Chapter Text
"Stupid weather!"
Magda yanks her hood further down like it might magically become a helmet against the freezing wind, but it doesn't help much. The wind cuts in from the side now and slips under her collar, straight down her back, making her whole body shiver. She balances the full grocery bag against her hip and switches it from one hand to the other as she walks through the almost empty streets of Munich. Her fingers are already stiff from the cold, and every step makes the bag swing and thud against her leg, like it’s personally offended to be out in this mess.
She just wants to be home. Home, where it’s warm and where Pernille is probably buried under a blanket mountain and ready to complain about the cauliflower Magda had to buy instead of her beloved broccoli.
Magda sighs into the wind. She can already hear the dramatic groan, and she pictures the way Pernille will flop onto the kitchen chair like Magda has brought dishonor to their entire household. Yes, her fiancée can be ridiculous about food, especially when it comes to broccoli. But even when she’s being impossible, she makes Magda's world warm and colourful, even on a gray and rainy day like this. And now, trudging through freezing wind with a full bag of groceries and her fingers gone numb, it’s still Pernille she’s thinking about. God, she wants to be home...
She rounds the corner fast, with her head down against the wind, when her foot suddenly catches something. She hears a light thump, followed by the rustle and slide of paper.
"Hey!" someone snaps. "Watch where you're going!"
Magda stops and looks around in surprise. An old canvas bag lies on its side, and old newspapers are falling out of it. The edges of the papers are already yellowed, and the wind picks up a few pages and blows them across the pavement. An old man stands next to the mess, wrapped in a coat that’s probably older than Magda. His hand grips a crooked wooden cane, and his shoulders look tense.
Magda steps back, startled. "I’m sorry! I..."
"You knocked it over!" he cuts in.
"I didn’t mean to," she says, crouching to pick up a few of the papers. One has landed in a puddle and is already soaked through. "I wasn’t looking where I..."
"That much is obvious," he snaps and yanks the pages from her hand. "You young people never are."
Magda stands up slowly, brushing her hands off on her jeans. "I didn’t do it on purpose," she repeats, and she's not sure why she suddenly feels like a scolded child.
The man lets out a long, tired sigh that feels way too heavy for such a small incident. "These papers are important," he mutters, but when he looks at the wet paper, he suddenly freezes. His fingers start to shake, and his eyes fix on the ruined page. The ink has bled across the paper, and most of the words are unreadable and smudged into gray streaks. Only one word stands out through the mess: "couple." The rest is swallowed by water damage, including the picture underneath the text.
"No, no, no…" he mutters under his breath. "What did you do?!"
Magda takes a cautious step back. "Wha… What’s wrong?" Her voice comes out sharper than she means it to.
He doesn’t answer at first but keeps staring at the paper, like he’s trying to force everything back into place. Then he looks up, straight at her. "You’ve blurred the lines," he says. "You’ve blurred the bloody lines!"
"I said I’m sorry. I don’t know what else you want me to say!" Magda's voice is cracking now with frustration and something close to panic, but the man doesn’t seem to care. He stuffs the rest of the papers back into the bag and straightens. His legs are shaking with the effort.
"Sorry won’t mean much when it’s too late," he finally says. "You think time’s just something you get more of. You think you can waste it, run through it, forget it, and it’ll still be waiting for you."
Magda frowns. "Uh... What?"
The man leans slightly on his cane. "You’ll understand," he says, his face now unreadable. "The path you walk now is not as certain as it seems. Time folds, and reality twists. Sometimes to show you what you lost, other times to steal what you hold most dear. You’ve blurred the lines, and now you have to pay the price for it. Just like I did."
Magda swallows and steps back. "I... think I’ll leave you alone now."
Then she turns and walks away, picking up speed with every step. The cold air hits her face again, and the heavy bag bangs against her thigh, but this time, she couldn’t care less. Her head is spinning, half trying to make sense of what just happened, half trying to brush it off as the confused muttering of an old man. She picks up her pace, and by the time she reaches the next corner, she’s nearly jogging. Not once does she dare to look back. Still, she can’t get rid of the feeling that he’s watching her, even after she turns the corner.
By the time Magda reaches the building, her fingers ache from the cold, and most parts of her shoes are soaked. She lets out a slow breath and rests her forehead against the apartment door for a moment before unlocking it. Inside, it’s warm and chaotic in the way it always is when Pernille is home. The living room lights are on, music plays from a speaker, and a pair of shoes are abandoned in the middle of the hallway.
"I’m back," Magda calls, pulling off her jacket and hanging it up neatly. Then her gaze turns to the kitchen, where her fiancée is standing at the stove, looking suspiciously focused. She has a spoon in one hand and her phone in the other, probably watching a TikTok recipe again, which almost always guarantees a kitchen disaster. The place already looks like a war zone, if she’s being honest.
"Pernille," Magda says as she steps into the chaos and drops the bag to the floor. Her voice is calm but edged with curiosity. "Why is there rice in my coffee measuring cup?"
Pernille looks up, her eyes going round like she’s been caught stealing Christmas cookies. Then her expression turns into that slow, unapologetic grin that Magda knows far too well. "It was an emergency," she says cheerfully. "I couldn’t find anything else and I panicked. So I improvised, like a kitchen MacGyver."
Magda raises an eyebrow, amused but not really surprised. Before she can fire back with a witty remark, Pernille crosses the space between them and presses a soft kiss to her lips. Magda knows it’s probably a distraction tactic, but she doesn’t really care. "Oh wow," Pernille murmurs, "your lips are cold."
Magda huffs a laugh. "Oh, really? I wonder why. Maybe because it’s two degrees outside?"
Without missing a beat, Pernille cups Magda’s face. Her fingers glide along her jawline, brushing over her cheeks, which are still flushed from the cold, and the gentle contrast of heat makes Magda shiver. But Pernille doesn’t stop there. She leans in slowly until her whole body presses against Magda’s. The warmth of her seeps through fabric and skin and muscle, until it sinks into Magda's bones.
"Guess I’ll have to warm you up then," she whispers, her warm breath ghosting over Magda’s lips, low and teasing and edged with that familiar playfulness that always makes Magda’s heart stutter in its rhythm.
This time, the kiss is deeper, and as their lips move together, Magda's cold hands find their way around Pernille’s waist without thinking, pulling her even closer, greedy for more of that warmth. They slip under the hem of the sweater, and the sudden touch against her bare skin makes Pernille flinch with a sharp gasp. Then she lets out a soft, breathless laugh. "That’s mean," she whispers against Magda’s mouth, more amused than anything. Magda just grins into the kiss, her hands splayed across Pernille’s back now, drinking in the contrast. And just like that, the chaos, the cold and pretty much everything else disappears for a while.
Pernille is the first to pull away with a small and content sigh. She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and turns back to the stove, giving the pot a quick stir. "So," she says over her shoulder, "did you get everything we need?"
"Kind of…" Magda reaches into the bag and pulls out the cauliflower first. Pernille stares at it and blinks. "That’s not broccoli."
"Excellent observation."
"You said you were getting broccoli."
"There was only one left, and it was pretty much... dead," Magda says with a crooked smile. "Besides, it's not that much of a difference. Broccoli and cauliflower are basically siblings. Or at least cousins."
"Oh, absolutely not. Cauliflower is more like... broccoli’s pale uncle who lives in the attic and writes sad poetry."
Magda laughs. "You’re being very dramatic."
"I’m being very accurate," Pernille replies. "And it tastes so bland as well."
"No, it doesn't," Magda says, opening the fridge and moving things around until they’re in their proper places. "You just don’t know how to cook it."
Pernille gives her a skeptical look. "Okay, Gordon Ramsay, enlighten me."
Magda turns to her, already peeling the plastic off the cauliflower. "Roast it with cumin and paprika, finish it with lemon juice. Crispy edges. Delicious."
Pernille hesitates for a moment. "I do like crispy edges."
"I know," Magda says with a loving smile.
Pernille looks at her for a while, then she puts the spoon back in the pot and walks over again with a grin. "You’re the boss in the kitchen. I’m just the assistant." She wraps her arms around Magda’s waist from behind and rests her chin on her shoulder. "You okay? You seem… tense."
Magda leans back into her with a small sigh, then nods once. "Yeah. I just ran into some weird old guy on the way home. I didn’t see him and accidentally kicked over his bag."
"Was he okay?"
"Yes. I mean... he got pissed. And then he got all philosophical."
"Philosophical how?"
Magda sighs. "He said something about people living like time’s just gonna wait for them. Then something about my path and that I have to pay the price for soaking his dumb newspaper and... honestly, I don’t even know. It freaked me out."
Pernille lets out a quiet laugh. "Did he by any chance have a sign that said 'THE END IS NEAR'?"
Magda huffs out a breath. "I’m serious, babe."
"Sorry," Pernille says and her voice softens instantly. She gently squeezes Magda’s waist and runs her nose along her cheek. Then she stops below her ear to place a light kiss there before moving to her side to look at her. "Listen. You ran into one of those spooky city prophets. They’re everywhere. Most of them just need someone to talk to. You’ll probably never see him again."
Magda looks at her and nods slightly. "I guess."
"And he’s not here now. But I’m here," Pernille says with a soft smile. "And you’re here. And the cauliflower is, regrettably, here. So maybe let’s just cook and not worry about strange old sidewalk prophets, okay?"
Magda nods again. "Okay." She turns to the cutting board and starts breaking the cauliflower into florets. The knife glides smoothly in her hand, each movement precise and practiced.
Behind her, Pernille turns the music up and does a little dance while taking the rice out of the measuring cup. Magda doesn’t have to look to know she’s being her usual ridiculous self, and it brings a smile to her face.
The morning light spills gently through the curtains when Magda’s alarm jolts her awake. She stirs slowly in bed and instinctively reaches out for Pernille, craving the warm comfort they always share each morning before they have to get up. Just a few more minutes to hold her close and shut out the world. But her hand finds nothing but cold emptiness. A soft, almost fragile sigh escapes her lips. Usually, Magda is the one who wakes up first, but this morning, Pernille must have gotten up earlier.
Still, something feels wrong. The apartment is completely silent. There's no music playing downstairs in the living room, no sound of dishes being moved around, no running water from the bathroom. Just silence.
Magda blinks a few times, trying to shake off the last traces of sleep. Her eyes drift to Pernille’s side of the bed, expecting the usual mess: a rumpled pillow and a blanket tossed aside in that familiar, careless way. But it’s completely empty, like no one has slept there at all. Confusion mixes with a sudden rush of fear. Why would Pernille clear out her side of the bed?
"Pernille?" Magda shouts, and her voice cracks as she rushes out of the bedroom. But there is no answer.
The apartment is dark as she steps into the bathroom, and when she flips on the light, her heart sinks. There’s no second toothbrush next to hers, no second towel, no second hairbrush.
"What the hell is going on?" she whispers to herself in utter disbelief.
She walks slowly through the apartment, eyes searching for anything that could explain why Pernille would just leave like that. The furniture is exactly where it should be, the pictures still hang on the walls, but everything feels strangely empty. The air is heavy and almost suffocating, like the life that usually fills the space has been drained away.
She finally stops in front of the photo wall. Most of the photos are still there. They show Magda smiling at team events, laughing with her teammates and family. There are photos with Pernille too, but all the intimate ones are gone. No kisses frozen in time. No vacation snapshots capturing their love. No photos of just the two of them proudly showing off their trophies. Their engagement photos have disappeared as well, as if someone carefully removed every sign of their relationship.
It couldn’t have been Pernille. Why would she pack up her things, erase every trace that she ever lived here and then disappear? It doesn't make any sense. They are happy. And even if they weren’t, Pernille would never leave like that. A cold knot tightens in Magda's stomach. Without thinking, she bolts up the stairs back to the bedroom. Her hand trembles as she reaches for the spot where her engagement ring should be. But it’s not there. Her eyes scan the nightstand and the bed frame, but the ring is gone.
Her heart pounds as she grabs her phone, and her thumb hesitates before opening her chat with Pernille. At first, everything looks normal. She sees inside jokes, casual updates and voice notes. But the vibe feels different. It’s missing the softness, the heart emojis, the affectionate nicknames. It feels like a copy of them, but without the emotional gravity. As if someone fed their history into a machine and told it to sound casual.
She swallows hard and takes a deep, shaky breath before pressing call. The ringing feels unbearably loud in the quiet room, and just as she thinks it might go to voicemail, Pernille’s familiar voice answers, sleepy and a little confused. "Magda? Why are you calling me so early?"
The sound of her voice both soothes and unsettles Magda, twisting the knot in her stomach even tighter. "Where are you?" she asks, completely ignoring the question.
There’s a pause.
"Uh… at home. Where else would I be at this time?"
"But... you're not here." Magda can hear the desperation creeping into her voice, but she can't stop it.
"Yes, I just told you, I'm at home," Pernille says slowly, a trace of concern now in her tone. "Why should I be at your place? What's wrong? You’re acting weird."
Magda doesn’t respond. Her thoughts are a mess.
"Are you okay?" Pernille asks after a few seconds of silence. "Did something happen?"
Magda closes her eyes and swallows the lump in her throat. "I... I don't understand. Your stuff is gone and... what do you mean you're at home? And our chat… It's like… someone deleted all the parts where we care about each other," she whispers, her voice breaking. "Everything is different. I don't know what's happening. Is this a joke? Because it's not funny."
Pernille is silent for a while. Then she speaks again.
"Okay, you’re really scaring me now. What are you talking about? What’s gone? And why shouldn’t I care about you anymore? We're friends. Are you drunk? Do I need to pick you up somewhere? You know we have training today, right?"
Her concern hits Magda hard. But what shatters her completely is something else: 'We're friends.'
Those words cut deeper than any knife ever could. They are like a cold blade slicing straight through her heart. Suddenly, she feels dizzy. It’s like she’s forgotten how to form a proper thought in her head.
"I... need to hang up now. See you later at training."
Her voice sounds distant, like she’s speaking through fog. She doesn’t wait for a response and just ends the call. And when Pernille calls back seconds later, she ignores it.
Her legs move on instinct as she walks back down the stairs, one hand trailing along the wooden railing. The silence around her feels heavier than ever, as if the apartment itself mourns the loss. She walks slowly, scanning every corner, as if she might still find Pernille curled up under a blanket, grinning at her with that typical mischievous but loving expression. But she’s not there. Everything looks almost the same, but the warmth and the memories are gone. It’s just an empty shell where her life with Pernille used to be.