Tilly had wanted.
Since then, everything had folded in on itself in a way that felt almost unreal. Workdays bled into evenings. Evenings into mornings. Tilly’s overnight bag lived by Savannah’s door like it belonged there. “Most nights ended in her bed with Savannah warm and solid against them, her alarm going off before either of them wanted to face the day.
They moved together easily. Too easily, maybe.
At work, Savannah trusted them without thinking about it. Leaned in close to check framing. Passed them coffee without asking. Finished their sentences on live shots and laughed after like it was nothing special. Tilly noticed the way other crews looked at them now. Not curious. Just aware.
Outside of work, it was softer. Domestic in a way that made Tilly’s chest ache if they let themself think about it too long. Savannah cooked. Tilly washed dishes. They ate on the couch with their legs tangled, a show playing mostly for background noise. Savannah talked with her hands. Tilly listened.
It felt good.
It felt like something they could keep, if they were careful.
Savannah was at the stove now, stirring something that smelled like garlic and tomatoes, one hip braced against the counter. Tilly sat at the small kitchen table scrolling on their phone, half listening to her complain about a producer.
“He asked me if I could redo the standup because my hair was moving too much,” Savannah said. “Like I can control the wind.”
Tilly snorted. “Bold of him.”
“I know,” Savannah said, grinning. She stirred again, then glanced over her shoulder. “Hey, can you add olive oil tomy grocery note? I think I forgot it again.”
“Yeah,” Tilly said automatically.
Savannah’s phone sat on the table between them, screen dark.
Tilly picked it up, then paused. “What’s your passcode?”
Savannah didn’t look back. “Zero four zero eight.”
Tilly blinked once, then unlocked it.
Notes opened to the last thing Savannah had been using. The grocery list sat at the top. Milk. Eggs. Coffee. A few things were crossed out and rewritten twice.
Tilly tapped it and added olive oil to the bottom of the list.
As the list shifted, another note preview slid into view beneath it.
Tilly Franklin
Just their name.
Tilly froze.
They hadn’t been looking for anything else. Savannah had told them to use her phone. Asked them to add something. Trusted them.
Their name was already there.
“Sav,” Tilly said before they could stop themself.
“Yeah?” Savannah answered, still facing the stove.
Tilly stared at the screen for a beat longer, then tapped the note.
The list loaded all at once.
precise, maybe too much
