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The first thing Sandrone noticed about living with Columbina again was that nothing had changed.
And that everything had.
They were no longer children playing house in the sprawling hallways of their parents' estates; they were adults now, supposedly navigating the cramped reality of university life. yet, the ghost of their past followed them into the small square of space they now called home.
Columbina still hummed when she studied. Still sat cross-legged on her bed even though her feet touched the floor just fine. Still left half-finished cups of tea everywhere like offerings to no one.
But now they were older. College wasn’t some temporary arrangement arranged by parents or circumstance. It was intentional.
They both chose this.
Room 505 had two twin beds, two desks, and one window that overlooked the yard. At night, fairy lights reflected in the glass like a constellation trapped inside.
Sandrone tried very hard not to think about how often Columbina’s reflection looked at her instead of her notes.
She would watch those dark eyes in the glass, wondering what lay beneath the humming, until the shift started subtly.
Columbina began coming back later than usual.
“Group project?” Sandrone asked, not looking up from her laptop. the blue light of the screen washed out her features, masking the way her jaw was set.
“Mm. Something like that.” Columbina slipped off her shoes, the sound of leather hitting the rug echoing in the quiet room. “I was with Arlecchino.”
The name landed too softly. It didn't just fall into the conversation; it occupied the air. It was heavy and suffocating.
“Oh.” Sandrone’s typing slowed. Her fingers hovered over the keys, the rhythmic clicking stuttering to a halt. “you’ve been with her a lot lately.”
Columbina paused. She stood by her bed, the fairy lights casting long, flickering shadows across her face.
“Yes. She gives… surprisingly practical advice.”
Sandrone finally looked up. The mechanical parts on her desk seemed cold compared to the sudden heat rising in her chest. “Advice? on what?”
Columbina’s smile curved in that unreadable way that always made Sandrone’s pulse misbehave. It was a halfmoon of a secret that was tantalizing and terrifying.
“Life.”
That was not an answer.
“Oh” Sandrone turned back to her screen, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. “Right. Life.”
Columbina watched her for a long moment, the silence stretching like a wire being pulled to the breaking point. “You don’t mind, do you?” she quietly added.
Sandrone’s jaw tightened just slightly. She focused on a line of code until the letters blurred. “Why would I mind?”
There it was. That thin wire of tension stretched between them, vibrating with everything they weren't saying. Columbina didn’t answer. She just hummed again, that sweet, mindless sound that felt like a shield.
By the end of the week, Sandrone was in the campus café, the air thick with the smell of roasted beans and the frantic energy of midterms.
She was aggressively stirring an iced coffee like it had personally betrayed her, the plastic straw scraping against the bottom of the cup with a rhythmic, grating screech.
Wanderer stared at her from across the small, wobbling table. He looked perpetually unimpressed, his hat pulled low as he nursed a tea that had long since gone cold.
“You’re going to crack the cup.” Wanderer spoke.
“She’s always with her” Sandrone muttered, her eyes fixed on the swirling cream in her drink.
“With who.”
“You know who.”
“I don’t, actually. Use names. I’m not psychic.”
“Arlecchino”
Wanderer blinked. The name of the Debate Team President usually carried enough weight to silence a room. “the debate team president?”
“Yes”
“…the one who scares grown men?”
“Yes.”
“and you’re jealous of her?”
“I am not jealous!” Sandrone snapped, her grip tightening on the cup until the plastic groaned.
Wanderer leaned back, a small, cruel smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You look one inconvenience away from committing a crime”
Sandrone glared. The mechanical pencil tucked behind her ear suddenly felt like a weapon.
“I just think it’s strange” she said stiffly, her voice dropping to a hiss. “She barely spoke to her last semester. Now they’re inseparable.”
“Have you considered asking Columbina why?”
Sandrone went quiet. The bustling noise of the café, the hiss of the espresso machine, the chatter of students, seemed to fade into a dull roar.
“…No.”
“Because?”
“Because if the answer is something I don’t want to hear, I won’t know what to do.”
Wanderer’s expression softened just a fraction, a rare moment of genuine empathy breaking through his jagged exterior. “You’re in love with her.”
Sandrone froze. The world stopped spinning for a heartbeat. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You are.”
The Silence that followed was heavy and honest.
Sandrone’s voice dropped, barely audible over the clatter nearby. “What if she doesn’t feel the same?”
“Then at least you’d stop torturing yourself.”
She looked away, staring out the window at the students rushing to class.
“She laughs differently with Arlecchino” Sandrone admitted quietly. The words felt like glass in her throat. “it’s lower and softer, even.”
Wanderer sighed “You’re doomed.”
Across campus, the late afternoon sun bled through the tall windows of an empty lecture hall. The sun casted long, golden rectangles across the dusty floorboards. Columbina sat across from Arlecchino, her fingers tracing the spiral binding of her notebook.
“I don’t understand” Arlecchino said flatly. She sat with her legs crossed, the very picture of cold and calculated logic. “If you like her, just tell her.”
“It’s not that simple.” Columbina replied
“It is.”
Columbina shook her head, her braids slipping over her shoulder like silken ropes. “She values stability and logic. A confession would introduce…variables.”
Arlecchino stared at her, her dual colored eyes narrowed in scrutiny.
“variables she doesn’t need” Columbina added
“You’re overthinking.” Arlecchino said, flatly.
“I am not.”
“You are. You look like you’re preparing a thesis defense, not admitting you’re in love with your roommate.”
Columbina’s fingers tightened around her notebook. The paper crinkled under her touch.
“She has been spending a lot of time with Wanderer.”
Arlecchino raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement crossing her sharp features. “Ah.”
“I don’t like it” Columbina admitted softly.
“Then confess.”
Columbina hesitated. The thought of rejection felt like a physical weight in her lungs. "...What if she prefers him?”
Arlecchino leaned forward, her presence filling the room with an undeniable authority.
“You’re both idiots.”
The next night, the air in the dorm hallway felt thick and heavy. Sandrone deliberately came back late, her footsteps echoing on the floor. She had stayed in the lab until her eyes ached.
Columbina was sitting on her bed, waiting. The only light in the room came from the fairy lights, casting a soft, ethereal glow over her.
“You’re home late” she said lightly.
“didn’t know I had a curfew” Sandrone replied as she plopped her bag on the desk. The heavy thud of her textbooks felt like a period at the end of a sentence.
“I was at the lab” Sandrone she added, shrugging off her jacket. “Wanderer helped me with a few things.”
“Mm.”
Silence settled between them like dust.
“Did you eat?” Columbina asked.
“With him.”
That did it. Columbina’s smile flickered, a momentary crack in her mask.
“I see.”
Sandrone noticed. She saw the way Columbina’s hands tightened in her lap. Victory felt strangely hollow, a bitter taste at the back of her tongue.
“You seem busy these days too” Sandrone added, her tone sweet and sharp at once “Arlecchino must be very...helpful.”
Columbina’s eyes sharpened.
“She is.”
The air grew thick, the oxygen seemingly sucked out of the room by the sheer force of their unspoken anger.
“Good” Sandrone said.
“Good” Columbina echoed.
Neither of them slept well that night.
By week three, the dorm floor had started noticing. The girls who lived down the hall, usually accustomed to seeing the two of them as a singular unit, began to gossip.
“You and Columbina aren’t glued together anymore?” one of them asked Sandrone casually as they passed in the hallway.
Sandrone didn’t even look up from her phone. “We’re adults. We don’t need to be glued.”
From inside the room, Columbina heard that. The words cut through the thin wooden door like a blade. She closed her textbook with a thud, a sound that resonated with finality.
then stormed out of the room.
Columbina started mentioning Arlecchino more often after that. Not intentionally.
But also...maybe intentionally.
“Arlecchino says I overanalyze tone shifts in conversation” she remarking one night while brushing her hair. The rhythmic sound of the brush was the only thing breaking the silence.
Sandrone was sitting at her desk, replied flatly “She would know.”
Columbina paused mid-brush. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing. She just seems very perceptive. Since you two always talk so much.”
“We talk because she’s helping me.”
“with what?” Sandrone turned in her chair, the wheels creaking. “debate strategy? World domination?”
Columbina tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “personal matters.”
Sandrone’s jaw tightened. The jealousy was a physical thing now, a hot coal in her stomach. “Oh.”
There it was again. That tiny fracture, spreading across the surface of their life together. Columbina noticed the way Sandrone’s shoulders stiffened, the way she pretended to refocus on her screen, though her hands were trembling.
Columbina almost confessed right there. The words were at the tip of her tongue. Instead, she said softly, “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Wanderer.”
Sandrone didn’t miss the edge in her voice, the sharp, jagged underside of the soft words.
“He listens.”
The brush stopped moving. Columbina’s reflection in the window looked small and fragile.
“...So do I.”
Sandrone’s voice was gentle but sharp. “No. Not about this.”
Columbina swallowed. They went to bed facing opposite walls, the distance between them feeling like miles.
In the lab the next day, Sandrone was mid-rant again. The smell of burning solder and the hum of the ventilation fans usually calmed her, but today they only grated on her nerves.
“She laughs differently around Arlecchino.”
Wanderer blinked, his hands busy with a delicate circuit board. “You’ve mentioned that. Twice.”
“It’s subtle.”
“You’re insane.”
“I am observant.”
“You’re jealous.”
“I am not jealous.”
“You sound like you want to challenge Arlecchino to a fight.”
Sandrone glared, her vision tunneling. “I would lose.”
“Correct, so don’t even try, now hand me that screwdriver.”
She sighed dramatically, slumping in her chair, surrounded by the cold, unfeeling machines she usually loved. “What if she’s asking Arlecchino how to reject me gently?”
Wanderer stared at her. “You think she’s strategizing a rejection.”
“She’s strategic.”
“You’re both dumbasses.”
The next evening, Arlecchino walked Columbina back to the dorm building. They were laughing. Sandrone saw them from the window. The way Arlecchino leaned in, the way Columbina’s head tilted back. It looked like a picture of happiness that Sandrone wasn't part of.
They were laughing. It wasn’t even about anything serious, Arlecchino had just dryly critiqued Columbina’s “excessive emotional restraint.”
Sandrone's chest burned.
When Columbina entered the room, she was still smiling, a soft glow about her that made Sandrone feel like she was disappearing.
“Hi.”
“Hi” Sandrone replied, too calm. Her voice was like ice.
“I don’t care what Arlecchino says.” Sandrone suddenly added.
Columbina blinked, her smile faltering. “...I wasn’t even gonna say anything.”
Sandrone stood abruptly, her chair hitting the wall. “You don’t have to narrate every moment you spend with her.”
Columbina’s expression shifted, the softness hardening into something defensive.
“I wasn’t aware I was.”
“Well, you are.”
“and you,” Columbina countered, her voice rising in pitch. She then leaned into Sandrone’s personal space, her nose ghosting over Sandrone’s neck. “you...smell like Wanderer’s cologne.”
Sandrone froze. The accusation hung in the air, heavy and ridiculous.
“I do not.”
“You do.”
“It’s called proximity.”
Columbina’s lips curved faintly, though there was no humor in it. “I see.”
“You’re the one who walked in laughing!” Sandrone spat.
“Would you prefer I cry?”
“That’s not what I meant!”
“Then what did you mean, Sandrone?”
Her name sounded unfairly soft, a caress that Sandrone didn't feel she deserved.
Sandrone’s voice wavered. “I just-”
She stopped herself. The words I'm scared you don't love me were too heavy to say.
“I’m tired” she muttered instead, grabbing her towel and escaping to the showers.
Columbina stood alone in the room, staring at the door. The fairy lights flickered.
“...This is going terribly” she whispered.
By week four, the room felt smaller. Not physically, but emotionally. Every movement was measured; every breath felt like a trespass. Columbina stopped humming. She stopped stealing sips from Sandrone’s tea. They were polite.
Polite was worse than angry.
Sandrone made a mistake of letting Wanderer walk her back to the dorm. They were both laughing and being close, a forced performance of normalcy that Sandrone clung to like a life raft.
Columbina was in the hallway when they arrived. She saw everything. The way Sandrone leaned into his space, the way they looked like a pair.
She smiled. Too calm.
“Good evening” Columbina said pleasantly.
Wanderer looked between them, his eyes darting from the tension in Sandrone’s shoulders to the blank mask of Columbina’s face. “Ah. Tension. Lovely.”
“Good night, Wanderer” Columbina added sweetly.
He leaned down slightly and murmured to Sandrone, very deliberately within earshot of the girl standing like a statue by the door:
“Confess before this gets stupid.”
Then he left. Sandrone turned red, the heat creeping up her neck. Columbina’s eyes narrowed just slightly. Inside the room, Columbina placed her books down with a terrifying thud.
Columbina was almost never angry.
“You seem happy.” Columbina spoke with finality.
“I am.”
“With him.” Columbina specified, anger seeping through her voice.
“With my friend!”
Columbina’s lips twitched. “Does he make you laugh like that often?”
Sandrone crossed her arms. “Does Arlecchino?”
The mask shattered. Columbina stepped closer, her presence overwhelming in the small space.
“I do not laugh like that with Arlecchino.”
“You did yesterday. And the days even before that!”
“You were watching?”
“You-you were loud. Ugh! I’m going to the lab. I can’t stand you!” Sandrone stormed out.
Sandrone sat in the lab, her blood simmering. She saw a notification on her phone: Arlecchino had sent a photo to the group chat. It was a picture of Columbina, looking soft and ethereal in a café.
The caption was a stake through Sandrone’s heart: Finally convinced her to try the espresso. She’s vibrating.
Sandrone grabbed Wanderer’s arm. "Take a picture of me."
"What? No."
"Take the picture, or I’ll dismantle your laptop."
She captioned it: Someone actually knows how I like my caffeine. Best study partner.
She didn't put her phone down until she saw the 'Read' receipt from Columbina.
When Sandrone returned, the room smelled of Arlecchino’s woodsy cologne.
"She was here…" Sandrone said, her voice flat.
Columbina was braiding her hair. "She brought me dinner. I didn't think you'd be back until late. you’ve been spending so many evenings in the engineering lab with that boy.”
"Wanderer" Sandrone corrected sharply. "and we were working. We didn't have a candlelit dinner in our dorm room."
"It wasn't candlelit. We used the fairy lights." Columbina looked at the lights in the window. "She thinks they’re pretty."
Sandrone felt a hot, prickly sensation behind her eyes. "I’m going to the library. I can’t study in here. It smells like...arrogance."
"Sandrone" Columbina called out.
Sandrone stopped, her hand on the knob.
"Wanderer’s blue hoodie is still under your bed" Columbina said, her voice dropping to a dangerous sound. “I’d appreciate it if you gave it back to him. It clashes with our rug."
Sandrone slammed the door without answering.
Two nights later, the entire floor gathered in the lounge. Sandrone sat with Wanderer, her nails digging into her palms as she watched Columbina and Arlecchino across the room. Arlecchino leaned in to say something, and Columbina laughed.
Wanderer followed her gaze. “Oh no. You’re spiraling.”
“She looks happy.”
“uhm, Yes?”
“Very. Happy.”
“Sandrone...”
“I hope she’s happy,” Sandrone said tightly. “I really do.”
At that exact moment, Columbina glanced up. Their eyes locked across the crowded room. Arlecchino noticed. She leaned back, studying them with open amusement, and then said, loud enough for Sandrone to hear:
“Columbina, Just confess already.”
Columbina choked.
Sandrone went rigid.
Wanderer covered his face.
The walk back to 505 was a blur of static. Inside it, the silence was even more suffocating.
“You seemed cozy.”
Columbina stiffened. “So did you.”
“At least I wasn’t whispering.”
“At least I wasn’t glaring from across the room.”
“You were provoking me!!!” Sandrone snapped
“You were provoking me!!!” Columbina snapped back
They were both breathing too fast. Sandrone dropped her bag. Columbina’s phone buzzed: The Knave.
"your phone..." Sandrone said, her voice like grinding stones. "Arlecchino is looking for you, or was she calling so you could have more dinner dates?"
Columbina walked straight to the nightstand. "She was calling because I left my sketchbook in her car. Is that a crime, Sandrone? Or is it only a crime when I do it, and not when you stay out until 2:00 AM 'calibrating sensors' with that boy?"
"He has a name! and at least he doesn't look at me like I'm a prize to be won in a debate!"
"No!" Columbina stepped forward. "He looks at you like you're the only person in the world who understands his miserable attitude. Do you think I don't see the way you lean into him? The way you let him touch your tools? You don't even let anyone touch your tools!"
"Because he knows how to use them!" Sandrone stood up, her chair screeching. "and maybe I lean into him because he doesn't speak in riddles! He doesn't spend every waking hour talking about how 'practical' some other woman is!"
"You're jealous!" Columbina whispered, her voice trembling.
"I am enraged" Sandrone corrected, her chest heaving. "I'm tired of feeling like a guest in my own room. I'm tired of smelling her perfume on your clothes. If you want to be with her, just go! Move into the North Hall! I’m sure Arlecchino has plenty of space for your half-finished tea cups!"
"I don't want her space!" Columbina shouted, slamming her hand against the wall. "I let her talk because the only other option was this screaming! I let her give me advice because I was too terrified to realize that the person I have adored since we were children would rather spend her nights in a cold lab...than spend five minutes looking at me!"
Sandrone froze. The clockwork bird on her desk ticked once, twice, and wound down.
"You... you stayed with her to talk about me?"
"Who else would I talk about?" Columbina’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. "You’re the only one in my head, Sandrone. Every song I hum, everything I do, It’s all a distraction from the fact that I’m losing you to a boy with a hat and a mean streak!”
Sandrone’s anger evaporated. "I thought you didn’t want me..."
“you pulled away” Sandrone continued, voice trembling. “you stopped sitting on my bed. you stopped stealing my tea. you look at me like I’ve already left.”
Columbina stared at her. “I pulled away because you were always with him!”
“Well, I don’t like...seeing you with her!” Sandrone snapped.
“Good” Columbina shot back. “because I don’t like seeing you with him!”
“Then why are we doing this?”
The question hung in the air. Columbina’s composure cracked first.
“I have been in love with you for years and I did not know how to say it without ruining everything.”
Sandrone felt something in her chest crack open. “...Oh.” the syllable was small, stripped of all its previous bite.
“and Arlecchino is not even my type, plus, she likes Furina.” Columbina added. Her voice was returning to that airy tune but the weight of her tears stayed behind, making her eyes look like glass.
The silence that followed wasn't heavy or suffocating anymore. Sandrone looked down at her own hands, and realized they were shaking. The anger that had sustained her for weeks, that protective shield had completely evaporated, leaving only a cold, hollow ache of regret.
“I’m sorry” Sandrone whispered, her voice cracking. She didn't look up, her gaze fixed on the scuff marks on the rug. “I said... I said horrible things. I told you to move out. I didn't mean it, Columbina. I-I never meant it.”
Columbina didn't move, but her breathing hitched.
“I was so convinced you were slipping away” Sandrone continued, a thick lump forming in her throat. “I thought if I made myself loud enough, or mean enough, I wouldn't have to feel how much it hurt to see you look at her. I’ve been... I’ve been… a lot to deal with.”
She finally looked up, her expression crumpled with a guilt that looked foreign on her usually stoic face. “I almost ruined this. I almost ruined us because I was too scared to just ask.”
Columbina’s expression softened, the last of her own fury melting into a look of profound tenderness. She took a half-step forward, closing just a bit of the distance Sandrone had spent weeks putting between them.
“We both almost did,” Columbina murmured. “I wasn't exactly easy to talk to, Sandrone. I was hiding behind her because it was easier than being brave.”
A pause. The air in room finally began to settle, the static of their fight dying down.
Columbina tilted her head, a small, tentative light returning to her eyes, the first spark of the girl Sandrone had known forever.
“Do you want to know what my type is?” Columbina mussed
Sandrone stiffened slightly. The sudden shift caught her off guard, her brain still trying to process the apology. “Is this a trap?”
“Maybe.”
Sandrone narrowed her eyes, a faint, watery smile tugging at the corner of her mouth despite the sadness still lingering in her chest. “Fine. What’s your type?”
Columbina leaned closer. She moved like a ghost, silent and purposeful, until the heat from her skin began to chase away the chill of Sandrone’s guilt.
“Cute girls...” she began softly.
Sandrone swallowed.
“Who pretend to be mean.”
“I do not-”
“Who get territorial when someone breathes in my direction.”
“that’s called standards.” Sandrone snapped back, though the edge was gone. Only replaced by a soft, flustered tremor.
“and...” Columbina continued, inching closer, “who get very flustered when I invade their personal space.”
Sandrone’s ears turned red immediately. The blush felt like a fever. “I am not flustered.”
“You’re blushing.”
“I’m not!”
Columbina leaned in even more, her face inches away, her humming breath ghosting over Sandrone’s cheek. “Oh, but you are~”
Sandrone’s brain short-circuited. Her pride went quiet. “Stop it! that’s very...specific” she muttered weakly.
Columbina smiled. It wasn't the unreadable curve of her lips from before; it was bright and triumphant. “yes. I do have excellent taste.”
“...that sounds suspiciously like me.” Sandrone teased back, her voice barely a breath.
“It does, doesn’t it?” Columbina hummed.
Sandrone felt something in her chest. It was softer this time, like a bud finally blooming after a long, harsh winter. “Idiot” she murmured.
Columbina brushed her nose lightly against Sandrone’s, a gesture so familiar and domestic it made Sandrone’s eyes sting all over again. “you’re my idiot.”
Sandrone tried very hard to maintain composure but she failed. The last of her sadness was being swept away by the sheer proximity of the girl she loved. “...stop looking at me like that.”
“like what?” Columbina asked innocently
“like you know exactly what you’re doing.”
Columbina smiled sweetly. “I do.”
and Sandrone, hopelessly and completely, adored her for it.
“I was using Wanderer to make you jealous.” Sandrone admitted
“I noticed.”
“You did?”
“Yes. It was ineffective and obvious.”
Sandrone let out a shaky laugh, a sound of pure, unadulterated relief. “You’re terrible.”
“And you’re overdramatic.” Columbina teased back.
They were standing inches apart now. All the anger had burned into something fragile. Leaving only the truth behind.
“Sandrone” Columbina whispered as she reached for Sandrone’s waist. “I just want you. only you.”
Sandrone stepped forward, finally closing the gap, her hands reaching out to find purchase on Columbina’s neck. “I…want you too, Columbina” she said softly. “I always did.”
This time when they finally kissed, it was a relief. It was the taste of salt from forgotten tears and the sweetness of the tea that always sat on the nightstand. It was weeks of misery dissolving into a single, shared breath.
When they pulled apart, their foreheads resting together in the quiet of their room, Sandrone muttered, “If Arlecchino ever gives you confession advice again, I’m confiscating your phone.”
Columbina smiled against her lips. “Wanderer is banned from emotional consultations.”
“Agreed.”
They both laughed breathless, exhausted and finally, finally, Room 505 felt warm again.