59
Amanda woke to sunlight filtering through gauzy curtains and the distant hum of the city outside Ericka's bedroom window.
For a moment, she didn't move. Her cheek was warm against something soft — Ericka's thigh, she realized.
The scent of clean sheets and lavender clung to the air, comforting in a way she hadn't known she needed.
It took her a few slow blinks to register where she was, how she'd gotten there — and what time it was.
Her phone wasn't in her hand. There were no urgent pings. No work calls ringing in her ears. Just quiet.
She stirred, a little embarrassed, but Ericka's hand was still in her hair, stroking gently. Steady.
"You needed it," Ericka said, before Amanda could speak.
Amanda closed her eyes again, sinking for just a moment longer. "How long was I out?"
"A couple hours." Ericka shifted slightly, careful not to jostle her. "You were snoring."
Amanda cracked one eye open. "I don't snore."
"You do when you're exhausted," Ericka teased, but there was no edge to it. Only warmth. Only tenderness.
Amanda sighed and sat up slowly, rubbing the back of her neck. Her body felt heavy and loose — like someone had untied a knot that had been there too long. "God... I can't remember the last time I actually slept."
"I can." Ericka smirked softly, pulling the blanket around her shoulders like a cloak. "Nine days ago. The night before the surgery."
Amanda didn't deny it.
She swung her legs off the bed and stood, stretching just enough to hear her spine crack. "I should—"
"No," Ericka said, not unkindly. "You shouldn't."
Amanda looked over at her, eyebrows lifting.
"You should sit down," Ericka continued. "Drink some water. Let me make you something."
Amanda scoffed, even as her heart tugged a little. "You're recovering from surgery."
"I'm recovering," Ericka echoed, "not broken. I can toast a bagel."
Amanda didn't argue. Didn't deflect. Instead, she crossed the room and kissed the top of Ericka's head before heading into the kitchen. She filled a glass with water and leaned against the counter, letting the coldness anchor her for a moment.
Everything felt... quiet. Different.
The kind of different that came after a storm.
When Ericka shuffled in a few minutes later — robe tied, slippers on, hair gathered into a low bun — Amanda felt something lodge in her chest. A kind of gratitude that didn't have words.
They moved around each other easily, familiar now in a way that went deeper than routine.
The silence was filled with shared glances, small touches.
A shoulder brush here, a steadying hand there.
And when Amanda reached for the butter while Ericka was spreading it, their fingers touched for a moment too long.
Ericka didn't pull away.
Neither did Amanda.
They ate breakfast together at the kitchen table, still in pajamas, sunlight creeping slowly across the floor.
Amanda watched Ericka carefully — noting the wince when she shifted in her seat, the slow pace of her bites, the way she paused sometimes mid-chew, like her body needed extra time to keep up.
But there was color in her cheeks again. A bit of spark in her eyes.
"You're getting stronger," Amanda said, not hiding her relief.
"I feel stronger," Ericka admitted. "Still tired. Still sore. But... better."
Amanda nodded, sipping her coffee. "When's the next follow-up?"
"Friday. Just to check the stitches."
Amanda mentally adjusted her calendar, already mapping out the rest of the week in her head — then paused.
Ericka noticed. "Hey."
Amanda blinked. "Hmm?"
"You don't have to do everything. You've already done so much. Let someone else handle it for a while."
Amanda's lips twitched. "I'm not great at that."
"I know," Ericka said, smiling. "But you don't have to be great at it. You just have to try."
They sat in quiet again for a moment.
Then Amanda said softly, "I like being here."
Ericka looked up. "With me?"
"Yeah." Amanda shrugged. "It feels... right."
Ericka's smile softened, but something in her eyes flickered — vulnerable and uncertain. "I'm glad you're still here."
Amanda reached across the table, taking her hand. "I'm not going anywhere."
The room was warm with morning light. Outside, traffic was just beginning to stir — the city moving again, endlessly forward.
But inside the apartment, time stretched a little differently.
Slower. Softer.
Together.
______________________________________________________________________
The apartment was quiet again that evening, save for the low hum of the dishwasher and the occasional creak of the heating pipes.
The sun had dipped below the skyline hours ago, but Amanda hadn't bothered turning on many lights.
Just the lamp in the corner by the couch, casting a golden glow across the room.
Ericka was curled up at one end, her legs tucked under a blanket, a book resting open in her lap.
She wasn't reading it. Hadn't been for a while.
She was watching Amanda instead — not staring, not intruding, just..
. observing. Like someone memorizing something they weren't sure they'd be allowed to keep.
Amanda sat at the other end, her laptop closed on the coffee table in front of her for once.
She wasn't working. Her hands were resting in her lap, one thumb idly brushing over her palm.
Her hair was tied up messily, a few strands falling loose around her face.
She looked... tired. But softer somehow.
"I can hear you thinking," Ericka murmured.
Amanda smiled faintly, eyes still on her hands. "Is it that loud?"
"You hum when you're deep in thought."
Amanda blinked. "I hum?"
"Like, a little tune. Barely audible. It's cute."
Amanda's eyes flicked up to hers, something warm behind them. "You've been keeping track of my quirks?"
Ericka shrugged playfully. "Only the ones I like."
That earned her a real laugh, quiet and unguarded, the kind Amanda usually saved for early mornings or post-midnight musings. She leaned her head back against the couch, looking at Ericka now — really looking.
"What's this?" Amanda asked suddenly, her voice soft but serious.
Ericka tilted her head. "What's what?"
"This," Amanda gestured gently between them. "You and me. What are we doing?"
Ericka blinked once, her fingers tensing just slightly on the spine of the book in her lap. "I don't know."
Amanda's heart skipped, then dropped a beat. But then Ericka added, "Not because I don't feel it. But because... I don't know what to call it yet."
Amanda let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"Okay," she said, nodding. "Okay."
But then she glanced back at Ericka, lips pressing together like she was about to say something risky. "I meant it, you know."
Ericka's brow furrowed slightly. "Meant what?"
"When I said I loved you."
Ericka stilled.
Amanda's voice didn't shake this time. "That wasn't just because you were sick.
It wasn't out of fear. I've felt it since the first time I saw you — maybe not all at once, but something clicked.
And the more I saw you... the more I worked with you, watched how you carried yourself, how you cared about people, even when you pretended you didn't... it just built. "
Ericka didn't move for a long moment.
Then she carefully closed the book and set it aside.
"You scared me," she admitted, her voice almost too quiet.
Amanda tilted her head. "When?"
"That day at the clinic. When I saw you there. Sitting beside me. Taking the clipboard out of my hands like it was nothing."
Amanda frowned slightly. "Why?"
"Because I knew then I wouldn't be able to hide anymore," Ericka whispered. "And I wasn't just scared because you'd found out I was sick. I was scared because... you saw me. The messy me. The vulnerable me. And you stayed."
Amanda reached across the couch, brushing her fingers lightly over Ericka's knee. "Of course I stayed."
Ericka's voice wavered, but she didn't look away. "I love you too."
Amanda froze.
"I've loved you for a while," Ericka added, breath catching. "But I didn't want to admit it. Because if I did, I'd have to admit how much I could lose."
Amanda crawled across the couch, closing the space between them until their knees touched.
"You're not going to lose me."
Ericka reached for her hand, squeezing tightly. "Promise?"
Amanda nodded. "As long as you promise to stop hiding from me. From this."
Ericka pulled her closer, until Amanda's forehead rested gently against hers. "No more hiding."
They sat like that for a while — hearts steadying in sync, breaths aligning like tides.
Eventually, Amanda pulled back just enough to speak.
"So... we still don't have a name for it," she said with a soft smile.
Ericka chuckled, rubbing her thumb over Amanda's knuckles. "We'll come up with one."
Amanda leaned in again, this time pressing a kiss to her lips — slow, certain, and real.
Maybe they didn't have a name yet.
But they had each other.
And for now... that was enough.