Chapter Text
Lisa arrives in Manchester the way she always does. Without warning.
One moment there is nothing. No sensation, no body, no sense of time passing. And then there is weight, stone under shoes. Cold air brushing against her face. She is standing on slick cobblestones beneath a sky the colour of old bruises, the dampness of rain hanging in the air like it hasn’t yet decided whether or not to fall.
It’s usually the smell that hits her first. Dampness. Or sometimes petrol. On occasion it’s coffee drifting out from somewhere nearby.
And then sound fills her mind. The unmistakable twang of her home. Of Manchester.
Well, not her Manchester, exactly. Not the one she left behind, or left her behind she supposes. This version is specifically curated. The streets are cleaner than she remembers, the lights warmer, and the crowds thinner than they realistically would be.
A tram glides past, quietly and efficiently, another dead giveaway. The digital display flickers between destinations that feel as though they are familiar. But Lisa knows that they are more symbolic than practical. Close enough to pass by most without any further thought.
Lisa pulls her coat tighter around herself habitually, though she doesn’t feel cold.
She never does here.
People move around her with purpose. Laughing, talking, brushing shoulders without apology. Some look young in a way that feels deliberate. Others look like they’ve chosen this version of themselves carefully, lovingly.
As with reality, Lisa keeps to the edges.
She always lands somewhere near Canal Street, though she’s never asked for it. The thought of this makes her chuckle under her breath. The system seems to have opinions about her.
Neon signs reflect off the dark water and slick cobblestones. The colours blur into each other if she looks too long, bright enough to ache behind her eyes.
She continued walking until she can hear the music spilling out of open doors. Then laughter and conversations that don’t include her. She keeps her eyes down and the low thrum of bass settles into her chest whether she wants it to or not.
You can leave, she reminds herself.
She doesn’t.
Her feet carry her forward, slow and hesitant, until she stops outside a bar she doesn’t remember existing before. Though she can count on one hand how many times she’s been placed here before.
Underworld, the sign says, glowing purple.
A bouncer clicks his counter as she walks through the doors. She attempts to catch a glimpse at his eyes. Not that there would be much point, their eyes always glide past her. But still she checks.
Inside the bar, the room is busy but not overwhelming. Low ceilings, exposed brick walls, and lights strung carelessly overhead. This place feels lived in and comforting and way that doesn’t make her stomach drop for some reason. She studies the room, searching for the imperfection. She can’t find it yet.
She hesitates in the doorway.
And then she sees her.
A woman stands near the bar, one elbow propped casually against it, lips pursed, an arched eyebrow, and her body angled toward the room like she’s open to whatever might happen next. She’s dressed like she owns the space and the confident expression on her face backs that up. Her dark trousers, a loose silk shirt half-unbuttoned, and gold catching at her throat suddenly make Lisa feel underdressed in her black pants and simple knitted jumper.
She’s laughing, bright and unrestrained, head tilted toward the woman she’s talking to. Her hands move when she speaks, expressive and confident, like the world has always made room for her.
Lisa’s breath catches.
She doesn’t know why this woman feels familiar. Not recognisable exactly. But more like a thought she’s had before.
She tells herself to look away.
She doesn’t.
The woman’s arm drops from the bar to rest on the back of the other woman’s chair. She flicks her hair back, gaze lifting to sweep the room. It stops when it finds Lisa.
For a moment, neither of them moves.
Then the woman smiles.
It’s warm. Curious. Entirely unafraid.
Lisa panics. Her eyes drop instantly to the floor, heart racing like she’s done something wrong. When she looks back up again, a second later, the woman is gone.
Lisa exhales shakily, scanning the room for another glimpse of her. There are other brunettes. Other women. None of them are her.
She rakes a hand through her ponytail and pushes her way towards the bar.
She orders a drink she doesn’t need and retreats to a small table near the wall, wrapping both hands around the glass like it might anchor her. Her reflection in the dark window looks uncertain, smaller than she feels.
You’re being ridiculous, she tells herself. This place isn’t real. You’ll never see any of these people again, if you don’t want to.
The thought doesn’t help. She contemplates leaving the drink and just leaving. This whole idea was just a silly idea anyway. A mistake really.
“Mind if I sit?”
Lisa startles so badly she nearly spills her drink.
The dark haired woman from the bar stands there, closer than is reasonable, smiling with a softness that makes Lisa’s stomach flip.
“Yeah- yeah. Course,” Lisa says, scrambling.
The woman sits, breezing in and wafting a delicate smelling perfume in Lisa’s direction. Lisa can’t help but think the softness of the perfume doesn’t match her sultry exterior at all.
“Did I scare you then?” The woman asks earnestly, though her mouth begins to rise at the edges with playfulness.
“You didn’t,” Lisa lies, looking anywhere except in this woman’s eyes. “Just… wasn’t expecting company.”
Carla’s smile widens. “You sure?”
Lisa nods too quickly, then immediately wishes she hadn’t.
“I’m Carla,” Carla says, purposely dipping her head in an attempt to catch Lisa’s eyes. “This is usually where you tell me yours.”
She nudges Lisa’s knee under the table. Casually but precise.
Lisa clears her throat and locks eyes with Carla for the first time. Strikingly green. And steady. Distantly recognisable.
“Lisa,” she offers.
Carla repeats it quietly, like she’s trying to place the name herself. Her finger traces the condensation on Lisa’s glass, slow, idle. “First time, yeah?”
Lisa swallows. “Is it a bit obvious?”
“Not to everyone,” Carla says lightly, her finger grazing Lisa's pinky. Innocent enough to be deniable. “But, I’ve got a knack for spotting this stuff, see.”
Lisa huffs a laugh. But something in the way she says it makes Lisa’s chest ache. Something she’d been seeking out for a long time. Kindness? Attention?
Outside the bar, the city hums on, patient and uninterrupted.