Hazel's head lifted from Ivy's shoulder. The balloon lay by the wardrobe, a wrinkled puddle of rubber, the champagne pink catching the grey morning light through the curtains. She sat up slowly, the sheet slipping, and reached for her sweater on the floor. The wool was cold against her skin, still damp from last night's sweat.
Ivy stirred. Blinked. Watched her.
Hazel picked up the balloon by its limp neck. It swayed, empty, the nozzle still knotted. 'I should—' she started, but didn't finish. Her thumb found the knot, pressed into it once, then pulled away. 'Say it again,' she whispered, not turning her head. 'When you're not inside me. Say it again.' Her voice cracked on the last word.
Ivy's arm tightened around her ribs. 'I will say it one and a thousand times. Balloons and all.'
Hazel's shoulders dropped. She kept her back to Ivy, but the tension bled out of her spine in a long, slow exhale. The balloon dangled from her fingers, twisting slowly.
A knock sounded on the bedroom door. Sofia's voice, muffled: 'Shower's free. Can one of you get breakfast going? We'll be late for class.'
An indignant quack followed. Pebbles. Probably sitting on Sofia's foot demanding attention.
Hazel laughed — a small, wet sound. She pressed her palm to her eyes. 'The normal world,' she said. 'Doesn't wait.'
Ivy sat up, her hair a dark tangle against her shoulder. She looked at Hazel's back, at the curve of her spine through the sweater, at the balloon still held like a question. 'It can wait a minute.'
Hazel shook her head. She stood, the balloon still in her hand, and crossed to her dresser. She laid the deflated balloon flat on the wood, smoothing the wrinkles with her palm. Then she opened the lockbox, placed it inside, and closed the lid.
Ivy watched the ritual — the careful folding, the press of her hand. She didn't speak.
'Okay,' Hazel said. She turned, and her face was softer now, the flush faded to something steadier. 'Shower. Then breakfast. Then we get them to school.'
Ivy swung her legs over the edge of the bed, stood, crossed to her. She kissed her forehead. Hazel's eyes closed at the contact. 'I should be the one saying it,' Ivy murmured. 'Every time you say it first.'
'You said it last night. It counts.'
'It counts. But I want to say it more.'
Hazel opened her eyes. The hazel was clear now, not clouded with tears. 'You can say it in the shower.'
'Deal.'
They moved through the morning like a choreography they'd been practicing for years — Hazel into the bathroom first while Ivy stripped the sheets, Ivy under the spray while Hazel brushed her teeth at the sink, passing each other in the narrow hallway with a hand on a hip, a kiss on a shoulder. Steam fogged the mirror. The water hammered through the pipes. Somewhere in the apartment, Sofia was yelling about missing socks and Emilia was counter-yelling about whose turn it was to feed Pebbles.
Normal. Insistent. Alive.
Ivy stepped out of the shower, toweling her hair, and found Hazel already dressed in a soft lavender sweater, pulling her wet hair into a loose bun. She caught Ivy's reflection in the mirror. 'Don't stare.'
'I'm not staring.'
'You're staring.'
'I'm appreciating.'
Hazel's flush crept up her neck. She turned, grabbed Ivy's towel, and flicked it at her thigh. 'Appreciate faster. Sofia will eat the sugar jar if we don't get down there.'
Ivy laughed. She pulled on jeans and an oversized cardigan, her damp hair leaving dark marks on the wool. Hazel was already at the door, hand on the frame, looking back.
'Coming?'
'Coming.'
The kitchen was chaos. Sofia had the cereal box upside down, shaking it with both hands. Emilia sat at the table with a book open and a banana uneaten. Pebbles waddled between Sofia's ankles, quacking at intervals, clearly demanding something.
'There's no milk,' Sofia announced. 'You two used it all.'
Hazel opened the fridge. The bottle was empty. 'I'll run to the corner store.'
'I'll go,' Ivy said, already reaching for her keys. 'Keep them from killing each other.'
Hazel smiled. 'They're our sisters. If anyone gets to kill them, it's me.'
Sofia made an indignant sound. Emilia didn't look up from her book.
Ivy was back in ten minutes with a carton of milk, a bag of apples, and a box of pastries that made Sofia drop the cereal box with a clatter. Breakfast was a blur of hands reaching, crumbs falling, Pebbles snatching a piece of danish from the floor and waddling away before anyone could stop him.
'Pebbles, that's not for—' Hazel sighed. 'He's got the butter one.'
'He'll be fine.' Ivy poured coffee into a chipped mug. 'Ducks can eat pastry.'
'Can they?'
'I have no idea.'
Hazel laughed. It was easy now, the knot in her chest loosening with each normal movement — pouring milk, passing a napkin, brushing crumbs off the table. Ivy watched her from behind her mug, the steam curling between them.
The girls finished first, shoving their last bites in their mouths, grabbing backpacks. Emilia was already at the door, shoes on, hand on the knob. Sofia was still looking for her other shoe. Pebbles was nowhere to be seen.
'He's probably in your room,' Ivy said. 'He likes the blanket pile.'
'I'll check later.' Sofia found her shoe under the table, jammed it on. 'Okay. Ready. Let's go.'
Emilia opened the door. Cold morning air swept through the kitchen, carrying the smell of wet pavement and exhaust. 'Coming?' she asked, looking back at Hazel and Ivy.
Hazel shook her head. 'We're right behind you. We'll walk you to the corner.'
They grabbed their coats. Ivy locked the door behind them. The four of them — two women, two girls, no duck visible — walked down the stairs and out into the grey morning. Emilia and Sofia walked ahead, their backpacks bouncing, shoulders close. They were talking in low voices, heads tilted together.
'They're okay,' Hazel said. It wasn't a question.
Ivy took her hand. 'They're okay.'
They stopped at the corner where the girls would turn toward the school bus stop. Sofia looked back once, gave a short wave, and then they were gone, disappearing around the edge of a building.
Hazel stood still, holding Ivy's hand, looking at the empty corner.
'We should go,' Ivy said. 'You'll be late.'
'I know.' But she didn't move. 'Last night. In the morning light—' She stopped. Shook her head. 'It still feels real. I keep waiting for it to not.'
Ivy squeezed her hand. 'It's real.'
Hazel looked at her. 'I know.'
The walk back was silent, but not heavy. The air was cold, their breath misting. The apartment building rose ahead, ordinary and solid.
Ivy opened the door. They climbed the stairs. The hallway was quiet, their neighbours already at work or still sleeping.
Ivy unlocked the apartment. The kitchen still smelled of coffee and pastry. The dishes were in the sink. The quiet was different now — not the hushed tension of a morning after, but the easy silence of a day beginning.
'I should get dressed for work,' Hazel said. She didn't move toward the bedroom.
'Same.' Ivy didn't move either. She stood by the kitchen counter, her keys still in her hand. 'Tonight,' she said. 'We should— do something. Normal. Dinner. A movie. Not—' She gestured vaguely. 'Not navigating the aftermath of everything.'
Hazel smiled. 'You mean a date.'
'I mean a date.'
'Okay.' Hazel stepped closer, close enough to touch. 'I'd like that.'
Ivy set her keys on the counter. She reached for Hazel's hand, lifted it, pressed a kiss to her knuckles. 'Then it's a date.'
Hazel's breath caught. Her fingers curled around Ivy's.
The moment held. The kitchen light. The sound of the fridge humming. Their hands.
'We're going to be late,' Hazel whispered.
'I know.'
Neither of them let go first.
In the bedroom, they dressed in separate corners, stealing glances. Ivy in a dark turtleneck and trousers, her hair in a careful bun. Hazel in a floral dress with her work apron already looped over her shoulder. She was pinning a rose-gold earring when she stopped, staring at her reflection in the mirror.
'Ivy.'
'Mm?'
'What do I look like?'
Ivy looked up from buttoning her cuffs. She crossed to stand behind Hazel, meeting her eyes in the glass. 'You look like someone who's been loved tonight. You look like someone who's going to be loved again.'
Hazel's hand went still on the earring. Her eyes were bright. 'That's not what I meant.'
'I know.'
Hazel laughed. A small, wet sound. She finished securing the earring, then turned. 'Okay. I'm ready.'
Ivy picked up her bag. 'Let's go.'
They left together. Ivy locked the door. Hazel checked it twice, then took Ivy's hand in the hallway.
'One and a thousand,' she said.
Ivy squeezed back. 'One and a thousand.'
The apartment was quiet. The dishes dried in the rack. The coffee grew cold in the pot. Under inside Emilia's backpack, wedged between a book and a pencil case, Pebbles the duck was fast asleep, his round body rising and falling, dreaming of breadcrumbs and warm hands.
No one noticed.
The door clicked shut behind them. The day began.