Mara washed the day from her hands and lay awake a long time, fingers tracing the scar. Her fingers hovered over the tin a second longer than she meant to. The room smelled faintly of boiled tea and Sene's cheap perfume — a domestic scent that made the keepsong's warmth feel suddenly indecent.
Sene shifted under the blanket and murmured, half-asleep. "You smell like rain and metal."
"Market," Mara said.
"You always say that." Sene rolled onto her side, squinting. "Did you eat?"
"Enough."
Sene clicked her tongue. "Liar."
Sene turned. In the thin lamp-glow the roommate's eyes were honest and blunt.
"Did you bring anything interesting home for me, you little thief?" she said, smiling in a way that asked to be indulged.
Mara almost said nothing. Instead, she placed one hand over Sene's chest, and the other
caught her wrist, letting her hand close once over Sene's knuckles — a brief, private warmth that tasted like truce. "A spool of wire," she said, and then, because she could not help small cruelties, "and a ridiculous hat."
Sene laughed, a bright, contagious sound. Then her face softened and she grew a little more serious than the sleep allowed.
"You were out late," she said, voice low. "You should stop disappearing."
"I don't disappear," Mara answered, though her voice was small.
"Yeah," Sene said. "That doesn't mean I don't notice when you're gone."
Her hand found Mara's and squeezed once. "If something's wrong… you'll tell me, right?"
"You're wired," she said. "You get like this when you don't sleep."
Mara turned her gaze towards the corner of the room. "I slept."
"Sure," Sene murmured. "Is it the dreams again?" Sene asked quietly.
"..."
Mara didn't reply. Her silence was answer enough.
The room settled again. Pipes clicked. Somewhere below, a door shut too hard and then
didn't shut again.
"Can I ask you something?" Mara said.Sene didn't answer right away. She shifted, listening to the tone more than the words. "You already did."
Mara hesitated. The question felt stupid the moment it reached her mouth.
"Do you ever feel… out of step?" she asked. "Like everyone else heard a cue you missed.
Like you just...lost time?"
Sene snorted softly. "That's just being poor at listening silly."
"I'm serious." Mara said.
"I know." Sene rubbed her face, thinking. "Sometimes I'll wake up and everything's fine. Nothing's wrong. And that's what feels weird."
Mara turned her head. "Weird how?"
"Like I should remember being worried about something." Sene shrugged. "But I don't. So, I
stop worrying."
The words sat there, unfinished.
Mara nodded once. "That ignorant attitude is exactly what they want us to have don't you
think?"
"Perhaps. But why are you asking me this?" Sene asked, not accusing. Just curious.
Mara considered lying.
"No reason," she said, and this time Sene didn't call her on it.
Sene reached out and hooked a finger into the collar of Mara's ragged shirt, tugging her near just enough to count as contact and brushed a few strands of her dull yellow accented purple hair off her eye.
"Don't go looking for problems," she said quietly. "The city's good at finding them for you."
gently laughing in a tease.
They were close enough to feel their breaths on each other. Mara could not maintain eye contact. She closed her eyes.
"You sound like Feron."
"Feron's still alive?" Sene said. "That counts for something."
Sene's laughter softened into a quiet hum as she settled back against her pillow. The room dimmed into its familiar shapes—the bunk frame, the plant's shadow on the wall, the low hum of the building easing toward sleep. Then out of nowhere —
"You're hiding something, under the pillow." Sene said.
Mara froze. "What?"
Sene flicked mara's forehead, pushing her away affectionately. "Ouch"
"Your shoulder's stiff," Sene murmured "You do that when you're guarding anything."
Mara forced herself to breathe out. "But You were sleeping when i came in."
"Light sleeper," Sene said. Then, after a beat, "When it matters."
Mara shifted carefully, easing the weight of her coat off one side. The tin under the mattress pressed back at her, solid and accusing.
In a quick move, Mara picked up the keepsong kept under the tin and held it in her hand, close to her chest, as if protecting it.
Sene rolled onto her side, facing her now. Her voice stayed casual, but her gaze didn't wander. "You pick things up," she said. "That's not new."
"I don't steal," Mara said.
"I didn't say that." Sene reached out and tapped Mara's chest once. Not hard. Just enough. "I said you pick things up."
Mara's pulse stumbled.
"For what it's worth," Sene continued, "if it was trash, you wouldn't be this quiet." Mara swallowed.
"I didn't mean to bring anything home."
Sene smiled faintly. "No one ever does."
They lay there, the city humming its low, even rhythm. Somewhere in the walls, a pipe ticked as it cooled. The keepsong's warmth pressed insistently against Mara's chest, indecently alive.
"Does it hum?" Sene asked suddenly.
Mara's head snapped toward her. "What?"
"Relax," Sene said, amused. "I'm just guessing."
"Sometimes," Sene went on, "you come back with things that don't like being ignored. You twitch in your sleep. Or you keep a hand over your coat like it might wander off."
Mara looked away. "You notice too much."
Sene shrugged. "Someone has to." Her voice softened. "I don't need to know what it is."
Mara closed her eyes.
"I just need to know you didn't take it because you thought you were supposed to."
The question landed carefully. Not sharp. Not demanding.
Mara hesitated, then shook her head. "No."
"Good," Sene said, relief threading her tone. "Then whatever it is, it's yours to decide what to do with."
She shifted closer, the mattress dipping. "Just—" Her fingers brushed Mara's wrist, light and grounding. "Don't let it decide for you. And Don't let anyone know, if they already haven't found out."
Mara nodded once, too tight in the throat to speak.
Sene yawned and rolled onto her back. "Hide it better next time," she added sleepily. "You're terrible at pretending."
Mara almost laughed.
The room settled again, the conversation tucked away without resolution. Sene's breathing
evened out. The keepsong stayed warm.
A beat.
"Hey, Mara?"
Mara turned her eyes towards the ceiling. "What."
Sene smiled faintly, the sound of it in her voice. "Remember the song?" Mara didn't answer right away.
"…Which one," she said finally.
"The one you hate," Sene said. "You always said it crawled under your skin." Mara exhaled through her nose. "oh..I hate that song."
"You hate it because you know it," Sene murmured. "That's not fair."
Sene hummed a single note—soft, almost nothing. It wasn't quite right. It wasn't quite wrong
either. Just familiar enough to wake something that had been resting.
Mara felt it before she realized her hand had moved. Her fingers pressed lightly against her chest, grounding, like she was steadying something that had shifted.
"Don't," she said.
Sene paused. "Too much?" "Yes."
A beat. The city breathed. Pipes ticked. Somewhere far away, a tram sighed like it was remembering something old.
"I can never get it right," Sene said quietly. "I always forget where it goes."
"That's the point," Mara said, and then stopped herself. She hadn't meant to say that.
Sene tilted her head. "The point of what."
"Nothing."
Sene considered that, then hummed again—two notes this time. They wobbled, searching. Mara closed her eyes.
"…you're dragging the second note," she said, too gently to be a scold.
"Oh?" Sene smiled. "Then help me."
Mara hesitated. The melody rose anyway, not as sound at first but as shape. She let it out carefully, under her breath, more breath than voice.
"—sleep now, my darling" she murmured.
Sene joined her without thinking.
"— don't listen too close—"
"—count the lights, not the stars— Morning comes if you don't ask why"
They stopped.
The silence afterward felt crowded.
Sene laughed. "Why do we always stop there."
Mara's throat tightened. "Because it's enough."
"For who."
"For us."
Sene was still. Her voice came smaller now, stripped of teasing. "You used to sing it when you thought I was asleep."
Mara opened her eyes. "You were asleep."
"I wasn't," Sene said. "I just didn't want you to stop."
The words hung between them, heavier than the song.
After a while, Sene spoke again, softer, already drifting. "Promise me something."
Mara turned her head. "What."
"If you ever remember the rest," Sene said, eyes closed now, "don't sing it alone."
Mara nodded, even though Sene couldn't see it.
"I won't."
Satisfied, Sene finally slipped into sleep.
The room settled. The city resumed its careful quiet.
Mara lay awake, listening to the place where the song had ended. Her chest felt warm in a
way that didn't belong to comfort. She did not try to finish the melody in her head.
Some things stayed safer unfinished. Then—
Outside the narrow window, a shadow moved at the alley's lip.