Kara barely remembered the drive back home with Alva, only the night air slick against her face, the motorbike's hum steady beneath them. His questions still lingered, why Bali, why now and she had tried her best to answer, voice trembling but firm. She would come back every four, maybe six months. She wasn't leaving them forever. Not leaving him. Not leaving Willow. At least, that's what she told herself.
When Alva dropped her off, Kara hugged him a little tighter than usual. He didn't say much, just ruffled her hair like when they were kids, eyes heavy with unspoken things.
Inside her room, the silence pressed in. She collapsed on her bed, too restless to sleep, when her phone buzzed again. Willow. The name lit up the screen like a wound.
She hesitated, then answered.
"Hey," Kara whispered.
There was a pause, soft breathing on the other end. "I couldn't sleep," Willow admitted. "I just… needed to hear your voice."
Kara pressed her palm against her chest, steadying her heartbeat. "Then stay. Talk to me. I'll tell you about my day. Something stupid, random, I don't know."
"Go on," Willow said softly.
So Kara rambled, about Alva's obsession with iced coffee even at midnight, about her guitar strings snapping one by one like they were protesting her neglect, about how her mom's face looked when she'd said the word Bali across the dinner table.
Willow laughed, quiet but real. "God, I can imagine her expression. Did Dean roll his eyes too?"
"Of course he did," Kara muttered. "I swear, he's allergic to me existing."
"You're not easy either, you know."
Kara grinned despite the lump in her throat. "Yeah, but I'm prettier, so it balances out."
Willow groaned. "Shut up. You're ridiculous."
"But you're smiling," Kara teased.
"Maybe."
The laughter faded into softer breaths. The minutes slipped away until Willow's voice came again, hesitant. "Can you… sing for me?"
Kara hesitated, eyeing her guitar in the corner. "It's out of tune."
"I don't care," Willow said. "I just want to hear you."
So Kara picked it up, adjusted her phone so Willow could see her, and strummed anyway. The strings buzzed, her voice came out raspy from fatigue, but she sang—half a song she wrote months ago, one Willow always asked for.
On the screen, Willow's face softened, eyes glassy. "Don't ever stop singing, Kara. Even if you're far."
"I won't," Kara promised. Her chest ached.
They stayed like that, screen between them, neither willing to hang up. Kara stretched out on her bed, placing the phone on the pillow so Willow's face was close enough to touch.
"Talk to me until I sleep," Kara murmured.
"What do you want to hear?" Willow asked.
"Anything. Your day. Your stupid neighbor's dog. How you burnt your coffee again this morning."
Willow chuckled, shaking her head. "Fine. My neighbor's dog chewed through another pair of my sandals. I screamed at it for five minutes, but then it wagged its tail and I felt guilty."
Kara smiled, eyes heavy. "That's so you."
"And yeah," Willow sighed. "I burned my coffee. Again. You'd laugh if you were here."
"I am here," Kara whispered. "Just… not the way I want to be."
Silence stretched, filled with their breaths, the faint hum of the city outside Kara's window.
"Let's meet tomorrow," Kara murmured finally, half-asleep. "UNION café. Our spot. I'll be there."
Willow's smile was fragile, trembling at the edges. "Okay. Tomorrow."
"Promise me."
"I promise."
Kara closed her eyes, clutching the phone like it could anchor her. She didn't know what tomorrow would bring, but for that night, she let herself rest in the fragile illusion that they still belonged to each other.