Chapter Text
nicole liked her own silence. if there’s any, the little amount that it is. she found hers not just in the absence of sound, but the steady stillness of something that did not demand anything from her. silence never dared to linger in ways that felt intrusive. it simply existed… and in that very existence, she found room to pen down her thoughts.
or at least, she used to.
she was a writer, after all. her comfortable home reflected that preference for quiet. yes, the house was small (though she never really liked that word), but it was thoughtfully arranged. she took pride in it, even.
she had mounting shelves of books lining the walls. there was a narrow desk that sat by the single window in between the two diverting staircases, where warm light filtered through thin curtains and settled gently across her couch. there, by the coffee table, sat a cup of tea that had long gone cold beside her laptop, forgotten between the beginning of a sentence and its unfinished end. and at last, as if mocking her inability to move forward, the cursor blinked back at her from the empty document.
nicole was sitting on the floor, leaning back in her couch, arms stretched tirelessly with fingers hovering uselessly over the keyboard before retreating altogether. she exhaled slowly. this was utterly hopeless. her gaze drifting toward the ceiling as if answers might be written there instead.
obviously, they weren’t.
ideas, when they came, were very much unpredictable. some of them arrived in floods she could barely contain, often times left her stranded in an uncomfortable stillness that felt like stagnation.
it wasn’t as though she hadn’t written anything recently. just three days ago, she had submitted a piece for a magazine she frequently worked with. it was a simple feature article that had taken her a week to complete. nicole remembered how the editor had responded enthusiastically, praising her work with words like brilliant and insightful strung along the phrase ‘exactly what we needed’.
truth be told, nicole had not even felt remotely good while writing it. perhaps, mechanical would be a better fit.
the sentences had come together, structured and polished in the way they always were… but there had been no spark behind them. no quiet satisfaction, no sense that she had uncovered something worth saying. it had been done because it needed to be done. she disgustingly vomited her words out since deadlines existed and expectations followed.
nicole reached for her tea, took a sip, and noticed that it had gone stale in the time she had ignored it. the taste lingered unpleasantly on her tongue, setting the cup down again without finishing it. her attention returned to the screen.
the cursor blinked back.
“i suspect i need to experience something beyond my usual routine if i ever wish to write properly again,” nicole muttered and followed a curse under her breath, though there was no one around to hear her. the words sounded unconvincing even to herself.
she then closed the document. the decision was almost insignificant but it carried a quiet finality that settled into the room. she rested her elbows on the desk and pressed her fingers lightly against her temples, eyes closing as she tried to will something—just anything—into existence.
an idea.
or a phrase.
maybe a direction.
well… none came.
instead, her thoughts drifted aimlessly, circling back to the same quiet dissatisfaction she had been ignoring. it wasn’t that she disliked writing. she could not imagine herself doing anything else. but lately, it felt as though she had been writing around an edge rather than lurching toward it, skimming the surface of thoughts that never fully formed instead of diving in a state. it was frustrating in a way she didn’t quite have the words for, which felt ironic, given that words were supposed to be her domain.
she almost thanked the archons when her phone rang, providing her a little amount of distraction.
the sound cut cleanly through the stillness of the apartment, sharp enough to pull her out of her thoughts immediately. nicole opened her eyes, blinking once as she reached for the device lying beside her laptop. the name displayed on the screen made her pause, if only for a second.
alice.
she straightened slightly behind her back before answering the call, bringing the phone to her ear. “hello?”
“nicole!” alice’s voice came through bright and hurried, carrying an energy that felt out of place in the quiet room. “hi, i’m so sorry for calling out of nowhere.”
nicole adjusted her posture, already sensing that this was not going to be a casual conversation. “it’s fine,” she replied evenly. “is something wrong? it’s unusual for you to call in the middle of the afternoon.”
“no, no, nothing’s wrong,” alice said quickly, though there was a slight breathlessness in her tone that suggested urgency. “well—nothing bad, just… i need a favor. a big one. and i know it’s last minute, which is why i’m apologizing in advance.”
nicole leaned back in her couch again. “what do you need?”
there was a brief pause on the other end of the line. alice was never one to choose her words carefully. “i have to leave for a business trip in inazuma,” she said, the sentence coming out in a rush. “two weeks. it was supposed to be scheduled later, but something came up and they moved it forward. i don’t have time to arrange anything properly, and i really don’t want to leave klee with someone unfamiliar.”
nicole listened without interrupting. well, she already had an idea of where this was going.
“so i was wondering…” alice trailed, her voice softening slightly, “if you could take care of klee while i’m gone.”
nicole’s gaze drifted toward the window, where the afternoon light had begun to shift into something warmer. she considered the question for only a moment, though it felt longer in the quiet of her mind. it wasn’t an unreasonable request. she had watched klee before, once, maybe twice—but only for short periods, a few hours at most. enough to know that the child was energetic, curious, but surprisingly polite for her age.
two weeks, however, was completely different.
“oh why, of course!” nicole said. the words came easily, without hesitation. there was no real reason to refuse. her schedule was flexible, her work done from home, her time largely her own. if anything, the sudden change might even be… useful. besides, klee was a good kid. she had always loved when alice brought her over and when the child referred to her as ‘miss nicole’.
alice exhaled audibly on the other end of the line, relief evident. “thank you, nicole. really, thank you. i knew i could count on you.”
“you know you could always ask me for anything! so, when would you need me to start so i can tidy everything up?” nicole asked as she made herself more comfortable against her couch.
“um,” alice hesitated, and for a moment, nicole almost smiled. “in about an hour.”
nicole blinked once.
“i know,” alice added quickly. “i know it’s sudden, i’m so sorry. i’ll bring all of klee’s things! her clothes, her essentials, everything. you won’t have to worry about that. i just need to drop her off before i leave for the airport.”
then nicole blinked twice.
too much for being snug in her home, she leaned her head back slightly, eyes closing for a brief moment as she processed the information. an hour was… yes, not a lot of time. but there was very little she needed to prepare, realistically. her home was already clean, her schedule open. it wasn’t like her life wasn’t structured enough not to accommodate an unexpected addition.
“don’t worry about it, i understand,” nicole said, finally standing up like bracing herself. “i’ll be waiting for klee. she’s always a sweetheart and you know she’s always welcome here!”
alice thanked her again, and again, and before nicole could properly process what she had agreed to, the call ended that returned the quiet. nicole lowered the phone slowly, setting it back down beside her laptop. for a few seconds, she simply stood there in place, scanning her space to double-check what could be child-proofed within an hour.
well, she had no idea what to do at all.
nicole exhaled softly.
she had an hour. it wasn’t much, but it was enough to prepare herself.
not that nicole would have refused. that was the problem. alice knew she wouldn’t. still, if another friend had asked her to watch anyone else’s child, nicole might have actually considered pretending she was unavailable. klee was… klee. sweet, curious little thing with too much energy and frighteningly sincere manners. klee listened when corrected, even if curiosity dragged her directly back into trouble five minutes later.
nicole had always liked having her around with alice when they visited. the child entertained herself surprisingly well during her tea conversations, arranging her stuffed animals around the table like distinguished guests while occasionally interrupting adult discussions with questions so bizarre they looped back into being intelligent.
but that was for an afternoon. a few hours at most. not fourteen consecutive days.
and so, she moved through the apartment with measured efficiency, tidying small things that didn’t necessarily need tidying, adjusting objects that were already in place. nicole paused briefly in front of her bookshelf, her gaze scanning the neatly arranged rows of novels, journals, and collections she had accumulated over the years. she considered for a fleeting moment whether she should move some of them out of reach, but then dismissed the thought just as quickly. klee had been curious the last time she visited, yes, but not careless. there was a difference.
still, nicole adjusted a few of the more precariously stacked volumes, just in case.
by the time alice texted that they were on their way, nicole had settled back into a state of quiet readiness. the next thing she knew was the knock on the door came sooner than she expected, followed by the unmistakable sound of a child’s voice just beyond it.
“miss nicole!” klee called out, her tone evident with excitement.
nicole opened the door without second thought.
the child stood there with a small backpack slung over her shoulders, her eyes lighting up immediately upon seeing her. alice stood behind her, juggling two additional bags and a small suitcase, her expression apologetic but grateful.
“hi,” nicole said, her voice softer now, adjusted instinctively for the child in front of her.
“hi to you, too, miss nicole!” klee beamed, stepping forward without hesitation. “mom said i’m staying with you! i’m so excited!”
“i had tidied the house a bit when i heard,” nicole chuckled, stepping aside to let them in.
klee wandered in happily with her mom following behind, setting down the bags before turning back to nicole with the exhausted look of a woman operating entirely on limited time. “okay, so. important things.”
alice spoke quickly, the kind of quick that came from trying to remember everything at once before time ran out. she reminded nicole that klee disliked carrots unless they were cut into stars, that she needed the small nightlight plugged in or she would refuse to sleep. nicole also learned that klee tended to wake up early if thunderstorms started during the night. somewhere between instructions about spare clothes and emergency contacts, alice abruptly added that klee likes sweets and has her own stash in her backpack, and pleaded her to moderate the child’s consumption. nicole listened quietly through all of it, one hand resting against her temple while committing every detail to memory.
then came the warnings spoken with the exhausted patience of a mother who already knew exactly what disasters were possible.
“do not let her near matches,” alice said firmly. “or candles by herself. or the stove unsupervised.”
nicole lifted a brow. “that specific?”
“the answer is yes, and i’m not explaining that incident right now because i still haven’t emotionally recovered from it.”
from the hallway came klee’s small voice. “it was only a little fire.”
alice closed her eyes briefly. “you see what i mean.”
nicole pressed her lips together to stop what might have become a laugh.
“and if she gets too quiet,” alice lowered her voice as if sharing classified information, “go check on her immediately. loud klee is normal, but silent klee is planning something.”
“i can hear you, mom,” klee protested distantly.
“that means nothing to me anymore,” alice replied without missing a beat before looking back at nicole. “also… she asks a lot of questions when she feels comfortable enough with someone.” nicole thought that it does not seem problematic at all, but alice continued, “it starts innocent,” she warned. “then suddenly she’s asking things like whether parrots understand taxes or if explosions count as chemistry.”
nicole glanced toward the hallway where klee had now become suspiciously silent.
both women paused.
“…you should probably check on that,” alice said flatly. but nicole knew the child was very independent, as she had already begun exploring the house with quiet fascination.
alice exhaled through her nose, already looking half-defeated by the next two weeks in advance. “i’m serious, nicole. she gets curious about everything.”
nicole only smiled faintly. “alice, children are naturally curious! it really is not a problem.”
“you say that now.”
“it’s no worry at all!” she assured her calmly. “i adore children very much. it just happens that your daughter is my favorite goddaughter.”
the woman before her snorted softly at that. “she’s your only goddaughter.”
“and yet she still ranks first.”
that finally earned a tired laugh from alice, some of the tension leaving her shoulders as she glanced toward the living room. klee was crouched near the table now, staring with intense concentration at one of nicole’s decorative clocks without touching it.
“klee,” alice called gently.
the little girl immediately looked up. “yes, mom?”
her mother knelt down in front of her, brushing a hand through klee’s hair before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “be good for auntie nicole, alright? no dangerous experiments. no climbing things you shouldn’t climb. and absolutely no fires.”
klee gasped dramatically. “mom, i would never.”
nicole caught the deeply skeptical glance alice sent toward the ceiling after the child’s dramatic declaration of innocence, and despite herself, she nearly smiled. she remained quietly observant as the two interacted, watching the familiar ease between mother and daughter with an odd feeling settling somewhere in her chest. alice continued listing small reminders afterward—where klee’s medicine was packed, what time she usually slept. until a quick glance at the time caused her expression to tighten faintly.
“looks like i have to go,” alice murmured at last, the words carrying reluctant finality beneath them. she stood shortly after, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in her clothes before saying her goodbyes properly. nicole received one final grateful look from her at the doorway as the door eventually closed with a soft click behind her.
the house felt different immediately afterward in an undeniably fuller way that nicole noticed at once. when she turned her attention back toward the living room, she found klee standing in front of the bookshelf with her hands clasped neatly behind her back, head tilted slightly as she examined the rows of books with bright, open curiosity.
“you have a lot of books,” the child observed thoughtfully. her eyes traveled slowly across the rows of neatly arranged spines, some old and worn, others bound in elegant hardcovers with gold lettering. “have you read all of them, miss nicole?”
“most of them, yes,” nicole answered as she stepped closer, her tone calm with quiet amusement beneath it. “one could not write for a living if they do not drown themselves in books first, after all.”
klee turned to look at her immediately. “you could drown in a book?” she asked in disbelief that made nicole stifle a giggle inside.
“well, it’s only a metaphor. you’ll learn more about it in school once you’re old enough,” she corrected smoothly.
“do writers put real people in stories?” klee asked suddenly, still standing with all the solemn curiosity of a scholar making an important inquiry. she tilted her head up toward nicole afterward, eyes expectant. “like… people they know in real life?”
she regarded the kid for a brief moment before answering. “sometimes, yes,” she said. “though not always in obvious ways. most writers borrow fragments rather than entire people, i think. a particular habit someone has, the manner in which they speak, the way they hold themselves when upset, the sort of things they notice first when entering a room—those details tend to linger in one’s mind longer than appearances do.”
klee listened with intense focus.
“it is difficult to create characters from absolutely nothing,” nicole continued, stepping toward a nearby armchair where klee’s small coat had been carelessly abandoned earlier. she picked it up neatly as she spoke. “human beings are too complicated for that. so inevitably, writers collect pieces from the people surrounding them. one person may inspire a character’s kindness, another their arrogance, another their fears. occasionally, someone inspires an entire scene without ever realizing it.”
“have you done that before?” the little one asked.
“sometimes,” nicole answered, though a faint smile touched her lips immediately afterward. “though admittedly, not as often as one might assume in my case. i do not really write novels.”
“you don’t?”
“not willingly,” nicole corrected dryly. “i lack the patience for sustaining a single narrative across several hundred pages. the idea alone exhausts me, klee. most of my work consists of shorter commissioned pieces, freelance articles, and occasional literary projects whenever someone pays enough to convince me the effort is worthwhile.”
klee seemed to have absorbed that carefully, and nicole seemed amazed how the six year old was not saturated yet with all her thoughts. “so… you still use real people?”
nicole stepped toward the couch, kneeling briefly to pick up one of klee’s bags before setting it aside neatly. “it is useful for characterization. real people possess natural contradictions that fiction often struggles to imitate convincingly. those inconsistencies make characters feel alive.”
the curious child still nodded solemnly, so nicole continued. she admitted that she occasionally borrowed from real people whenever she wrote commissioned pieces, though never in entirely obvious ways. she recalled one particular commission that requested an elegant yet emotionally distant woman whose intelligence bordered on unsettling, someone capable of making others feel dissected under casual conversation alone. the description had reminded her so strongly of barbie… that nicole had ended up weaving several of her mannerisms directly into the character. she had noted the effortless composure that often made other people feel strangely transparent around her.
the client had adored the final result, praising the character for feeling unusually alive and believable. well, barbie herself had initially been deeply offended by how accurately nicole had translated her personality onto paper, but praised her nonetheless.
klee stared at her with fascination, then decided to drop one innocent question that particularly influenced her mood through the rest of the day. “how about you, miss nicole? have you ever put yourself in your stories?”
nicole paused briefly while unzipping klee’s travel bag. “i attempted it once,” she admitted. “you could say it did not resonate particularly well with me.”
silence filled the room as the girl looked up to her expectantly as if silently convincing her to ramble on.
nicole took a deep sigh. “i think writing oneself honestly requires a level of self-understanding i do not entirely possess yet. other people are easier to observe because there is distance involved. like… their habits, contradictions, fears—those things become visible patterns when you are standing outside them. but… when i attempted to write a character too similar to myself, she felt strangely hollow to me, as though i were only describing surfaces without understanding what existed underneath them.”
the girl frowned sympathetically. “that sounds difficult.”
“mostly frustrating, if i am being honest,” she agreed.
that earned a small giggle from the child before her eyes suddenly lit with inspiration. “oh! then maybe you should try to put yourself in a romance story instead!”
she laughed softly under her breath at that suggestion while continuing to organize klee’s belongings. “that would be exceptionally more difficult for me to write convincingly.”
it was true, though she kept the realization for herself alone. romance, contrary to popular belief, is not sustained merely by attractive prose and dramatic declarations. she had long acknowledged that it relies heavily upon emotional experience. to write it convincingly, one must understand intimacy in all its subtleties. longing, attachment, vulnerability, affection… the small invisible shifts people undergo once they begin caring for someone deeply… she had no firsthand experience on those yet. good romance writing requires understanding those emotions intimately enough to portray them truthfully. and unfortunately, nicole possesses very little practical experience in that particular department.
“aren’t you sad about it, miss nicole?” klee looked genuinely saddened by her answer, but nicole only gave her a small smile again. “perhaps,” she said lightly. “though it does spare me from becoming unbearable in conversations.”
the remainder of the day passed far more smoothly than nicole had expected. klee proved energetic, certainly, but manageable in the peculiar way intelligent children often were. nicole prepared dinner for the two of them while enduring an endless stream of curious questions. the endlessly inquisitive child asked about cooking measurements and whether authors preferred writing tragedies because they were secretly unhappy people.
afterward, she helped klee unpack properly. then, she listened to an elaborate explanation regarding which stuffed toy absolutely needed to remain beside her at all times before she managed to eventually tuck her into the guest bedroom with surprising ease.
by the time the house finally settled into silence, nicole found herself standing alone in the dim hallway leading to her own room, oddly aware of how gentle the night suddenly felt.
she should have gone to sleep shortly afterward.
instead, the conversation from earlier lingered irritatingly in the back of her mind.
even the child had sympathized with her with such sincerity after learning she had never truly been in love. and the absurd thing was that nicole could not even disagree with her completely.
at twenty-nine, she was certainly no longer young enough to dismiss the subject as an abstract meant for a future version of herself. many people her age were already married with kids (see alice for example). meanwhile, nicole spent most evenings alone with empty manuscripts, cold tea, and the occasional commissioned deadline severe enough to destroy her sleeping schedule.
it wasn’t as if she had not been pursued before. there had been opportunities, certainly. she had few men interested enough to linger, drawn toward her intelligence and the carefully curated elegance she carried herself with so naturally. but nicole had always found something vaguely performative about romance as other people described it. she understood affection conceptually, understood devotion intellectually, but understanding and feeling it were entirely separate matters.
she refused to force herself into relationships merely because time suggested she should have by now. love, if it was worth anything at all, ought to arrive honestly rather than out of fear of growing older alone.
still, long after midnight, nicole found herself staring at the ceiling with unusual thoughtfulness.
perhaps klee’s comment unsettled her precisely because it had been spoken without judgment. children possessed a tendency to simplify truths adults buried beneath rationalization. to the kid, the idea that someone could reach her age without ever experiencing love simply sounded unfortunate in the most straightforward sense possible. it was merely saddening. nicole exhaled quietly into the darkness at the realization, one hand resting beneath her cheek as moonlight stretched pale across her bedroom ceiling.
true love would come eventually, she thought. not because she searched desperately for it, nor because society expected it from her, but because it arrived naturally when it was meant to. she had always believed the most beautiful stories unfolded gently that way—patiently revealing themselves chapter by chapter until it became impossible to ignore.
perhaps her own romance would arrive just as softly, like the turning of pages she did not realize she had already begun reading. until then, all nicole could really do was wait for the story to find her.