backseat like a queen, and Charlotte (who had somehow earned herself an invite) carefully buckling up next to her.
Becky stood just outside the employee doors, hesitating. Freen lowered the passenger window.
“You coming?” she asked, voice casual.
Becky blinked. “Uh… I mean… I was gonna just head home.”
“Come on,” Nam called. “You owe me a therapy session over tapioca balls.”
That got a tiny laugh out of Becky, who slipped into the seat next to Nam.
As Freen pulled out of the lot, Becky glanced sideways at her, their eyes meeting briefly in the rearview mirror. Freen looked away first, pulse flickering like the soft beat of the radio behind them.
In the mirror, she saw Poom watching Becky too, expression soft, uncertain. And she saw Nam watching everything.
The summer air drifted in through the open windows. They were all there, piled into one car after a long day of pretending to be more put together than they were.
It felt like something beginning.