Tilly leaned their forehead against Savannah’s. “You okay?”
Savannah laughed softly. “I think so. You?”
Tilly’s mouth curved. “Yeah.”
They stayed there another beat before Savannah stepped back, just enough to breathe without bumping noses.
“You know,” Savannah said, tilting her head, “you could have waited at least until they left the apartment.”
Tilly winced, scrubbing a hand over the back of their neck. “In my defense, I wasn’t thinking.”
Savannah smiled. “That was obvious.”
Tilly glanced toward the living room, where Jamie’s laughter still echoed faintly in Savannah’s ears like it had soaked into the walls. “They’re never going to let me forget that.”
Savannah shrugged. “Jamie absolutely will. Erin might bring it up in six months, completely deadpan.”
Tilly snorted. “Great.”
Savannah reached for the wine bottle and topped off both their glasses, the small, ordinary motion grounding her again. She handed one to Tilly and clinked it lightly against theirs.
“To accidental confessions,” she said.
Tilly raised an eyebrow. “You started that trend.”
Savannah didn’t argue. She took a sip and leaned back against the counter, watching Tilly move around the kitchen, collecting plates, stacking them without rushing. There was no urgency now. No sense that the night needed to be preserved before it slipped away.
Tilly caught her staring.
“What?” they asked.
Savannah shook her head. “Nothing. I just keep… noticing.”
“Noticing what?”
“How quiet my brain is,” she said honestly. “Like it finally stopped narrating everything.”
Tilly paused, plate in hand, and looked at her. “That feels important.”
“It is,” Savannah said. “I used to think calm meant something bad was coming. Like I was missing a cue.”
“And now?”
Savannah considered it. “Now it just feels like dinner ended and our friends went home.”
Tilly smiled at that, small and private.
They finished tidying together, moving in the same rhythm without talking much. Savannah handed Tilly a towel. Tilly bumped her hip in thanks. Their shoulders brushed at the sink, and Savannah didn’t tense, didn’t wonder if it meant something else.
It meant exactly what it was.
When the kitchen was clean, Savannah flicked off the overhead light and left the lamp on instead. The apartment settled into a softer version of itself.
Tilly leaned back against the counter. “So,” they said. “You survived.”
Savannah laughed. “Barely.”
“I’m proud of you.”
