Chapter 78

The argument started over something small-something so small neither of them could even remember how it escalated.

Maybe it was Jennie forgetting to reply.

Maybe it was Lisa being too tired to explain herself properly.

Or maybe it was just one of those days where misunderstandings piled up until silence became louder than words.

By the time the sun dipped below the city skyline, the apartment felt unusually heavy.

Jennie stood near the kitchen counter, arms crossed, pretending to scroll through her phone even though nothing on the screen was actually being read. Lisa lingered near the doorway for a moment, opened her mouth like she wanted to say something-then stopped.

She sighed quietly.

“Good night,” Lisa finally said, voice softer than usual.

Jennie didn’t look up right away. “Yeah. Good night.”

That was it.

No apology.

No teasing.

No “come here.”

Just distance.

Lisa ended up on the couch.

It wasn’t dramatic. She didn’t announce it. She just quietly grabbed a blanket, avoiding Jennie’s gaze when she walked past the bedroom. The living room light stayed dim, casting soft shadows across the cushions.

Jennie watched from the doorway for a second, but didn’t stop her.

She should’ve.

She almost did.

But pride is a stubborn thing, even between people who love each other deeply.

So Jennie went to bed alone.

The bedroom felt too big.

Too quiet.

Jennie lay on her side, staring at the dark ceiling, listening to the faint hum of the air conditioner. She pulled the blanket higher, then lower, then higher again like she couldn’t decide what felt right.

But nothing did.

Her chest felt weirdly empty, like something was missing from the bed-not a thing, but a presence. A warmth. A familiar weight against her side.

She turned once.

Then again.

She sighed.

“Why am I like this…” she whispered to herself.

Outside, the apartment was silent except for the occasional rustle of the curtains.

But Jennie couldn’t sleep.

Not even close.

On the couch, Lisa wasn’t doing much better.

She was lying on her back, one arm draped over her eyes, the blanket half-falling off her shoulder. The couch was big enough, comfortable enough-but wrong.

Every few minutes she shifted, trying to find a position that didn’t feel like she was deliberately choosing distance.

But every position felt like distance.

Her mind kept replaying the argument. Not the words exactly-but the tone. The pauses. The way Jennie stopped looking at her halfway through.

Lisa exhaled slowly.

“Stupid…” she murmured, not sure if she meant herself or the situation.

She turned onto her side, facing the back of the couch.

And still couldn’t sleep.

Sometime around 3:00 AM, the apartment was completely still.

Even the city outside had quieted into a low hum.

Jennie lay awake, eyes open, staring at the outline of the bedroom door.

Then she sat up.

“…I can’t do this.”

Bare feet touched the floor softly. She moved carefully, like the night itself might scold her for making noise. The hallway light stayed off. She knew the layout by heart anyway.

Step by step, she made her way to the living room.

Lisa was there.

Curled slightly on the couch, one hand tucked under her cheek, breathing slow and even-but not fully relaxed. Even in sleep, she looked like she was holding onto tension.

Jennie stopped a few feet away.

For a moment, she just watched her.

The anger from earlier didn’t feel important anymore. It had already shrunk into something small and distant, like a crumpled piece of paper left forgotten.

Jennie quietly walked closer.

She hesitated.

Then, gently, she climbed onto the couch behind Lisa.

The couch was not meant for two adults to sleep comfortably, but Jennie didn’t care. She carefully adjusted herself, trying not to wake her.

Lisa shifted slightly.

Jennie froze.

But Lisa only mumbled something unintelligible and instinctively leaned back-like her body recognized warmth even in sleep.

That was all it took.

Jennie carefully wrapped an arm around her.

And finally, finally relaxed.

Lisa didn’t wake up right away.

But somewhere between sleep and waking, she felt it.

Warmth behind her.

A familiar presence pressed close, soft and steady.

Her brows furrowed slightly.

Then relaxed.

Then she shifted again-this time not away, but into it.

Like muscle memory.

Like home.

Morning light slipped gently through the curtains.

Lisa was the first to wake.

She blinked slowly, still half-asleep, adjusting to the soft brightness of the room.

Then she realized something immediately.

Weight against her back.

An arm around her waist.

Warm breath near her shoulder.

Lisa froze.

Then carefully turned her head just slightly.

And there she was.

Jennie.

Curled tightly against her like she belonged there more than anywhere else in the world, her face tucked near Lisa’s shoulder, one hand gripping the edge of Lisa’s shirt like she’d been afraid she might disappear.

Lisa blinked again.

Once.

Twice.

Then a slow, helpless smile spread across her face.

“Oh…” she whispered softly.

Her heart, which had been tight all night, suddenly felt unbearably soft.

Jennie shifted slightly in her sleep, making a small sound-something between a sigh and a complaint-then pressed closer.

Like she was still arguing with the idea of distance even in dreams.

Lisa carefully reached up, brushing a few strands of hair away from Jennie’s face.

“You’re impossible,” she whispered, but there was no real frustration in it.

Only affection.

Only relief.

She adjusted the blanket around them both, making sure Jennie was covered properly, then relaxed back into the couch.

The argument from yesterday already felt ridiculous.

Like it belonged to someone else.

Outside, morning light grew brighter.

Inside, the couch was too small.

But neither of them cared.

Because Jennie was there now.

And Lisa wasn’t alone anymore.