They never left her apartment that day.
Not once.
Not for air, sunlight, food that required leaving the bed, or any of the small human excuses people use to pretend the world still exists outside four walls.
The Void Towers could have crumbled into the river below and Phei wouldn't have noticed until the debris hit the mattress—and even then he'd have asked for five more minutes with her thighs wrapped around his ears.
Patricia Bloom declared it twice.
Once in the late afternoon, voice wrecked to gravel, face mashed into a pillow that still smelled like his shampoo, body shaking from something that had started as a lazy kiss on her shoulder and ended with her sobbing his name into navy sheets soaked dark with sweat and everything else.
"Best day," she rasped, barely audible. "Best fucking day of my life."
