Arthur dragged his weary feet back to the familiar apartment building.
The motion-sensor light in the stairwell was still acting up, flickering on and off with each footstep and casting unsteady shadows across the walls.
He had just reached the landing on the third floor when he spotted a figure struggling ahead of him.
A girl stood with her back to him, straining to haul a suitcase that looked considerably heavier than she could manage up the next step.
She was slender, her pink hair falling softly over her shoulders.
The light traced the gentle curve of her profile and the slight furrow of her brow.
One of the suitcase wheels had caught on the edge of the step. She tried twice and failed both times, and the effort left her breathing a little harder.
Almost on instinct, Arthur closed the distance in a few quick strides and reached out to take the handle. "Need a hand?"
"Oh, thank you."
The girl turned her head. Her voice was soft, carrying a note of quiet relief.
Their eyes met.
Hers widened slightly with surprise.
She looked at Arthur's face, and for a moment she seemed to freeze.
Then the surprise melted into a smile.
"Arthur?"
She said his name with a hint of uncertainty, her voice warm with the delight of an unexpected reunion and something else, something quieter underneath, like a distant memory surfacing.
"It's been so long."
Arthur went still.
The familiar voice and face broke open something in his memory all at once.
Cyrene.
The girl who had stood a little apart in the graduation photo, composed and understated in a way that set her apart from the crowd. The writer who published under the pen name Song of Demiurges.
Phainon had mentioned her at the Golden Grand, said she was living in this city now and had made a name for herself as an author.
He hadn't expected to run into her here, least of all like this.
"Cyrene?"
Arthur smiled, and it was genuine, warm with real surprise. "It really is you. It's been forever."
He tightened his grip and lifted the suitcase over the step with ease, setting it down on the flat landing.
Cyrene straightened up, her expression still soft and amused. "What a coincidence. I never would have expected to see you here. Thank you for that, the thing is heavier than I thought it would be."
"Don't mention it."
Arthur shook his head and glanced at the suitcase, then at the smaller travel bag sitting near her feet.
"Are you moving in?"
"In a way, yes."
A flicker of resignation crossed Cyrene's blue eyes.
"My new place is still being renovated. It won't be ready for a while. My old lease ran out at the same time and the landlord needed the unit back right away. Phainon offered to let me stay with him for a bit, but I didn't want to impose. I found a short-term rental nearby to tide me over until everything's sorted."
Her explanation was calm and clear. But Arthur could read something in the small press of her lips and the slightly hasty state of her luggage, the quiet exhaustion of someone used to handling everything on their own.
"That makes sense. At least you have somewhere to land. Phainon means well." Arthur nodded along. "Short-term rentals are hard to find on short notice, but this area's not bad. Pretty quiet, and the metro's close."
As he spoke, he picked up the heavier suitcase without making much of it. "What floor are you on? I'll carry this up."
"Oh, you really don't have to," Cyrene said, a little flustered, but Arthur already had the suitcase in hand, so she stopped protesting and picked up her travel bag.
"Fifth floor. I could've managed it slowly on my own, honestly."
"Fifth floor?"
Arthur paused mid-step. A strange feeling passed through him. "Which unit?"
"502." She said it simply.
His grip on the suitcase tightened, just barely.
502.
Right next door to his place. 501.
He turned slowly to look at her, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and something harder to name. "You said 502?"
"Yes." Cyrene nodded, apparently not yet noticing his reaction. She started to explain, a little apologetically. "The agent said the building was older, so the rent was reasonable, and there happened to be a vacancy, so I just..."
She trailed off, because by then she had noticed his face. Not alarm exactly, but something in between, astonishment and a kind of stunned recognition, as if the universe had just made a joke he wasn't sure how to respond to.
"Is something wrong, Arthur?" she asked, puzzled.
Arthur took a slow breath and gestured behind him. "I live in 501. Right next door to you."
Cyrene's eyes went wide.
She looked at him, then at the direction he was pointing, then down at the key in her hand and the number on her door. A moment passed before she let out a quiet, breathless sound.
"That... that can't be right."
Her voice had gone a little uncertain, and a faint flush crept into her cheeks.
"I had no idea you lived here. If I had known..."
"You wouldn't have taken it?"
Arthur cut in lightly, hoping to ease the strange, almost theatrical tension that had settled over the moment.
"Of course not, that's not what I meant!" Cyrene shook her head quickly. The flush deepened, but her eyes were earnest. "I just would have told you beforehand. Since we're going to be neighbors and all."
"Neighbors." Arthur repeated the word, and let it sit for a second.
Phainon had brought up Cyrene at the restaurant. Cyrene, caught between a renovation that wasn't finished and a lease that had already ended, had gone looking for a stopgap. And the place she'd found happened to be the one right beside his.
A coincidence. Or something else entirely.
He lifted the suitcase and started up the stairs. "Come on, then, neighbor. Welcome to the building."
Cyrene watched his back for a moment, pressed her lips together, and followed with her travel bag.
The only sounds in the stairwell were their footsteps and the low rumble of the suitcase wheels over the floor, unusually clear in the shifting light.
"So," Cyrene said softly when they reached the fourth floor, breaking the quiet.
"Phainon mentioned your studio has a new project. Honkai Impact 3rd, was it?"
"Yeah." Arthur didn't turn around.
"We released the comic prologue and the trailer yesterday. Today's numbers... seem to be pretty good."
"I saw them."
There was genuine admiration in her voice, nothing forced about it. "The art is beautiful. And the premise is compelling. 'For all that is beautiful in this world.' That line is really something."
Her tone was matter-of-fact, the way someone speaks when they mean what they say.
"Thank you." Arthur kept walking. "Are you still writing? Phainon said you publish as Song of Demiurges now. Fantasy epics?"
"More or less." She sounded a little self-conscious.
"Stories about fate and choice, about small individuals caught in something much larger than themselves. It's probably... a bit niche."
"Sticking with what you love and actually being good at it, that's no small thing."
He said it simply, and he meant it. He knew how hard that road was, especially with material like that.
Cyrene didn't reply right away. Just a quiet sound of acknowledgment. But Arthur sensed, without looking, that her steps had lightened slightly behind him.
They reached the fifth floor.
Arthur set down the suitcase and pointed left. "501. My place." Then he pointed right at the door with the slightly peeling paint and the 502 plate. "Yours."
Cyrene took out her key and opened the door with a little difficulty. A wave of stale, shut-in air came out to meet them.
The unit was small, the layout similar to Arthur's, but emptier, furnished only with the bare minimum, everything covered in dust sheets.
"It's a bit sparse, I know."
Cyrene stepped inside, looked around, then turned back to Arthur with a smile from the doorway.
"But it'll do for now. Thank you again, Arthur, really. Once I've settled in, I'd love to have you and Phainon over sometime."
"Sounds good." Arthur nodded and didn't linger. "Get some rest. If you need anything, just knock. I'm right next door."
"I will."
Cyrene stood just inside the door. The warm glow of the hallway light fell across her from behind. She looked at him and said quietly, "Good night, Arthur."
"Good night, Cyrene."
He turned, pulled out his key, and let himself in.
The two doors closed at almost the same moment, their soft clicks overlapping so closely they were nearly one sound.
The hallway went still again. The motion-sensor light held for a moment, then slowly faded out.
Arthur leaned against the back of his door and listened to the faint sounds drifting through the wall: furniture being shifted, a window being pushed open to let the stale air out. His tired mind turned quietly.
Cyrene. Writer. Song of Demiurges. Temporary neighbor.