The studio smelled like paint and rosemary.
Debra had cracked the window just enough to let in the late afternoon breeze, the kind that carried the scent of rain even when the sky stayed dry. Her sketchbooks were stacked in a lazy pile on the floor, her brushes soaking in a chipped mug by the sink. The world outside---its betrayals, its secrets---was locked out for the day.
Inside, Lean moved barefoot across the wooden floor, sleeves rolled up wearing a very revealing skirt, a wooden spoon in one hand and a smudge of tomato sauce on her cheek.
Debra lay sprawled on the old velvet couch, wrapped in a blanket that had once belonged to her grandmother.
As lean passed by, Debra pulled her to the couch making her sit down and immediately rested her head on a pillow in Lean's lap, legs tucked up like a child's, one hand lazily tracing circles on Lean's chest..
"babe you know i have a pot on the stove right.. Now move" Lean said trying to move Deb.
"I'm not moving," Debra mumbled, eyes half-lidded. "You'll have to carry me to dinner."
Lean laughed, brushing a curl from Debra's forehead. "You're not even trying to help."
"I'm emotionally fragile," Debra said, dramatically. "I've been through a lot."
"You had a croissant and a nap."
"Exactly. Exhausting."
Lean leaned down and kissed her forehead. "You're lucky you're cute."
Debra grinned, eyes still closed. "I know."
The kitchen timer dinged. Lean shifted, but Debra clung to her waist like a koala.
"Nooo," Debra whined. "Stay."
"I'm literally feeding you. You'll survive five minutes."
"Fine," Debra sighed, releasing her. "But I want extra cheese. And a kiss tax."
"You drive a hard bargain," Lean called over her shoulder, already stirring the pot again.
Lean finished cooking and dished up.. They settled on the floor as they began to eat.. plates balanced on their knees, backs against the couch. The pasta was simple--garlicky, warm, with just enough heat to make Debra's nose tingle.
"Do you think soulmates are real?" Debra asked, twirling her fork.
Lean looked up, surprised. "That's a big one."
"I know. I just… I've been thinking about how people can be so close, and still lie. Still hurt each other."
Lean set her plate down. "I don't think soulmates mean perfect. I think it's more like… someone who sees you. Even when you're a mess. Especially then."
Debra looked at her. "So you think we're soulmates?"
Lean smiled. "I think you're the only person I've ever wanted to make pasta for while being emotionally blackmailed into cuddles."
Debra laughed, cheeks flushed. "That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me."
"you gonna help me with the dishes then we will watch a movie..." lean said..
....
Later, they curled up under the blanket again, the lights dimmed, the laptop balanced on a stack of sketchbooks. Debra had picked the movie----something old and French, full of longing glances and rain-soaked kisses.
Halfway through, the characters stood in a candlelit kitchen, whispering confessions between sips of wine. The music swelled. The kiss came slow, inevitable.
Debra turned her head slightly. Lean was already looking at her.
They kissed---soft, unhurried. Not because the movie told them to, but because the moment asked for it.
When they pulled back, Debra blinked. "That was… very cinematic."
Lean smirked. "Should I cue the dramatic monologue?"
"No," Debra said, snuggling closer. "Just hold me."
And Lean did.
Outside, the world spun on. But in the studio, time folded in on itself....