Then the box is discarded to the side, its purpose fulfilled. I climb out of the pool and dry off, then tie my sarong around my hip. The camera returns to its rightful place, in my hands, held up to my eyes.

  I tell Inari to swim, and they swim. I tell Inari to dance, and they dance. They follow my instructions with ease and, not long after, with precision. My direction goes back and forth, looking between reality and the gallery that sits in my palms. My mind races between worlds. It skips to the last idea when we’re already posing for the next shot, or even hop scotches to previous ideas and melds one with another. Inari listens to every word and doesn’t protest, only eager to help.

  This is nice, this is what friends do. This is what the residency is all about. Something about their energy, even in their quiet moments that have them concentrating on their movements more than their thoughts, and even when they’re loudly making fun of me for my suggestions because I know they are hesitant to try them, makes me want to keep going.

  Through the lens, I trace their edges, the way their binder sculpts their chest, the softness of their arms and legs, the mess of their hair falling into the lines of their back. I tell myself it’s for the composition. I tell them to stretch their arms up, or lean to the side, or arch their back. All this work has left me breathless so I know it’s time to stop soon.

  When I’ve run out of ideas and my arms are sore, I lower myself on the edge of the pool and take a seat, dangling my legs but not getting in. I flick through my pictures. The sun has travelled from the sky above us towards the western horizon. The obvious indicator is the lighting differences between the first photo I took, bright all around, and the latest one, shadier than before.

  I look up as I hear Inari approaching me, the splashing water making them hard to miss. I bring the camera to my chest, seeing water droplets flying up along their path. Their movements are slower than before, tiredness pulling their weight on them, yet they keep their gaze on me, taking one step at a time.

  They get closer and closer. In the absence of my voice, my heart pounds in my ears. Then they stop before my knees. I can feel the lycra material of their binder against my bare shins.

  "Did the photos come out well?" they ask, their eyes flickering down to my camera then back to me. With nowhere else to rest them, they place their hands on my knees.

  Keeping my gaze level with them has me forgetting what my appraisal of the photo shoot was. Every picture has flown away from the front of my mind when there’s a picture right here in front of me, yet to be taken.

  They smile and lean forward. The scent of chlorine, vanilla and sandalwood lingers between us. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

  “Hey!” I give their shoulder a light shove with one hand, keeping a tight hold on my camera with the other. “I have plenty of pictures of you right now,” I say, as if I hadn’t thought about taking one right then.

  I don’t know what’s wrong with me but my skin is buzzing where Inari is pressed against me and where their palms sit. It feels like being in a tiny room, being unable to move or breathe, no matter how much open air we actually have.

  I focus on my words enough to continue. “I’m not sure how they turned out yet, since I want to work on them at the computer—” A vague, vague answer because I’m not convinced I executed my vision right. I won’t know until I’m printing the photos out and sorting them.

  But to discredit Inari’s efforts would be unkind, so I add, “Your part in them makes them all the more perfect, though.” And give them a reassuring smile.

  It surprises me a little when their cheeks turn deep red, half hidden by the sun casting over the left side of their face, leaving the other side to shadow. I tilt my head and close the gap just a bit to get a better look.

  I remember how they flushed so often when we were younger. They told me it ran in their family to have such red cheeks. Their skin is a little tanner now, golden undertones rising beneath their skin, yet the red is still just as prominent.

  I sit back and Inari is staring at me wide-eyed. They exhale slowly and then look down, taking a step back and bringing their hands behind their back. “Perrin… you know you shouldn’t do things like that,” they whisper.

  “Like what?” I frown. Had I done something wrong?

  They quickly wave their hand, like waving away what they had just said, and then look up at me with a smile. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll love the pictures.”

  Moving around me, they grasp the edge of the pool and hoist themself up. Before they go, they crouch down and place a hand on my shoulder.

  “Let’s have a barbecue tonight. I’ll set it up and cook the meat. You can do the veggies?”

  I turn to them and give them a nod, still wondering what they had meant just then.

  “Perfect,” they say, and head back inside, grabbing their towel along the way.

  Now that they were gone, so was their warmth.

  As we make dinner, and for the rest of the night, I wonder what this strange feeling near my heart means.

  Chapter 6

  Inari

  Some god out there must be playing the biggest joke of their existence on me.

  It was already weird enough to be paired with Perrin for an exclusive and highly sought after residency, weirder that she wanted to be friends again, and the worst that she doesn’t seem to have dropped her unintentional flirtatious mannerisms.

  Now I’m wondering stupid things like: am I the only one she acts this way too? Does it mean anything that she’s doing this? How does she feel when she looks at me? It’s all so high school. This isn’t the first time I’ve asked myself these questions and knowing how things are going, this won’t be the last time.

  If we were just going to see each other again after all this time, and if it was all going to be the same as it was before, then what were the last few years apart for? What was the point of pulling away?

  Loving women is a gift. Loving Perrin is a curse. Not that I still loved her. I had spent my uni days getting over that failed pursuit and certainly had no feelings returning just because Perrin was being sweet, and a good cook, and obliviously cute—

  My inner turmoil is no excuse for a lack of writing. So, when the morning of Christmas Eve comes around, I grab my laptop and head downstairs to the living room. It’s festive, I tell myself, to sit in the same room as a Christmas tree to write.

  This room smells like a second-hand bookstore with an underlayer of strawberry. The couch is perfectly soft and firm, and has the right amount of depth that I don’t feel like I’m falling off or going to sink into the cushions. It’s like being at a grandparent’s house filled with childhood memories and jars of lollies.

  I connect my laptop to the speaker sitting in the entertainment unit across from me, putting on a playlist of “top Aussie Christmas hits”. Mariah Carey comes on first, of course, because her song knows no geographic bounds.

  Having ended my last writing session midway through a chapter, starting again is the slightest bit easier. I cross my legs on the couch and balance my laptop in my lap. I start getting into the groove within three paragraphs and the scene comes to life in my mind’s eye, playing like a well-produced and well-funded movie.

  The protagonist confronts their journey’s companion about their betrayal. Weapons are drawn. Rain pours down upon them. Lightning strikes across the sky. My heart beats in time with the main character’s. My mind hops from one character’s thoughts to another. Elements foreshadowed chapters ago return in their full light here.

  My fingers dance across the keyboard like a pianist performing their signature piece. The words fall into place on the screen. The protagonist’s legs buckle and they fall to their knees.

  And then the music stops.

  I look up. Perrin has come downstairs and hit pause on the speaker.

  I narrow my eyes at her, genuinely confused and slightly peeved as to why she felt the need to interrupt what I was doing. She looks back at me, nervously threading her fingers between each other before stepping closer. She lingers on the other side of the coffee table, seeming unsure whether to come around or to stay where she is. My irritation, in the silence that passes, fizzles into plain confusion.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask her, putting my laptop on a pillow by my side. My mind is quick to create a checklist—Breakfast? That was fine. Coming downstairs to work? No issues there but that doesn’t explain anything. Concerns about her work again? That would be fine but… I have my writing to focus on too.

  “The beach, tonight!” Perrin blurts out, her cheeks bright red within a second. I stare at her, dumbfounded. She covers her face with her hands. This is the most times I’ve ever seen her do that.

  “Right, the beach…” I repeat with a tentative laugh, trying to connect what she’s saying. Was something happening at the beach? Did she want to go later?

  “The beach…” she squeaks out, bringing her hands into fists at her side. I become awfully aware of how much effort she’s putting into looking at me as she speaks. “There’s a bonfire, a party, starting before sunset. Thalia told me about it. It won’t be huge but it’s an open invitation to anyone in town—” She takes a deep breath after speaking too fast.

  “Oh really? Will Miss Ainsworth be there too?”

  Perrin nods.

  “That’s a fun way to celebrate Christmas Eve,” I say. I’m somewhat glad that I panicked for no reason. She just wanted to tell me about her plans for tonight.

  Perrin shakes her head and then comes around the table, backing up into the couch and falling upon it like a starfish. It looks like she’ll slide onto the floor at any moment.

  “Inari, I would like to go to the bonfire tonight, with you. I think it’d be good to get out of the house and… spend more time together.” She says that last part so very quietly that my mind plays it over and over again. Spend more time together?

  “Why?” I ask sharply. As much as my heart sings for something as sweet as a night at the beach, it couldn’t be like that with Perrin. I have to stop myself from getting carried away by getting the exact details.

  She tilts her head at me. I fight off the signals telling me it is an adorable gesture by crossing my arm.

  “To make up for your help yesterday?”

  “That sounds more like a question than an answer.” My brows furrow as I work through the implications. “And that would be more for you than me again, wouldn’t it?”

  She mirrors my crossed arms and huffs, forcing herself to sink into the large couch cushion. “I know you aren’t saying that yesterday was a waste of your time, but it feels that way.”

  I wait for her to follow up on that, to make a joke, or turn around with that bold smile of hers. But she doesn’t. I’m meant to take her words as they are, not like some banter or passing comment.

  At these times, I know it’s best to try not to explain in detail why I answered the way I did (I would never think Perrin wasted my time, though I am conscious of the limited time we have for our projects). Instead, I should be acknowledging where her hurt is. There was no point in sacrificing my time to help her out if I was going to be resentful of it.

  “No, of course it wasn’t.” I shut my laptop lid to show her that I’m paying her my full attention. “I really liked it, actually.” Somehow it made me feel closer to you, but I can’t let the feeling get away from me. Still, it would be wrong to deny that: “It was good to spend time with you.”

  The corners of her lips perk up but she doesn’t quite look at me. She stares at her fingers as she continues to intertwine them. A tiny part of me, pushed all the way down years ago, is tempted to reach out and hold her hand still, to be a comfort to her like I used to be. But gestures like that have far too much meaning now.

  “Oh, good,” she says with a nervous chuckle.

  We sit there in silence for several moments. I tap my hands on my knees. I know for sure that she has more to say this time.

  “So…” She draws the word out, still putting her thoughts together. When she’s ready, she whips around to me with renewed vigour. “The bonfire party. Will you go with me? It would be… weird to not go with my residency partner, you know? It’s part of the experience.”

  Well, there was no arguing that. Plus if Miss Ainsworth was going to be there, I wouldn’t want to wake up to a myriad of texts from her wondering where I was.

  “What time does it start?” I ask.

  “There’s no proper start time—” Perrin says. I wince but she continues, “They say we can arrive from 6pm and they’ll start taking numbers for a group dinner order at 7:30pm.”

  “Okay, let’s arrive at 7pm,” I suggest, for a bit of balance between starting time and dinner time. While I didn’t want to arrive ‘late’, I also wasn’t confident in turning up too early.

  “Yes! Let’s do that!” Perrin hops up from the couch and claps her hands together. She turns to me with that big smile. “It’s a date.”

  She rushes back upstairs, leaving me dumbfounded once again.

  Perrin leaves the villa after lunch. It isn’t just to the hedge garden this time; I can hear the hum of an engine in the driveway from my spot on the couch and then a car pulling away.

  I grab my phone from the armrest after a few minutes of speculating to no avail.

  Hi, is everything okay?

  Why did you leave?

  Perrin Pavlou (Sunlit Roommate)

  yes!!! don’t you worry yourself! get those words in soldier :muscle:

  Where are you going though?

  Perrin Pavlou (Sunlit Roommate)

  i just need something from the shops quickly so i’ll be back sooooonnn~

  I’m not sure if I’m just making things up but Perrin has been acting unusually today. Is it because it’s Christmas Eve?

  I can admit that it’s strange to experience Christmas like this. A typical Christmas at home is stressing over presents, navigating last-minute changes, preparing big dinners, and arguing over who’s doing what. It’s also the occasion of announcing life-changing news, whether good or bad—more often than not depending on the audience rather than the news. On top of all that, I would be sharing a noisy, crowded living space with immediate and extended family.

  Sitting here alone in this beautiful house, expecting only Perrin to walk through the front door, while working on my novel with no one to tell me to do otherwise—it almost feels anti-Christmas. Everything feels so easy here.

  Except for the things I make harder for myself.

  During a break from writing, I find myself searching the internet in an incognito tab ‘how do I know if someone asked me out on a date?’.

  Because if there’s one thing that Perrin does cause me stress over, it’s her well meaning actions that I can’t differentiate from romantic intentions. And as much as I don’t want to discount her acts of friendship, I can’t comprehend how she can nervously ask me to go to a party with her, blushing and all, without it being an actual date.

  Is my thinking as misguided as it was in high school? Am I making things up because it’s been just the two of us? Am I leading myself into another heartbreak even though I don’t like her in that way anymore?

  What will I do if this is a date?

  The search comes up with a few definitions of what a date is, such as a formally dressed outing to a restaurant, or going to the movies (but with the disclaimer that friends also do this). Not far down at all comes the answer ‘if he likes you, he will consistently make an effort to see you.’. Well, that wasn’t very applicable.

  I add ‘reddit’ to the end of my query. Better aligned questions and answers pop up. Unfortunately, there is also a reality-check among them—‘I think I’ve been asked out by a friend but I don't want to misinterpret it and mess things up’.

  I give up on my search. I don’t have to worry so much if I don’t want it to be a date. With my track record of misinterpretations, it is safe to assume this is a normal outing because, as Perrin told right to my face, it would be wrong to not go together as residency partners.

  My phone pings as I close the tab.

  Perrin Pavlou (Sunlit Roommate)

  you still like mango right?

  Yes. In fact, we ate some mango yesterday and it was great.

  Perrin Pavlou (Sunlit Roommate)

  oh you’re sooo right… oops, I forgot

  Why do you ask? You don’t need to buy any mango. We have plenty here.

  Perrin Pavlou (Sunlit Roommate)

  i said don’tworry right :))

  Your insistence on me not worrying and the use of your smiley faces makes me more inclined to feel worried.

  She takes a little while to respond. I watch the floating dots in the bottom left corner. At one point, the dots stop moving and I wonder if I should get back to writing. Then, they start again right as I put my phone down. Eventually, my phone pings with a response.

  Perrin Pavlou (Sunlit Roommate)

  ive missed the funny way you text

  It isn’t meant to be funny. It’s just the way I text

  Perrin Pavlou (Sunlit Roommate)

  ive never met anyone else who texts the way you do

  should I start texting like you !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  Perrin Pavlou (Sunlit Roommate)

  i do NOT use that many exclamations marks nari!!

  Well, that’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.