Trystan

Archer’s kitchen is alive with the smell and sound of breakfast cooking and coffee brewing. It’s the most normal, mundane situation I can find myself in these days, and it’s my favorite. Here in this room, nobody can touch us. We can laugh, we can eat, we can caffeinate, and through it all, all we need is each other.

Fucking sappy, sure. But it’s my reality now.

Although, this morning, none of us are laughing. It’s a grim goddamn day. Death feels like a sixth person in the room, and even the sky is gray and cloudy to match the mood.

I sip my coffee, watching Sable squeeze Ridge’s...