A soft rumble from Ariel’s belly broke the calm, slicing through the gentle hum of Animal Crossing and the sunbeam curling across the couch. Ariel gave a sheepish glance toward Holly, who was curled up beside her with one leg draped lazily over a pillow and her Switch precariously perched on the armrest.

  “Was that your stomach or a tiny earthquake?” Holly asked, smirking and lifting an eyebrow.

  “That was the sound of someone realizing they’re starving,” Ariel admitted, pressing a hand to her stomach and grimacing as it gave another little growl.

  Holly rolled onto her back, stretching like a cat and giving Ariel a teasing nudge with her socked foot. “You didn’t eat much of your toast this morning,” she said, sitting up and combing her fingers through her hair. “What sounds good for lunch? And don’t say air.”

  They tossed around possibilities: noodles, dumplings, that new teriyaki place Holly kept raving about, before finally settling on a nearby Mediterranean café with legendary chicken shawarma bowls and extra pillowy pita.

  “You sure you’re okay if I run out for it?” Holly asked, already reaching for her boots. “It’ll be, like, half an hour tops. I can always ask them to deliver if -”

  “Go,” Ariel interrupted with a smile that was more confident than she’d felt in days. “I’m okay. Really. You need to get out of the apartment for a minute anyway.”

  Holly hesitated in the entryway, giving Ariel a searching look. “You’ll text me if anything feels off?”

  “Scout’s honor,” Ariel replied, raising three fingers. “Which, for the record, I was never in.”

  Holly leaned in, pressing a long, lingering kiss to Ariel’s forehead and then her lips. “I’ll be fast. Don’t go falling into any emotional spirals while I’m gone.”

  “No promises,” Ariel called after her, already reaching for her Switch as the door clicked shut.

  Quiet settled in around her, but it was a different kind of quiet than the one she’d known before the fire. No longer oppressive. Just… gentle. Like the city itself was taking a breath.

  She booted up Animal Crossing and let the comfort of the pastel world settle in. Her island had become a patchwork of all her softest instincts: overgrown paths, picnic blankets, plushie corners, little hidden groves. But lately, she’d started shaping a specific area near the flower field and pink bridge. A space she hadn’t told Holly about. Not yet.

  Her villager, dressed in a strawberry hoodie, waddled over to the work-in-progress: a little patch ringed with heart-shaped fencing and a sign that read “Holly’s Place” in cheerful, wobbly pixel font. Nearby, out-of-season holly bushes clustered against the fence, and a giant plush bear sat on a pink picnic blanket. Ariel placed a tiny teapot beside it, then queued up Bubblegum KK on the music player and started laying down pink gingham tiles. Just like the throw on Holly’s couch.

  She chuckled, cheeks pink. "You’re seriously building her a shrine," she murmured, pressing her palms over her eyes for a second.

  But then she just… stopped, Switch in hand, gaze drifting to the ceiling. The ache in her body was finally starting to fade, but the ache in her heart, the one that came from fear and gratitude tangled together, had only gotten louder.

  She saved my life. Not just from the fire, though that would have been enough. But from the slow, lonely inertia that had defined so much of her world. From the certainty that nothing could change, that she would always be small and unseen. Holly hadn’t just pulled her from the flames. She’d found her in the quiet, in the rut of routine, and coaxed her back into the light.

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  Ariel let the thought stretch, let it fill the apartment. She imagined coming home to Holly every day: grocery shopping, lazy Sundays, watching the rain blur the city. Saying "wife" out loud and having it mean something real. The idea didn’t frighten her. It steadied her. Made her feel taller, somehow. More whole.

  She looked back down at the screen, at her little villager sitting by the shrine’s fence and watching the sunset. For a while, Ariel fussed over the placement of each heart-shaped fence, the angle of the picnic blanket, the arrangement of pink flowers and little patterned tiles. She spent several minutes swapping out tea sets, adjusting the music player, trying to decide if a pastel garden gnome was too much (it wasn’t, but she still debated it).

  With each tiny adjustment, she imagined Holly noticing the shrine for the first time, imagined the delighted gasp or that dorky, high-pitched squeal she always made when something surprised her. Ariel paused, smiled, and dug through her in-game inventory for the little bouquet of digital roses she’d been saving for weeks. She set them at the edge of the picnic blanket, right next to the plush bear.

  It was ridiculous how much joy she found in this simple act. She added a tiny clay mug to the blanket, then rearranged the hedges one more time. It had to be perfect, and not just because it was for Holly. It was a way to say everything she hadn’t said out loud. Every careful touch, every detail, every patch of pastel tiles was a quiet confession: I love you. I want you here, always.

  Finally satisfied, she pulled her villager back, sat her at the edge of the fence, and let the character gaze at the sunset. "Perfect..." she whispered, and only then did she allow herself to pause and breathe.

  The door swung open, letting in a gust of October air and the smell of something warm and spicy. Holly kicked the door closed with her heel, arms piled high with paper takeout bags. "Okay," she announced, dramatic as ever, "I may have blacked out and bought half the menu, but it’s all soft, hot, and amazing."

  Ariel chuckled, the warmth in her chest eclipsing every leftover ache. "My favorite food groups."

  Holly peeled off her scarf and jacket, tossing them onto a chair, then flopped down beside Ariel. Her eyes drifted to the Switch just as Ariel placed the last tile on the path into the shrine.

  "Whoa," Holly said, leaning in until her nose almost touched the screen. "That spot looks awesome. What is it?"

  Ariel’s cheeks went pink. "It’s, um… a special place."

  Holly was instantly suspicious. "What kind of special? Secret treasure? Forbidden garden? A supervillain lair?"

  Ariel kept her eyes on the screen. "It’s just... something I’ve been working on."

  "Is it for me?" Holly poked gently at Ariel’s side, grinning. "C’mon. What’s in there? Did you build me a digital coffee empire?"

  Ariel giggled, dodging her eyes away. "It’s nothing, Hol. It’s just a cute spot."

  "Uh-huh." Holly poked her again, then twice more, her fingers finding the ticklish spot just above Ariel’s hip. "You’re being shady. Fess up!"

  Ariel tried to wriggle away, giggling harder. "Stop! Holly, seriously!"

  But Holly only grinned wider, relentless now. "Not until you spill, McIntyre. What’s so special about this patch of pink pixels?"

  Ariel squirmed, laughing, unable to keep it up. "Okay, okay! Fine! Just stop tickling me!"

  With a bright blush, Ariel tapped the signpost. The in-game textbox popped up:

  "Holly’s Place."

  For a second, Holly just stared, eyes wide and lips parted in disbelief. Her heart stuttered. First with surprise, then a warm, swelling joy that seemed to fill her whole chest. She set the bags aside with uncharacteristic care, her hands trembling ever so slightly, and in that next breath she was folding Ariel into her arms: giddy, tight, and wordless.

  "That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me," Holly whispered, voice thick. Her thoughts spun: How did I ever deserve this? How did she know, down to the smallest, silliest details, what would make me feel so seen? All her anxieties, her old fears of being too much or never enough, melted in the strength of Ariel’s affection. She knew it was silly to get this worked up over a place in a video game, but in that embrace, Holly realized she’d never been anyone’s favorite before, and that she wanted to be worthy of it every day.

  Ariel melted into her, the softness of Holly’s sweater, the hint of vanilla and coffee, the sound of her laughter: home, in every sense. "You’re my favorite place," she mumbled, face buried in Holly’s chest.

  Holly held her tighter. "You’re gonna make me cry, Red."

  Ariel tilted her head back with a shy grin. "You brought home half the café menu. We’re even."

  Holly laughed, brushing Ariel’s hair back from her forehead. "Okay, fine. But this is still the cutest shrine I’ve ever gotten, virtual or otherwise."

  They sat there a moment longer, tucked into each other, bags of food still unopened, the gentle chime of Animal Crossing music curling around them like sunlight. In that small, imperfect apartment, Ariel realized she’d never felt luckier to be alive.