Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Agatha woke with Rio's hand tucked under the hem of her shirt.

Not on purpose, probably. Rio did not usually reach for things in her sleep with any apparent intention. Awake, she was precise to the point of irritation. Asleep, she turned into a weighted object with inconvenient limbs and a talent for claiming territory she would later insist she had not taken.

This morning, she had one arm around Agatha's middle, one knee pressed against Agatha's thigh, and half her face buried in the back of Agatha's neck like she had decided, somewhere in the night, that Agatha was less a person and more an acceptable heat source.

Agatha stared at the pale wash of morning light across the bedroom wall and considered, very seriously, whether love was supposed to involve this much trapped body heat.

"You are smothering me," she said.

Rio did not move.

Agatha waited.

Nothing.

"Rio."

Still nothing.

Agatha turned her head as much as Rio's weight allowed, which was not much. "Darling. Sweetheart. Oppressive human furnace. Release me."

Rio made a low, displeased sound against her neck.

It was not a word. It barely qualified as communication. Still, because Agatha had spent years learning the subtle grammar of Rio before coffee, she understood it perfectly.

No.

Agatha sighed with deep theatrical suffering. "I see. A hostage situation, then."

Rio's fingers shifted against her stomach. 

Agatha should have been annoyed.

She was annoyed, technically. On principle. As a woman who valued movement, autonomy, and not being pinned like a decorative throw pillow.

But Rio was warm behind her. Solid. Sleep-heavy. Her breath moved slowly against Agatha's skin, steady and soft, and there was something indecently intimate about being held by someone who had not yet put any conscious effort into loving her that morning.

It was simply what Rio did now.

Reached for her.

Kept her.

Made Agatha feel necessary in ways she would deny under questioning.

"You know," Agatha said, voice softer despite herself, "some people say good morning."

Rio's mouth brushed the back of her neck. "Mmhning."

Agatha's eyes narrowed. "That was barely a word."

"You requested morning. I provided morning."

"Oh, charming. My mistake. I forgot I was dating a woman who treats affection like a contractual obligation."

Rio opened one eye. Agatha could not see it, but she felt the shift in her face, the faint press of lashes moving against her skin. "You like my contractual obligations."

"I like your coffee."

"You like me."

"Debatable."

Rio's arm tightened once, brief and smug.

Agatha rolled her eyes, though no one could see it. "You are insufferable."

Agatha lay there for another few seconds, pretending she was thinking about getting up. She was not. Not really. The apartment was quiet around them, still holding the soft blue edge of early morning. Somewhere outside, a car passed over wet pavement. The old radiator near the window clicked once, then twice, as if clearing its throat. Their laundry chair, which was technically meant for clean clothes and had become a permanent monument to domestic failure, sat in the corner with Rio's black shirt hanging over the back of it and Agatha's cardigan collapsed over one arm.

Everything looked the same as it had yesterday.

Everything looked like theirs.

There had been a time when Agatha had thought of homes as places to leave from. Rooms were useful. Beds were for sleeping. Kitchens were for coffee, arguments, and leaning against counters while pretending not to be emotionally invested in anything.

Then Rio had moved in.

Or, more accurately, Rio had begun appearing so often that the apartment rearranged itself around her. A second toothbrush. A pair of boots by the door. A drawer Agatha had not offered but had not objected to. A favorite mug. A plant near the kitchen window that Rio had rescued from Agatha's apparently criminal neglect.

Then one day Rio had looked at the closet, looked at Agatha, and said, "Your closet is a mess."

Agatha had said, "Good morning to you too."

Rio had said, "I can fix it."

Agatha had said, "Are you asking to move in, or are you just insulting my closet?"

Rio had paused for a long moment.

Then she had said, "Both."

Agatha had laughed so hard she had needed to sit down.

And somehow, that had been that.

Now Rio's boots belonged by the door. Rio's plants belonged by the window. Rio's dark shirts belonged in Agatha's laundry. Rio's hand belonged under Agatha's shirt in the morning, warm and unthinking against her skin.

Agatha hated how much she loved it.

She turned, slowly, forcing Rio to loosen her grip or risk being elbowed. Rio grumbled but allowed the movement, her hand sliding from Agatha's stomach to her waist as Agatha rolled onto her back.

Rio looked unfairly peaceful.

Her hair was flattened on one side and messy on the other, dark strands falling across her forehead. Her face was bare of its usual alertness, softened by sleep in a way that always did something inconvenient to Agatha's chest. Rio was beautiful when she was awake, of course. Sharp-eyed and grounded and distractingly difficult to impress.

But like this, half asleep and unguarded, she looked younger. Not innocent, exactly. Rio was too Rio for that. But open in a way she rarely allowed the rest of the world to see.

Agatha lifted a hand and brushed the hair from her forehead.

Rio blinked at her.

"There she is," Agatha murmured.

Rio's eyes focused slowly. "You're staring."

"I'm admiring."

"That is staring with better branding."

Agatha smiled. "You look ridiculous."

Rio considered this. "You look like you lost a fight with your pillow."

"I won."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

Rio reached up and gently touched a strand of Agatha's hair that had somehow ended up pointing away from her head at an ambitious angle. "It defeated you."

Agatha gasped. "That is a cruel thing to say to someone you allegedly love."

"I do love you."

The words came easily.

They always did now, which was still sometimes a problem.

Not because Agatha disliked hearing them. That was not the issue. The issue was that Rio said them without decoration. Without drama. Without trying to make them sound bigger than they were. She said them the way she said the kettle was boiling, or the door was locked, or Agatha had forgotten her keys again.

Plain truth.

Agatha had never quite figured out what to do with that.

She had been loved before in ways that demanded performance. Loved with expectation attached. Loved loudly, badly, conditionally. Loved by people who wanted something, even if what they wanted was only a version of her she could not keep being forever.

Rio loved like weather.

Present. Steady. Impossible to negotiate with.

It made Agatha soft in places she had spent years armoring.

So she did what she always did when tenderness got too close to her throat.

She narrowed her eyes. "Flattery will not save you from making coffee."

Rio's mouth shifted. Barely. A small smile. "I made it yesterday."

"Yes, and I appreciated your service."

"It's your turn."

"Incorrect."

"It is your turn."

Agatha placed a hand dramatically over her chest. "I am delicate."

"You once threatened a man with a salad fork because he said your article was overwritten."

"It was a seafood fork, and he deserved worse."

Rio's smile deepened.

Agatha felt victorious for half a second before Rio leaned forward and kissed her.

It was morning-soft, closed-mouthed, warm. Rio's palm found Agatha's hip beneath the blanket. Agatha's hand slid automatically to the back of Rio's neck.

The whole thing lasted maybe three seconds.

It was enough.

Rio pulled back first, because Rio was apparently determined to be both affectionate and infuriating.

"Coffee," Rio said.

Agatha stared at her. "Was that supposed to motivate me?"

"Yes."

"It has motivated me to stay here."

Rio blinked, then seemed to process that with mild satisfaction. "Acceptable."

"Oh no." Agatha poked her shoulder. "You don't get to seduce me into laziness and then make me feel responsible for it."

"I did not seduce you."

"You kissed me while half-naked in my bed."

"Our bed."

Agatha paused.

Rio was watching her now. She always noticed when a word landed somewhere deeper than expected.

Our bed.

It should not have still done that to Agatha. They had been living together long enough for the language to be normal. Our apartment. Our groceries. Our towels. Our electricity bill, which Rio insisted Agatha did not read properly because Agatha believed staring at numbers too long was bad for morale.

Still, every now and then, ordinary possession turned into something else in Agatha's chest.

A life. Their life. Shared and chosen and ongoing.

Rio touched her wrist lightly. "Too much?"

Agatha swallowed. "No."

Rio waited.

Agatha hated that too. The patience. The refusal to fill silence just because Agatha had gone still inside it.

Finally, Agatha said, "Just rude of you to be emotionally precise before coffee."

Rio nodded gravely. "I apologize."

"No, you don't."

"I don't."

Agatha laughed, quiet and helpless and Rio looked pleased in that muted way of hers, like Agatha's laughter was something she had earned but did not want to appear smug about.

She was smug about it.

Agatha knew her.

Rio kissed the inside of Agatha's wrist before letting go and finally, mercifully, sitting up.

The blanket fell to her waist. Agatha watched the muscles in her back shift as she stretched, slow and catlike, shoulders rolling forward before settling again. 

Rio reached for the shirt on the floor.

Agatha grabbed the hem before Rio could pull it fully on.

Rio looked back over her shoulder. "Yes?"

Agatha gave the shirt a small tug. "Come back."

"You wanted coffee."

"I want many things. I contain multitudes."

Rio's gaze dropped briefly to Agatha's hand curled in the fabric, then back to her face. Something warmed in her expression.

It was still astonishing, sometimes, being wanted by Rio.

Not chased. Not consumed. Not made into a prize.

Wanted simply.

Known and wanted anyway.

Rio leaned back down, bracing one hand beside Agatha's head. "Five minutes."

Agatha smiled. "Ten."

"Seven."

"Fifteen."

"That is not how negotiation works."

"That is how my negotiation works."

Rio considered her. "Eight."

"Cruel woman."

Agatha slid both arms around Rio's neck and pulled her down until Rio had no choice but to settle against her again, careful not to put too much weight on her. Rio always did that. Even when she was half-asleep, even when Agatha would have happily been crushed under her for recreational purposes, Rio remained aware of her body in relation to Agatha's.

Agatha kissed her jaw.

Rio exhaled.

For a little while, there was nothing else.

Only the morning. The blankets. The faint smell of Rio's shampoo. The uneven rhythm of Agatha's own breathing settling against Rio's.

Agatha let her fingers move idly through Rio's hair.

Agatha closed her eyes for half a second.

There were mornings that felt like they would stretch forever if she let them. The kind of mornings where time did not feel like something moving forward so much as something pooled around them, warm and ordinary. She could almost believe there would always be more of this. More Rio blinking sleepily at her. More arguments about coffee. More shared blankets and bad hair and half-finished grocery lists stuck to the fridge with a magnet shaped like a lemon.

More years.

More mornings.

The thought passed through her easily, without fear.

Of course there would be more.

Rio shifted beside her. "Agatha."

"Hm?"

"If we don't get up now, the grocery store is going to be unbearable by the time we get there."

Agatha opened one eye. "You say that like it concerns me."

"It will concern you when you blame me."

"I would never."

"You will."

"I might."

Rio kissed her once more, brief and fond, then escaped before Agatha could drag her back down.

Agatha watched her cross the room barefoot, shirt now properly on, hair still a mess. Rio moved through the bedroom with familiar ease, stepping around the corner of the rug that always curled up and picking Agatha's discarded blouse off the floor on her way.

She tossed it toward the laundry chair.

It landed on top of the pile.

Agatha pointed at it. "See? System."

Rio looked at the chair. Then at Agatha. "That is not a system."

"It is a vertical filing method."

"It is fabric collapse."

"It is art."

"It is a warning sign."

Agatha sat up, clutching the sheet around herself with unnecessary drama. "This is my home, and I will not be judged by a woman who alphabetizes spices."

"I group them by use."

"Worse."

Rio headed for the door. "Coffee?"

Agatha raised her chin. "Since you're offering."

"I'm not."

Rio stopped in the doorway and looked back at her.

The morning light caught the side of her face then, softening the line of her cheek, turning her eyes warmer than they looked in shadow. For a second, she only stood there, taking Agatha in with that quiet, unreadable tenderness that had once made Agatha nervous and now made her feel very carefully held.

Then Rio said, "I'll make coffee."

Agatha smiled slowly. "I knew you loved me."

Rio's gaze softened further. "I said it already."

"Yes, but coffee is proof."

Rio shook her head, but she was smiling when she left.

Agatha stayed in bed for another moment after she was gone, listening.

The bathroom door clicked. The pipes groaned faintly. A drawer opened, then closed. In the kitchen, Rio would put the kettle on first even though Agatha preferred the machine, because Rio believed the machine made coffee that tasted like burned impatience. Agatha would complain. Then drink it anyway. Then Rio would pretend not to notice that Agatha liked it better now.

This was their life.

Small negotiations. Familiar sounds. Love hidden in tasks neither of them named too often because naming everything made Agatha nervous and Rio rarely wasted words on what was already obvious.

Agatha finally got up when the smell of coffee began to drift through the apartment.

She pulled on a robe, tied it badly, and padded toward the kitchen.

Rio stood at the counter with her back to her, pouring coffee into Agatha's mug first.

Agatha leaned against the doorframe and watched her.

The kitchen was still slightly cluttered from the night before. A pan drying by the sink. Two plates stacked beside it. Rio's plant near the window leaning faintly toward the light. The grocery list on the fridge read eggs, rice, basil, detergent, and underneath that, in Agatha's handwriting, something fun, which had been there for three days because Rio refused to accept it as a valid category.

Rio set Agatha's mug down exactly where she always did, handle turned outward.

Agatha's throat tightened around something small and stupid and completely unnecessary.

Rio looked up. "What?"

"Nothing."

Rio's eyes narrowed slightly. "That usually means something."

Agatha crossed the kitchen and picked up the mug. "It means I'm admiring your service."

"My service."

"Your devotion."

Rio leaned one hip against the counter. "You're in a strange mood."

"I am in a romantic mood."

"That is often strange."

Agatha pointed at her over the mug. "Careful."

Rio stepped closer and adjusted the crooked tie of Agatha's robe without comment.

The gesture was so casual that it almost hurt.

Agatha let her.

Rio's fingers worked slowly at the knot, loosening it, smoothing the fabric, tying it properly this time. Agatha watched her face while she did it. The concentration. The calm. The tiny crease between her brows when something did not sit correctly.

"There," Rio said.

Agatha looked down at herself. "You know, I had it under control."

"You looked like you had lost a fight with the robe too."

"You are very bold today."

Agatha laughed into her coffee.

Rio's mouth softened.

And that was the thing, Agatha thought.

That was the dangerous, ridiculous thing.

It was not the grand gestures that undid her. Not flowers, not anniversaries, not candlelit dinners Rio endured with the grim patience of someone being forced through a culturally accepted ritual of romance.

It was this.

Rio tying her robe correctly.

Rio turning her mug handle outward.

Rio saying our bed like it was simple.

Rio existing in the same room and making the entire world feel less hostile by doing absolutely nothing except being there.

Agatha took a sip of coffee and made a face.

Rio watched her. "Too strong?"

"No."

"Too bitter?"

"No."

"You like it."

Agatha lowered the mug. "Don't be smug."

"I'm not."

Agatha sighed. "Tragically, it is good."

Rio nodded once, satisfied, and picked up her own mug.

They stood together in the kitchen, barefoot and warm and not nearly ready for the day. Rio drank her coffee in silence. Agatha watched the light move slowly across the floor.

By eleven-thirty, Agatha had already decided the outside world was irritating and unnecessary.

"This," she announced, steering the shopping cart aggressively around a display of discounted cereal, "is why I hate grocery stores."

Rio walked beside her with the reusable bags folded neatly beneath one arm. "Because they sell food?"

"Because they sell food to other people."

Rio considered that. "That does seem inconvenient for you specifically."

Agatha pointed at her. "Exactly."

Saturday crowds pressed around them in slow, wandering currents. Children darted between carts like badly supervised projectiles. Someone nearby was debating avocados with the emotional intensity of a hostage negotiation. A woman had fully stopped in the middle of the aisle to answer a phone call and was now speaking loudly enough that Agatha unfortunately knew far too much about her brother-in-law's divorce.

Rio, traitorously calm about all of this, reached past Agatha to grab a carton of eggs.

"Medium or large?" she asked.

Agatha stared at her. "How are you not overwhelmed right now?"

Rio placed the eggs carefully into the cart. "I am."

"You don't look overwhelmed."

"You look overwhelmed enough for both of us."

"That's because I express myself like a healthy individual."

Rio's mouth twitched. "You express yourself like someone being pursued through the woods."

Agatha ignored this slander and turned into the next aisle.

Immediately, she stopped.

Rio nearly walked into her.

Agatha pointed ahead with deep offense. "Absolutely not."

Rio looked.

A couple stood directly in front of the pasta shelves, kissing with the kind of commitment that suggested they had forgotten other people existed.

One of them had a hand tangled in the other's hair.

Agatha stared in horror.

"There are children here."

"You kissed me in the produce section a couple of days ago."

"That was different."

"How?"

Agatha drew herself up. "Ours was tasteful."

Rio looked back at the couple, who were now somehow kissing harder. "I see."

"You're mocking me."

"A little."

Agatha muttered something under her breath and turned the cart sharply toward another aisle.

Rio followed, completely unbothered.

This was how most errands went with them.

Agatha provided commentary and emotional escalation. Rio existed nearby like a stabilizing force humanity had not earned.

Agatha had once asked her whether she ever became irrationally annoyed at strangers for no reason.

Rio had thought about it seriously before answering, "Sometimes people walk slowly."

Now Rio reached into the cart and picked up the jar of pasta sauce Agatha had thrown in there earlier.

"This one has mushrooms."

"Yes."

"You don't like mushrooms."

"I like the illusion of mushrooms."

Rio blinked slowly. "What does that mean?"

"It means I enjoy the flavor contribution but object to the texture."

Rio looked at the label again. "You are exhausting."

"And yet."

"And yet," Rio agreed, placing the jar back.

Agatha smiled despite herself.

There were things Rio accepted about her now with such complete inevitability that Agatha no longer remembered what it felt like to be too much.

Too loud. Too emotional. Too dramatic. Too reactive.

Rio never asked her to become smaller.

At most, she occasionally said things like: "You are escalating unnecessarily."

Which, frankly, was not the same thing.

Agatha leaned against the cart while Rio examined olive oil with the concentration of someone performing scientific analysis.

"You know," Agatha said, "normal people just buy the oil."

Rio held up two bottles. "One of these is significantly worse."

"They are both olive oil."

"One is cold-pressed."

Agatha gasped softly. "Oh no. Not cold-pressed."

Rio ignored her.

Agatha watched her for a moment instead.

That happened more often lately. Noticing Rio when Rio was not paying attention.

The slight crease between her brows when she concentrated. The way she read labels thoroughly, like the nutritional information personally mattered to her. The careful precision in everything she did, even stupid things like organizing vegetables on a conveyor belt by fragility.

Rio moved through the world deliberately.

Nothing careless about her.

And somehow, despite that, loving Agatha had become one of the easiest things she did.

"Take this one," Agatha said finally, pointing randomly.

Rio looked at the bottle she had indicated. "Why?"

"The label is prettier."

"That is not a valid metric."

"It absolutely is."

Rio studied her for a long second.

Then, without argument, she put the prettier bottle in the cart.

Agatha smiled immediately. "You're whipped."

Rio pushed the cart forward. "You say that every time I agree with you."

"Because every time is exciting."

"You agreed to live with me voluntarily."

"Yes, but I'm charming."

Rio glanced sideways at her. "That is one word for it."

Agatha clutched her chest. "Cruel."

"You'll recover."

"I won't."

"You will. You're resilient."

Agatha opened her mouth to answer automatically, something flirtatious or dramatic or both, but Rio had already moved ahead toward the produce section.

Agatha followed more slowly.

There was something warm about being known this thoroughly.

Not observed from a distance. Not analyzed. Known.

Rio knew which jokes meant Agatha was genuinely upset. Knew when she needed distraction versus comfort. Knew the difference between Agatha being angry and Agatha being hurt even when Agatha herself did not always know yet.

And Agatha knew Rio too.

Knew the signs of overstimulation before Rio verbalized it. Knew when silence meant comfort instead of withdrawal. Knew Rio preferred physical affection initiated quietly rather than announced. Knew which days required softer light and lower volume and takeout instead of cooking.

They had become fluent in each other gradually, then all at once.

It still startled Agatha sometimes.

Rio stopped beside a display of strawberries.

"These look terrible," she said.

Agatha looked at them. "They look like strawberries."

"They're bruised."

Rio picked up a container, inspected it briefly, then put it back with visible disappointment.

Agatha watched this unfold with growing amusement. "You care about produce quality more than some people care about their careers."

"Good fruit matters."

"Why?"

Rio looked at her like the answer should have been obvious. "Because bad strawberries are deeply disappointing."

Agatha stared at her for half a second before laughing.

Rio's expression shifted immediately at the sound, something faintly pleased moving beneath her usual composure.

There it was again.

That look.

Like Agatha's happiness physically settled something inside her.

It was unfair.

Agatha stepped closer automatically, slipping one hand into the pocket of Rio's jacket.

Rio looked down at her.

"What are you doing?"

"My hand was cold."

"You have your own pockets."

Agatha shrugged and leaned against her side while Rio continued inspecting fruit with grave seriousness.

Around them, the grocery store buzzed with ordinary life. Cart wheels squeaked. Someone dropped glass somewhere in the distance and several people gasped in collective retail horror. A child cried dramatically over something involving yogurt.

Agatha rested her cheek briefly against Rio's shoulder.

"You know," she murmured, "we've become disgustingly domestic."

Rio picked up another container of strawberries. "We already live together."

"That's different."

"How?"

Agatha thought about it.

She was not entirely sure when it had happened.

When their life had stopped feeling temporary.

Maybe it had been gradual. A thousand tiny things accumulating unnoticed.

Rio buying Agatha's preferred tea without asking. Agatha automatically setting aside Rio's favorite portions while cooking. The way they planned around each other now instinctively. The way coming home had quietly become synonymous with coming home to Rio.

Or maybe it had happened all at once on some random Tuesday neither of them had recognized as important.

Agatha squeezed the fabric of Rio's jacket lightly between her fingers. "I don't know."

Rio looked at her for a moment.

Then she reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Agatha's ear with quiet absent-minded affection.

Rio's hand lingered briefly against the side of Agatha's neck before dropping again.

Agatha swallowed around a sudden rush of tenderness so intense it bordered on irritating.

Honestly, being this in love with someone should require permits.

Rio finally selected a container of strawberries and placed it carefully in the cart.

Agatha glanced down. "Those look identical to the first ones."

"They're better."

"You're making things up."

"I'm not."

"You absolutely are."

Rio began walking again.

Agatha followed, still half tucked against her side.

"Tell me something," Agatha said.

Rio hummed in acknowledgment.

"If we ever become one of those couples who wears matching sweaters voluntarily, will you kill me?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"And then myself."

"Perfect. Romance."

Rio's shoulder shook once with silent laughter.

Agatha felt absurdly victorious about it.

Getting visible reactions from Rio still felt rewarding in ways Agatha refused to unpack too closely. Rio was expressive once you learned her properly, but her expressions lived in small shifts. Tiny smiles. Softer eyes. The subtle change in her posture when she relaxed completely around Agatha.

The rest of the world missed half of it.

Agatha never did.

They reached the checkout line.

Rio immediately began unloading items onto the conveyor belt in organized groups.

Vegetables together. Cold items together. Fragile items separate.

Agatha watched for a moment before saying, "You would survive beautifully in an apocalypse."

Rio scanned the shelves near the register. "You wouldn't. You'd start fighting with the looters."

"That is not true."

"You nearly started a fight at the post office last week."

"He deserved it."

"He was seventy."

"He was wrong."

Rio picked up one of the candy bars near the register. "Do you want this?"

Agatha looked at it suspiciously. "Are you bribing me into behaving?"

"Yes."

Agatha took the candy immediately. "Effective."

Rio smiled faintly and added it to the pile.

The cashier greeted them with the exhausted politeness of someone nearing the end of a long shift.

Rio greeted her back warmly.

Agatha watched the interaction quietly.

Rio was not socially effortless. That was not who she was. But she was attentive in a way people responded to instinctively. She looked at people when they spoke. Remembered details. Thanked service workers sincerely enough that it sounded real instead of automatic.

Agatha loved that about her too.

Loved too many things, honestly.

Dangerous situation.

The cashier scanned the last item.

Rio reached for her wallet.

Agatha slapped a hand over her arm dramatically. "Excuse me. You paid last time."

"You paid for coffee."

"That is not groceries."

Rio already had her card out.

Agatha narrowed her eyes. "You think you're stronger than me because you go to the gym."

"You once lost a fight with a fitted sheet."

"That object was designed by engineers with malicious intent."

The cashier looked like she was trying not to laugh.

Rio handed over the card calmly. "I'll survive."

Agatha sighed dramatically. "Fine. But I'm carrying the bags."

"You carried them last time."

"Yes, because I'm strong."

"You complained the entire walk home."

Rio took the receipt and handed Agatha the lighter bag without comment.

Agatha stared at it. "You don't trust me with the heavy one."

"It has glass bottles."

"I am capable."

"You dropped your phone in soup."

"That happened once."

"It happened twice."

Agatha gasped. "Why are you keeping records?"

Rio opened the automatic door with her shoulder. "Because patterns matter."

Cool air hit them immediately outside.

The sky hung pale gray overhead, clouds threatening rain without committing to it. People moved past them along the sidewalk in scattered currents, bundled in jackets against the lingering chill.

Agatha shifted the bag against her hip.

Rio reached over automatically and adjusted the slipping strap on Agatha's shoulder before it could fall.

The gesture happened so naturally neither of them commented on it.

Agatha looked at her anyway.

Rio noticed after a second. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You're staring again."

"I told you I'm admiring."

"That's still staring."

Agatha smiled slowly. "Maybe I like staring at my girlfriend."

Rio's expression softened instantly at the word.

Girlfriend.

Not because it was new. Because it never stopped meaning something.

Rio looked away first, but Agatha caught the small smile before she did.

Victory.

Agatha slipped her free hand into Rio's as they started walking home.

Rio's fingers closed around hers immediately.

Easy. Automatic.

Like there had never been another option.

By the time they got home, it had started raining.

Agatha dropped her keys into the bowl by the door with dramatically exaggerated exhaustion.

"I survived," she announced to the apartment.

Rio closed the door behind them. "Barely."

"You saw what it was like in there."

"I did."

"People were wandering without purpose, Rio."

"They were shopping."

"One woman stopped her cart diagonally in the aisle."

"That was difficult for you."

"It was an direct attack."

Rio hung her jacket carefully by the door.

Agatha's landed half on the hook and half on the floor.

Rio looked at it.

Then at Agatha.

Agatha pointed immediately. "Don't."

"You missed."

"I embraced gravity."

"You threw it."

Rio bent down, picked the jacket up, and hung it properly.

Agatha watched her with narrowed eyes. "You make me look incompetent on purpose."

Rio slipped off her boots. "You do that yourself."

"Cruel."

"You'll survive."

"That confidence in my resilience feels dismissive."

Rio walked past her toward the kitchen. "You want tea?"

Agatha followed immediately. "You're changing the subject because you know I'm right."

"I'm making tea because you become dramatic when cold."

"I am dramatic at all temperatures."

"That is also true."

The apartment smelled faintly like rain and coffee.

Their groceries covered half the counter now.

Rio immediately began unpacking them with quiet efficiency.

Agatha watched for approximately twenty seconds before abandoning any pretense of helping productively and hopping up onto the counter instead.

Rio glanced at her. "You're in the way."

"And yet you adore me."

"I tolerate you."

Agatha gasped softly. "In our shared home?"

Rio placed vegetables into the fridge one by one. "You've called me a menace three times today."

"You are a menace. A beautiful menace."

Rio shook her head slightly, though Agatha caught the edge of a smile before it disappeared again.

Rain tapped steadily against the windows.

Agatha swung one leg lazily where she sat on the counter, sipping tea directly from the mug Rio had handed her without asking how she took it because Rio already knew.

The familiarity of it settled warmly beneath her ribs.

There were people, Agatha suspected, who never fully understood the intimacy of being known in tiny ways.

Someone remembering.

How much milk. Which side of the bed. What kind of silence meant leave me alone and what kind meant stay close.

Rio peeled the labels off jars absent-mindedly while putting things away.

"You know that's strange, right?" Agatha said.

Rio looked up. "What is?"

"The label thing."

Rio glanced at the jar in her hand. "The adhesive bothers me."

"Of course it does."

"It leaves residue."

"Tragic."

Rio placed the jar neatly into the cabinet. "You leave cabinet doors open when you cook."

"That's because I move with passion."

"You move like a small kitchen fire."

Agatha smiled into her tea.

Rio reached for another bag.

Then paused.

Briefly.

Tiny enough most people would not have noticed.

Agatha did.

A slight stillness.

Rio's hand resting against the counter for half a second longer than necessary.

Then it passed.

Rio continued unpacking groceries normally.

Agatha watched her carefully for a moment.

"You okay?"

Rio glanced over immediately. "Yes."

"You hesitated."

"I was thinking."

"That's suspicious."

Rio picked up the olive oil bottle. "You made me buy decorative olive oil."

"It has personality."

Rio looked unconvinced but returned to unpacking.

Agatha let the moment go.

Mostly because Rio looked fine.

A little pale, maybe.

But Rio was always a little pale in winter.

And they had spent hours dealing with grocery-store humanity, which was exhausting on principle.

So Agatha took another sip of tea instead and watched rain streak down the windows.

"Come here," she said eventually.

Rio looked over. "I am actively doing things."

"Yes, but I'm asking sweetly."

"You're sitting on the counter like a gargoyle."

"A gorgeous gargoyle."

Rio finished putting away the last few groceries before walking over.

Agatha opened her knees automatically.

Rio stepped between them just as automatically, hands settling lightly against Agatha's thighs.

There it was again.

That effortless closeness.

They fit together now in ways Agatha had stopped noticing until moments like this, when she suddenly became aware of how naturally her body made space for Rio's.

Agatha rested her hands on Rio's shoulders.

"You know," she said, "I think we've become disgustingly codependent."

Rio considered this. "You cried because I went away for three days."

"I did not cry."

"You absolutely cried."

"Whatever." 

"You sent me eleven voice messages."

"You like my voice."

"I do."

Agatha narrowed her eyes immediately because Rio saying things sincerely without warning remained deeply unfair.

Rio's thumbs brushed absent circles against her legs.

Thunder rolled softly somewhere far away.

The apartment lights glowed warm gold around them.

Agatha looked at Rio for a moment too long.

Rio noticed, because she always noticed.

"What?" Rio asked quietly.

Agatha tilted her head. "Nothing."

"That's rarely true."

Agatha hummed thoughtfully. "I just like looking at you."

Rio's expression shifted almost imperceptibly.

Still. Softened.

Like those words landed somewhere careful inside her.

Agatha felt something warm tighten painfully in her chest.

God.

Being loved by Rio was one thing.

Watching Rio react to being loved back was another.

Rio ducked her head slightly, hiding the small smile threatening at the corner of her mouth.

"Oh," Agatha said immediately, delighted. "There she is."

Rio sighed softly. "Don't start."

"You're blushing."

"I'm not."

"You absolutely are."

"The lighting is warm."

"The lighting is exposing you."

Rio's hands slid up to Agatha's waist. "You're insufferable."

Rio looked at her for one long second.

Then kissed her.

Agatha's fingers curled automatically into the fabric of Rio's shirt. Warm mouth. Familiar pressure. The quiet intimacy of someone who knew exactly how Agatha liked to be touched without needing instruction anymore.

The rain softened outside.

Agatha kissed her back lazily, smiling a little into it when Rio made a faint annoyed sound at her inability to focus seriously for longer than thirty seconds.

"You're smiling," Rio murmured against her mouth.

"You love it."

"I tolerate it."

"Liar."

Rio kissed her again instead of answering.

The kettle on the stove clicked softly as it cooled.

Somewhere in the living room, the old radiator hissed unevenly.

Their apartment held sounds differently when it rained. Softer somehow. Closer.

Rio rested her forehead briefly against Agatha's after the kiss ended.

Neither of them moved immediately.

Agatha traced her thumb along the side of Rio's neck.

"You know what we should do tonight?" she asked.

Rio's eyes stayed half-lidded. "Hm?"

"Nothing."

"That is already what we're doing."

"No, I mean professionally."

Rio blinked slowly. "Professionally?"

"Yes. We should commit to absolutely nothing."

Rio's mouth twitched. "You say that every weekend."

"And every weekend I'm right."

"You get restless after three hours."

"That is slander."

"You reorganized the bookshelf at midnight last Saturday."

"It needed vision."

"You sorted books by emotional damage."

"That was a valid system."

Rio actually laughed then.

Agatha felt it like sunlight.

There were sounds Rio made rarely enough that Agatha collected them instinctively.

That laugh was one of them.

Agatha smiled helplessly.

Rio immediately became suspicious. "What?"

"That laugh."

Rio looked away slightly. "I laugh normally."

"No, sweetheart, you do not."

"I do."

"You smile at things. Occasionally air exits your nose."

"That still qualifies."

Agatha slid her hands higher beneath Rio's shirt, palms warm against her back. "No, that laugh is special."

Rio's expression softened again in that dangerous way that always made Agatha feel abruptly too visible.

"You notice everything," Rio murmured.

The words settled quietly between them.

Agatha looked at her.

Yes. She did.

She noticed when Rio was tired before Rio admitted it. Noticed when she became overwhelmed. Noticed the difference between her fake smiles and real ones. Noticed how she touched Agatha more often when anxious. Noticed how she pretended not to seek comfort while unconsciously moving closer whenever she needed it.

Agatha noticed because loving Rio had become something woven into her instincts.

"Only about you," Agatha said softly.

Rio's face changed.

Agatha saw it happen in real time: the careful opening beneath Rio's calm exterior whenever she was loved too directly.

It still felt private somehow. Being allowed to witness it.

Rio leaned in again before Agatha could say something that ruined the moment by accident.

This kiss was gentler.

Agatha's hand moved into Rio's hair automatically.

The rain outside deepened.

The apartment felt very warm.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Eventually Rio pulled back slightly, though her hands stayed at Agatha's waist.

"You still need dinner," she murmured.

Agatha sighed dramatically against her mouth. "Your dedication to keeping me alive is honestly excessive."

"You get mean when you forget to eat."

"I get interesting."

Rio kissed the corner of her mouth once. "Come help me cook."

Agatha groaned softly. "You always ruin my plans of becoming furniture."

"You'd be terrible furniture."

"I'd be decorative."

"You'd complain constantly."

Agatha slid reluctantly off the counter.

Rio steadied her automatically when her sock slipped slightly against the tile.

Again: thoughtless care.

Tiny acts of love neither of them acknowledged anymore because they happened too often.

Agatha looked at the hand still resting lightly at her waist.

Then up at Rio.

Rio tilted her head slightly. "What?"

Agatha smiled slowly. "Nothing."

Rio narrowed her eyes immediately. "That expression means something."

"It means I'm devastatingly in love with you."

Rio froze for half a second.

Agatha watched the reaction spread gradually across her face with immense satisfaction.

"Oh," Agatha said softly, delighted again. "That one really got you."

Rio looked down briefly, visibly recalibrating.

"You say things unexpectedly," she muttered.

Agatha grinned. "And yet you keep me around."

Rio looked back at her then.

"Yes," she said quietly. "I do."

The answer landed somewhere deep enough inside Agatha that for one dangerous moment, she could almost imagine this lasting forever.

Dinner happened slowly.

Not because cooking took particularly long, but because Agatha and Rio were fundamentally incapable of moving through a kitchen together without becoming distracted by conversation, touching each other unnecessarily, or arguing over things that did not matter.

Tonight's argument involved garlic.

"You used too much," Rio said calmly.

Agatha stared at her with genuine betrayal. "There is no such thing as too much garlic."

"There absolutely is."

"You're wrong."

Rio slid vegetables into the pan with infuriating composure. "You said that last month and then complained your hands smelled like garlic for two days."

"That was the price of greatness."

"You nearly rubbed lemon juice directly onto your skin in desperation."

"I was suffering."

Rio glanced sideways at her. "Self-inflicted suffering."

Agatha waved a wooden spoon dramatically. "You say that like I regret anything."

Rio's mouth twitched.

Victory.

Agatha leaned against the counter watching her cook for another moment.

Rio cooked the same way she did most things: quietly, competently, with unnecessary precision.

Ingredients were prepped before needed. Timers were set mentally. Measurements happened mostly by instinct now, though Rio still leveled teaspoons with a seriousness Agatha found deeply attractive for reasons she refused to examine too closely.

"You know what your problem is?" Agatha asked.

Rio did not look up from the stove. "I assume you're about to tell me."

"You don't embrace chaos."

"I live with you. I embrace chaos constantly."

"That's different. That's survival."

Rio stirred the pan slowly. "You once started baking at midnight because you were emotionally affected by a documentary."

"It was a very moving documentary."

"It was about octopuses."

"They're intelligent."

"You cried."

"They love deeply."

Rio finally looked at her then.

Warm eyes. Soft amusement. The tiny almost-smile Agatha had become addicted to somewhere along the way.

"You also cried when your plant grew a new leaf."

Agatha placed a hand over her chest. "You are mocking my emotional depth."

"I'm observing it."

Agatha smiled despite herself and stepped closer.

Rio shifted automatically to make room for her beside the stove.

There it was again.

That unconscious adjustment around each other.

Like their bodies had learned partnership separately from the rest of them.

Agatha rested her chin briefly against Rio's shoulder while Rio cooked.

Rain still tapped softly against the windows.

The apartment smelled like garlic and tomatoes and warmth.

"I think," Agatha declared after a moment, "that we should move somewhere dramatic when we're old."

Rio continued stirring. "Define dramatic."

"A cliff."

Rio blinked slowly. "That's not dramatic. That's dangerous."

"A seaside cliff."

"That's still a cliff."

Agatha ignored this negativity. "Imagine it. Tiny house. Terrible weather. We become mysterious women the neighborhood fears slightly."

Rio considered this with visible seriousness.

Agatha loved when she did that. Loved that Rio never dismissed her imagination immediately, no matter how ridiculous the idea was.

Finally Rio said, "You'd flirt with delivery drivers."

"I would charm delivery drivers."

"You already do."

"That's because they bring me things."

Rio hummed softly. "You'd also adopt strange objects."

"What does that mean?"

"You can't pass antique stores without buying something unsettling."

"That ceramic bird had character."

"It looked cursed."

"It looked distinguished."

Rio lowered the heat slightly beneath the pan. "It watches me."

"That's because you judge it."

"It deserves judgment."

Agatha laughed quietly into Rio's shoulder.

There were moments like this that felt suspended somehow.

Small. Meaningless from the outside.

But full of life when you were inside them.

Agatha could not imagine ever becoming tired of this.

Of Rio's dry observations. Of their overlapping routines. Of existing beside someone who made even ordinary evenings feel anchored and warm.

Rio nudged her lightly with an elbow. "You're drifting."

"I'm listening."

"You're staring into the middle distance."

"I contain inner worlds."

"You contain distraction."

"Rude."

Rio plated dinner while Agatha opened wine despite Rio insisting it was unnecessary for pasta.

"Wine improves atmosphere," Agatha informed her.

"We're eating on the couch."

"And?"

Rio handed her a plate. "You spill when distracted."

"I do not."

Rio gave her a look.

Agatha took the plate with dignity.

They settled on the couch beneath the old blanket Agatha insisted was decorative despite using it constantly.

The television played something neither of them was truly watching.

Agatha sat sideways, legs draped over Rio's lap while Rio balanced her plate carefully against one knee.

For a while they ate in comfortable silence.

The kind built over years.

Agatha watched rainwater slide slowly down the windows.

"You know," she said eventually, "I really thought adulthood would feel different."

Rio looked down at her. "Different how?"

"I don't know." Agatha gestured vaguely with her wine glass. "More organized. More emotionally stable. Less grocery shopping."

Rio considered this. "You thought adulthood would eliminate grocery stores?"

"Yes."

"That seems unrealistic."

"Don't crush my dreams."

Rio's hand settled absent-mindedly against Agatha's ankle beneath the blanket.

Agatha leaned further into the couch cushions.

"Did you imagine this?" she asked softly.

Rio looked at her for a moment. "What part?"

Agatha glanced around the apartment.

The rain. The blanket. Dinner balanced dangerously on the coffee table. Their shoes abandoned near the door. Rio sitting beside her like she belonged there.

All of it.

"This," Agatha said quietly.

Rio's expression changed slightly.

"I didn't imagine it specifically," she admitted. "But I think I always wanted something like it."

Agatha's chest tightened gently.

"Domesticity?" she teased lightly.

"You."

The answer arrived so simply that Agatha almost missed how devastating it was.

Almost.

She stared at Rio for a second too long.

Rio noticed immediately. "What?"

"You can't just say things like that casually."

"It's true."

"That's worse."

Rio's thumb moved slowly against her ankle. "You asked."

Agatha looked away briefly, smiling helplessly into her wine glass.

Rio never performed affection dramatically.

She simply said the truth and left Agatha to emotionally survive it.

Dangerous woman.

The television shifted scenes unnoticed in the background.

Outside, thunder rolled softly again.

Agatha traced idle circles against Rio's wrist with one finger.

"When we're old," she said eventually, "I'm becoming unbearable."

Rio nodded once. "You already are."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

Agatha pinched her thigh.

Rio barely reacted beyond the faintest smile.

"I'm going to wear dramatic robes," Agatha continued. "And complain about neighborhood children."

"You already complain about neighborhood children."

"They're loud."

"They're playing."

"They should play quieter."

Rio's hand slid from Agatha's ankle higher beneath the blanket until it rested warmly against her knee.

Agatha melted a little internally.

Unfortunate.

"And you?" Agatha asked. "What happens to you when we're old?"

Rio thought for a moment.

"I think I get quieter."

Agatha frowned slightly. "That's possible?"

"Yes."

"I don't know if I support that."

Rio's gaze softened. "You'll talk enough for both of us."

"That's true."

"You'll complain about my books."

"You'll have too many books."

"You'll buy more plants you can't keep alive."

"I keep some alive."

Rio looked toward the basil plant by the window.

Agatha narrowed her eyes immediately. "You leave her out of this."

Rio's shoulder shook once with silent laughter.

Agatha watched her for a moment.

Then, softer: "We'll be good at old."

Rio went still briefly.

The room seemed quieter suddenly.

Rain against glass. Soft television noise. Rio's hand warm beneath the blanket.

Agatha looked at her properly then.

Rio was watching her with that same careful tenderness again. That look that always made Agatha feel both entirely safe and slightly exposed.

"Yeah," Rio said quietly after a moment. "I think we would."

Would.

Not could.

The certainty of it settled heavily and warmly inside Agatha's chest.

She leaned over and kissed her slowly.

Rio kissed her back immediately, one hand rising to cradle lightly against the side of Agatha's neck.

Agatha stayed there afterward, forehead resting against Rio's.

The apartment glowed softly around them.

Everything felt impossibly ordinary.

And because of that, impossibly precious.

The rain had stopped sometime after midnight.

Agatha knew because she woke briefly to silence.

Not complete silence. The apartment was never completely silent. Pipes shifted softly in the walls. The refrigerator hummed faintly from the kitchen. Somewhere outside, a car moved slowly through wet streets.

But the steady tapping against the windows was gone.

Agatha opened one eye lazily.

The room was dark except for the pale glow of streetlights slipping through the curtains.

Rio slept beside her on her stomach, one arm tucked beneath the pillow. Half the blanket had migrated toward her sometime during the night.

Agatha stared at her for a moment.

Then reached over and stole the blanket back carefully.

Rio made a displeased sound without waking.

"Justice," Agatha whispered.

Rio's fingers twitched vaguely in her direction before going still again.

Agatha smiled faintly and settled deeper into the mattress.

There was something deeply comforting about sleeping beside someone long enough to know the rhythms of them. The small unconscious sounds. The way Rio always ran warmer near dawn. The fact that she curled closer in sleep without ever acknowledging it while awake.

Agatha let her eyes drift shut again.

Morning arrived slowly.

Soft gray light. Warm sheets. The smell of coffee.

Agatha frowned immediately.

Coffee?

She opened her eyes.

The other side of the bed was empty.

That alone was not unusual. Rio woke earlier than Agatha most mornings unless Agatha had something important to complain about before sunrise.

Still half asleep, Agatha reached blindly across the mattress anyway.

Cold sheets.

She sat up slowly, pushing hair out of her face.

The apartment felt quiet in a different way today.

Agatha pulled on her robe and wandered toward the kitchen.

Rio stood at the counter with one hand braced against the edge beside the coffee machine.

At first glance, everything looked normal.

Coffee brewing. Morning light filtering weakly through the windows. Rio in one of Agatha's old shirts.

Then Agatha noticed it.

The stillness again.

"Morning," Agatha said carefully.

Rio looked over immediately.

And smiled.

Too quickly.

"Morning."

Agatha leaned against the doorway instead of walking in fully.

"You made coffee without me."

"You were asleep."

Rio picked up her mug.

The movement looked slightly slower than usual.

Tiny difference.

Barely noticeable.

Agatha noticed anyway.

"You okay?" she asked.

Rio nodded once. "Just tired."

Agatha frowned faintly.

"Tired" was not impossible. They had stayed up late.

Still.

Something about her looked…

Agatha could not quite place it.

Paler maybe.

Or maybe the morning light was just bad.

Rio took a sip of coffee, then winced almost imperceptibly.

Agatha straightened immediately. "What was that?"

Rio blinked once. "Nothing."

"That was absolutely not nothing."

"I stood up too fast earlier."

Agatha narrowed her eyes.

Rio avoided the expression with suspicious precision by turning toward the fridge.

"You're being weird."

"I'm making breakfast."

"That wasn't an answer."

Rio opened the fridge, stared inside for a second too long, then closed it again.

Agatha watched carefully now.

The pieces did not fit together yet.

But something felt slightly off-center.

"You look pale," Agatha said.

Rio leaned back against the counter. "You said that last winter too."

"Yes, and I was right then."

"You're always dramatic in winter."

"I'm dramatic year-round. Stay focused."

Rio smiled faintly.

But there was tiredness underneath it now that Agatha could see it properly.

Not ordinary tiredness either.

Heavy tiredness.

Like Rio had not really rested at all.

Agatha pushed away from the doorway and crossed the kitchen.

"You're warm."

Rio blinked at her as Agatha pressed the back of her hand lightly against her forehead.

"I'm always warm."

"Not this warm."

"You called me a furnace yesterday."

"That was affectionate criticism."

Rio huffed a quiet laugh.

Then suddenly stopped moving for half a second.

Her hand tightened against the counter edge.

Agatha's stomach dropped instantly.

"Rio."

"I'm fine."

"You just froze."

"I got dizzy."

Agatha stared at her.

Rio looked annoyed now more than anything else.

Annoyed at her own body for inconveniencing her.

"Sit down," Agatha said immediately.

"I don't need—"

"Rio."

Something in Agatha's voice must have landed differently because Rio finally stopped arguing.

She sat at the kitchen table with visible reluctance.

Agatha grabbed water automatically.

Rio accepted the glass but did not drink immediately.

"You're worrying me," Agatha admitted quietly.

Rio rubbed a hand briefly over her eyes.

"Tired," she repeated. "That's all."

But her voice sounded thinner somehow.

Agatha crouched beside the chair.

"When did this start?"

Rio frowned slightly, thinking.

"Couple days ago maybe."

"A couple days ago?"

Rio shrugged one shoulder carefully. "I thought I was run down."

"And you didn't tell me?"

"You would react exactly like this."

"Correctly?"

"Dramatically."

Agatha looked up at her sharply. "You got dizzy standing still."

"I stood up too fast."

"You almost fell over."

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

Rio sighed softly.

The sound carried exhaustion through it now unmistakably.

Agatha felt unease curl colder in her chest.

A strange instinctive feeling that something was wrong in a way she did not understand yet.

"You should call in sick," Agatha said.

Rio immediately frowned. "I'm not sick."

"You look exhausted."

"I am exhausted."

"That's usually caused by something."

Rio finally took a sip of water.

Agatha watched her too closely.

Rio's expression softened.

"Hey."

Rio touched the back of Agatha's wrist lightly.

Agatha looked at her.

Really looked now.

Tired eyes. Pale skin. The slight tension around her mouth like she was actively working not to show discomfort.

Agatha exhaled slowly.

"If you pass out, I'm going to be insufferable about it."

Rio's mouth twitched faintly. 

Rio's fingers brushed lightly against hers again before pulling away.

Agatha stayed crouched there another second longer than necessary.

The apartment was quiet around them.

Morning light stretched pale across the kitchen floor.

Coffee cooled slowly in forgotten mugs.

And somewhere deep beneath Agatha's ribs, something small and unsettled shifted for the very first time.