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[ Kimiko tilts the toe of her boot into Lune's foot in return. The touch is brief and light, but grounding. A week isn't a long time, not really — but the relief that quietly floods Kimiko is warm, not insignificant. A signed hello is enough to sink her shoulders, the left of which settles lightly, comfortably, against Lune's own. ]

I'm alright.

[ Reaching over, she breaks off a little hunk of the pretzel. ]

My car was stolen and driven into a pawn shop.

[ Pops the chunk into her mouth, savouring the contrasting pastry sweetness and salt flavouring. ]

You okay?

Tired, but okay. [ Even days after the power was back and normalcy ostensibly resumed, it was hard to catch up on that sleep debt, particularly when Lune didn’t sleep well to begin with. She hadn’t taken any real injuries during the blackout: the main harm done was that bone-deep exhaustion, her magic ebbing low from over-use, her faith in the stability of this entire city shaken.

All of that that is going to take longer to shake off. ]

My car is dented, but still working. I was mostly— [ A pause, trying to remember how to phrase this word, which flex of fingers to express: ] Worried.

I'm fine. [ (now.) ]
Some drama at the garage. It's over now.

[ Lune knows she can speak out loud, of course — but there's something comforting about seeing Kenji's signs after the past week. The weight of performance sloughing off Kimiko's shoulders, the ability to sink into her own language rather than having to keep up with someone else's.

Worried, yes. That makes sense. ]

Me, too.

[ Shoulders remain tucked together, the hallway spread out around them. ]

I'm glad you're safe. I meant to check on you in person, there was just— [ A pause of her own now, fingers flexing with uncertainty. ] So much going on. [ And a lot of drama. ]

Do I need to break someone's legs?
Or pick up tacos?

[ Is this a beating people up thing or a comfort the roomie thing or ]

Of course. A lot of danger.

[ So many things had gone wrong over the course of that week, and there were so many reasons to be derailed, blown off-course. Lune tips her head back against the wall, and there’s some faint frustration etched in the sag of her shoulder against Kimiko’s. ]

I tried to text you. I think my phone still isn’t working. I want to get a…

[ She hesitates. Flex of fingers, fishing for vocabulary yet again. ]

Radio?

[ The day after the party — ]

so!

[ Guess who is Not Getting The Intent? Kimiko, that's who. She waits a few seconds for a follow-up and, when none comes, hazards a reply. ]

Good morning!

good morning!
did you have fun yesterday?

Yes!!!

Thank you for inviting me
It's my first time attending a birthday party since I was a kid

of course! happy to have you.
and thank you again for the gift.

[ It's sitting next to her bed 😊 ]

did your friend have a good time?

[ One might imagine the intentional pause before, the added weight to, 'friend.' ]

I think so.
He doesn't hang around if he doesn't want to.

[ The pause may just zoom right over Kimiko's pretty little head. ]

good. glad everyone enjoyed themselves.

[ :) ]

was he the person you'd told me about?

[ Oh.

Well, she doesn't panic and throw her phone across the room in a fit of shyness this time, so. Progress. ]

Yeah that's him.
Why???

[ Definitely progress! ]

just curious!

[ She'd seemed so smitten, so.. ]

we talked a little. he seems really nice.
brought me a gift [ tequila!! ] and everything, which was very sweet.

He is very nice.

[ And handsome and reliable and safe and great in bed and— ugh. She's being dumb again. ]

Is he what you wanted to talk about?

[ not dumb!! ]

i just wanted to say hi in general, but i am also curious.
you painted such a picture of him, it was good to meet him.

[ Radio is a very useful term for two kids in the involuntary employee of child-trafficking terrorists, so obviously there's a sign for it. Kimiko doesn't hesitate to share it with Lune, going through the simple one-handed twist of a word.

For the radio, Kimiko doesn't have much to offer. It's a good idea, right? Lune is smart, so anything she says is probably a good idea. ]

Do you want to come in? I'll make you some tea.

Thanks for letting me bring him.
Did you like the tequila?

[ Trying to not have a shy girl crashout at the girl talk. Let's see how this goes. ]

the more the merrier, really. i had a great time.

and yes! absolutely. i haven't had much of it, to be honest, and i think we usually call it mezcal back home.
love the way it burns, though. what about you?

It's intense.

He likes to do shots, so I wanted to try them
I thought I was going to DIE

[ Thank fuck for the superhuman healing factor heightening her alcohol tolerance, but it can't do anything against a strong taste. ]

[ Feels weird to explain the whole killing her boss thing in text, so... ]

Tacos would be good.

Yes.

[ This is one of the things Lune likes about the sign language: what with her still-growing vocabulary, there’s less hedging, less polite padding. She doesn’t have the fluency to talk in circles around a matter, so she cuts right to the heart of it instead.

They rise from the floor, and it shouldn’t feel as monumental as it does. Kimiko has extended the invitation to come over, several times; and Lune’s always found some excuse, some exceedingly sensible-sounding reason, to defer and put it off and only drop her friend off as far as the threshold. Lune’s never stepped foot inside. She could, in fact, count on one hand the number of private homes she’s visited in Panorama.

(Three, and one of them is her own.)

But hot on the heels of the blackout, with the aftertaste of fear still acrid on her tongue and hollowing her out, she decides some adjustments might be needed. Perhaps it’s worth knocking yourself out of your rut, pushing out of the comforting tedium of predictable routine, and taking a little risk —

Even if it’s just this: crossing the threshold of an apartment with a friend, coming in to have some tea and seeing how Kimiko and her other two roommates live. ]

[ With a smile, she clambers nimbly to her feet. Unlocks the door, ushers Lune in with a friendly gesture; a flat, tilted hand.

The place isn't terribly impressive. The flat grey carpet, off-brown countertop, and cheap wallpaper are fairly reminiscent of any motel room. There's a kitchen table with a few chips in the glaze, the legs. An unfolded convertible couch with sheets and blankets, pillows spread out, more unmade than made; a very neatly made ex-hospital cot with the frame covered in flower stickers tucked up against the far wall. The privacy of a bedroom, where Kimiko sleeps. A small bathroom, somehow shared by three women. An open window, a smattering of mismatched mugs, a fridge covered in magnets. On this side of cramped, maybe, but lived in, far from sterile.

Immediately, Kimiko introduces Lune to step one when entering an Asian household — take off your shoes. Telegraphed by leading by example, with a meaningful glance over her shoulder if needed.

The kettle is filled a third of the way with water, flicked on. ]

That's my room over there. [ Indicates a closed door. ] Do you want a snack? We have muffins and oranges.

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