Theo came knocking on their door one gloomy afternoon, just as Bonnie and Emi were watching a movie; It's a Wonderful Life flickering across the screen. They sat at opposite ends of the couch, both quietly absorbed in the black-and-white nostalgia.

When the knock came, Emi got up to answer it, while Bonnie stayed where she was, her eyes still on the screen. She assumed it was one of Emi's friends. But the moment she heard Theo's voice, cheerful and unmistakably familiar, she stood up quickly.

Emi shifted slightly, wordlessly giving Bonnie room to step forward and greet him at the door. Then she turned away, moving through the house with quiet purpose. She paused the movie and headed into the kitchen to brew some tea for the two of them.

Bonnie noticed all of it, the ease with which Emi gave her space, the subtle gestures, and felt a small flutter of guilt. Theo was still waiting at the doorstep, and after a brief hesitation, she invited him in for an afternoon tea. It felt like the polite thing to do. Emi hadn't protested. Or maybe she was just pretending it didn't mean anything at all.

From the kitchen, Emi stood by the counter as the kettle began to whistle softly, off and on. Her eyes flicked now and then toward the living room, to where Bonnie and Theo sat. The way they spoke carried a certain intimacy, not romantic, but familiar. Like people who had shared childhood summers and inside jokes.

Bonnie laughed more freely than usual, her hand resting on Theo's thigh during a moment of teasing. It wasn't flirtatious. Just... close. Still, every time it happened, Emi's fingers gripped the edge of the counter a little tighter. Her gaze dropped. Confusion tangled with something warmer, darker. Something like anger, but quieter, more difficult to name.

Emi didn't know why it bothered her. Or maybe she did. She just didn't want to admit it.

From the kitchen, she poured hot water over the tea leaves with practiced calm, listening to the low hum of conversation from the other room. She didn't mean to eavesdrop. But she couldn't help it either. Every now and then, Theo's laughter would rise, and Bonnie's followed like an echo. It was that kind of easy, natural comfort that didn't require effort.

That soft smile Bonnie wore. The way she leaned in when Theo spoke. The way she touched his arm without thinking. Emi looked away.

It wasn't jealousy, she told herself. It wasn't. It was just... a kind of misplaced discomfort. An ache she couldn't place. Bonnie wasn't hers. She knew that. She had been hired for the summer, nothing more. And yet, something in her kept folding inward, quietly, like fabric pulled too tight.

She glanced back once more and this time caught Theo reaching over to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Bonnie's ear. Emi didn't blink. She just pressed her palm against the edge of the counter, the tension in her fingers anchoring her to the floor. Her mouth felt dry. The kettle let out one last sigh of steam, as if exhaling for her.

Bonnie noticed it the moment Emi stepped back into the room.

She carried the tray with quiet grace, as always, two cups, a small pot, and a plate of the butter biscuits they kept in a jar near the stove. But something about her felt distant. Not colder, exactly. Just quieter. Emi set the tray down gently on the coffee table, her eyes brushing over Bonnie and Theo without settling.

"Thanks," Theo said with a smile, reaching for a cup. Emi gave a nod, not much more than a movement of her chin, before sitting in the nearby armchair, not the couch, not next to Bonnie.

Bonnie's smile faltered for a moment. She hadn't expected Emi to act any different. She hadn't done anything wrong. But now that she thought about it, Emi hadn't really looked at her since she came back into the room.

Her eyes drifted to Emi, who was focused intently on her tea, fingers wrapped a little too tightly around the cup. Something in her posture was clipped and restrained, as if she were holding something back. Bonnie blinked, her laughter from earlier fading into a more measured quiet.

She looked back at Theo as he continued talking about some project he was working on, but her thoughts wandered. She realized she didn't quite hear the last thing he said. She was watching Emi now, stealing glances the way she used to when Emi wasn't looking. Something had shifted. She could feel it. And that unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.

.

Another rumble of thunder shook the night, louder than before. Bonnie felt Emi shift beside her, then sit up wordlessly. Without turning on the light, Emi crossed the room, picked a cassette, and slid it into the player with quiet familiarity. The tape clicked into place. A soft hum, and then, with music, faint and crackling through the speaker. Something instrumental, warm, slow, with a hint of melancholy.

When she came back, Emi lay down again, this time facing Bonnie. They didn't speak. Both were just listening to the rain on the windows, a violin rising and falling, and the silence between them. Bonnie watched her. Emi's eyes were closed now, lashes still against her cheek. Her breathing even, she looked serene, almost asleep.

Bonnie lingered there, her gaze moving from Emi's brow to the edge of her lips. Maybe it was the music. Or the hour. Or the way the storm seemed to slow time down to a hush. She told herself Emi was already asleep.

And in that quiet moment, with the cassette spinning and thunder softening outside, Bonnie let the thought come, and let it free.

She leaned in, just a little, and pressed her lips softly to Emi's. A light, almost there kiss, like leaving something behind rather than asking for anything. Only a gesture to hold onto, something to carry through the night.

When she pulled back, Emi didn't stir. Her eyes stayed closed, her breath calm. Bonnie turned onto her back, facing the ceiling, unsure what she had just done, if it meant anything, or if it was only for herself. The music played on, soft and slow. She closed her eyes. And beside her, Emi didn't move.

When Bonnie finally turned her back to Emi, facing the wall, Emi opened her eyes. A flicker of confusion, maybe happiness, passed through her gaze, and beneath it, a quiet pool of worry. She had never expected Bonnie to make that move, not when everything between them was still so undefined, suspended in silence, not when both of them seemed too afraid to name it, too cautious to even let the thought take shape. And yet, the memory of Bonnie's lips, soft, tentative, impossibly gentle, lingered so hard it burnt her lips. The feeling had been so captivating, so disarming, that Emi knew, without fully understanding it, she would risk almost anything to feel it again.

She raised her arm slightly, as if to reach for something, or maybe just to feel the air between them. Amidst the music still playing faintly from the cassette, the soft patter of rain, and the low, steady hum of Bonnie's breath, her throat tightened, dry, clenched, aching with something she could not name.

.

Bonnie pretended she had never done it, while Emi pretended the kiss had never happened. Days passed with neither of them bringing it up, not because they were avoiding each other, exactly. They still cooked and ate together, read books side by side, watched movies in the same quiet rhythm. But something in the air between them had shifted. It wasn't the old kind of silence, the easy, comfortable kind they used to rest in. This one felt different. A little tentative, like each of them was suddenly too aware of the other's presence.

One evening, while washing dishes, their fingers brushed under the stream of warm water.

It was nothing, really. A fleeting touch, Bonnie reaching for the sponge just as Emi passed her a bowl. But they both froze, just for a second. The water kept running. The quiet hum of the cassette player drifted in from the other room. Neither of them looked up.

Bonnie let out a tiny laugh under her breath, nervous, like she was laughing at nothing in particular. Emi didn't smile, but she didn't move her hand away either. For one brief moment, they stayed like that, hands almost touching, water pooling between their fingers, the silence between them growing softer, less like a wall, more like a waiting room.

.

The rain had stopped sometime in the night, leaving the garden slick and heavy with scent, wet basil, turned earth, a trace of crushed leaves in the air. That morning, Emi was already outside, crouched near the herb beds, sleeves rolled up, gloves streaked with soil. She moved in that quiet, deliberate way she always did, focused, unhurried.

Bonnie arrived a little later, barefoot, holding two mugs of tea. Her hair was a mess, her shirt half-tucked. She didn't say much, just set the cup beside Emi and sat down in the dirt a few feet away, her knees sinking slightly into the softened ground. At one point, Bonnie leaned over to swipe a smear of dirt from Emi's cheek. She didn't say anything. Just touched, softly, then pulled back like it hadn't meant anything.

The sun started to peek through the clouds. Bees buzzed somewhere near the fence. The cassette from earlier was still playing in the kitchen, its sound drifting faintly through the open window.

Emi stopped mid-motion, her hands still hovering above the soil. Her composure didn't waver, but something about her stillness shifted the air. Bonnie wasn't looking directly, too caught up in her task, but she noticed subtly, like how you notice the air change before rain.

Emi turned her head slowly, watching Bonnie's profile with an unreadable expression. Her lips parted slightly, as if holding back words that had been pressing at her all these days.

"I want to ask," Emi said quietly. Her eyes stayed on Bonnie for a second longer before lowering to the cluster of daisies near her foot. "Why did you do it?"

Bonnie froze. The question landed softly, but it echoed in her bones. She had spent days pretending that night hadn't happened, that she hadn't let impulse tip her forward into something too raw, too close. Now, with Emi saying it aloud, the moment came rushing back like a wave she couldn't outswim.

She couldn't think, couldn't breathe properly. She had tried so hard to bury it, and now it was out in the open, gently but unmistakably. And for a second, she felt like she might die right there among the herbs and dirt and morning light. The daisies blurred in her vision as she kept her head down, pretending to be occupied, pretending her heart wasn't thudding in her chest like something was about to break loose.

Emi watched her in silence, the faint rustle of leaves filling the space between them. She didn't move, didn't rush. Just let the pause stretch out until it turned delicate, almost unbearable. Then softly, so softly it nearly got lost in the wind, Emi asked.

"Do you regret it?"

Her voice carried no judgment, no demand, only curiosity, and something more fragile beneath it. Something that wanted to know, but wasn't sure it could bear the answer.

.

Bonnie found herself thinking about that kiss more and more after Emi's quiet question - Do you regret it? - the words lingered in her mind like a faint echo, returning at odd hours, in moments of stillness. She wondered why Emi would even think she regretted it. What had she done, or failed to do, to make Emi believe that? But even so, she didn't dare to ask. She was afraid of the conversation, afraid of what it might unravel. The thought of putting her feelings into words felt like walking on ice that might crack beneath her weight. So she let the question sit between them, unanswered, quietly haunting.

The afternoon sun filtered lazily through the curtains, casting warm patterns on the floor. The house felt unusually quiet, not tense. Outside, the air stood still, the sky a faded blue with no hint of wind. Inside, Bonnie sat on the floor near the bookshelf, sorting through old photo albums Emi had found in one of the storage boxes.

Emi was nearby, folding some clean laundry with slow, methodical care. They hadn't spoken much since that day in the garden. They hadn't touched the question that Emi left hanging in the air: Do you regret it? And Bonnie hadn't answered. Not really.

Bonnie flipped another page. A younger version of her looked up from a beach trip, squinting into the sun. She stared for a second too long. Then, almost without thinking, she said, "I don't regret it."

Emi didn't look up, but her fingers hesitated over a white cotton shirt. Bonnie kept her eyes on the album. "You asked me. That day. I didn't say anything, but... no. I don't regret it."

The words came flat, almost too late. But Emi's breath shifted just slightly, like she'd been holding it for days.

Neither of them said anything after that. But when Emi finished folding, she came to sit beside Bonnie on the floor, closer than usual, but not close enough to touch. They kept looking at the old photographs together, one after another. A small silence stretched between them, but this one didn't feel uncomfortable. If anything, it felt like something might start again from here, something quiet, unhurried, and not entirely understood. And maybe that was enough for now.

.