The sky was an empty orange, and the horizon beneath it was a shadowy stretch of highway. Street lights began to turn on over the evening traffic, which flowed smoothly and quickly. For once, Duval wished her commute was slower, even never-ending; awaiting her at her destination was an uneasy conversation, an inevitable discussion that would be the crossroads between very different fates. As cars rushed by and the hum of the vehicle persisted, Duval thought over her career, her romantic life, her peers, her daily life, and Sierra -- everything wanted to turn to Sierra, including her own glance, when she could afford to look away from the road.

Sierra lay slumped in the cup holder of the car’s middle console, a circle-shaped pit that kept the little woman pooled into herself. Her body rocked with the bumps of the car, but otherwise remained still, frozen in time. She dwelled over their last conversation, piecing together the arguments like glass of a shattered mirror. It had been minutes since then, but every word felt blurry, just out of reach to fully remember; all the same did the emotions of that argument weigh over Sierra.

“... We’re, uh, almost there,” Duval said, her face held forward. In her peripheral vision, she studied Sierra’s reaction, of which there was not. Sierra had been told by her before where they were headed, how the lab doors were already locked with no confidential way to get back inside. There was nowhere else to turn except for Duval’s own home, where Sierra would have to spend the night before being returned early that following morning.

It should have been a dream come true for Sierra, who admitted as much to herself in her dwelling. But her heartbeat was as steady as ever, unphased by what they approached. She listened to the turn signals, the twisting of tires, and the mechanical opening of a gate as if it were a countdown to despair. The only change she felt was that of her temperature, sinking lower and lower as Duval parked her car and unbuckled her seatbelt.

“... Ready?” Duval asked flatly. Sierra replied by standing up and adjusting her hospital gown. After a quiet sigh, Duval reached into the cup holder, bending her fingers to form a platform Sierra could then stand on, and then rose the tiny woman out with a delicate slowness. In Duval’s hand, Sierra remained about as motionless as before, only moving as much as necessary to balance herself in the palm while the scientist stepped outside the vehicle.

The first of Duval’s steps towards the house jostled Sierra into looking up, and in doing so, her stubborn glare softened into an expression of awe. Curiosity bounded within her as the vision of Duval’s house towered in front of her. She saw a clean walkway directing her from the driveway to the front patio, a humble entrance to a two-story house that was impressively wide, the orange of the sunset bringing a faded warmth to its cool blue paint. The lawn was neatly trimmed, an open front yard that lay unoccupied with anything between the square hedges around the house and the black fences that surrounded the property.

Sierra fell speechless, a hand clutched at the collar of her gown. Her trance with the house was broken when a stray wind blew right into her, just as Duval ascended the two patio steps. It took Sierra by such surprise because it was real wind, the atmosphere of the actual outdoors; just as that was no simulation, nor was Duval’s house some lab experiment made up of props and illusions. Such realizations unraveled in Sierra’s mind only just when the door was opening, revealing a world within that took what little of her breath was left in her lungs.

“Um, so, I don’t… usually have company,” Duval began when the door was being unlocked -- a tricky feat to be done one-handedly. “If it’s a mess, I-I’m really sorry.” Despite the warning being mostly for herself, Duval stepped into the foyer with a slight cringe at what she saw. Her eyes immediately darted to the worst looking areas: her disorganized shoe rack by the door, the slop of unopened mail left on an entry table, the old coat she had left hanging on a closet door handle since winter -- after such an intense day, returning to a messy household with a guest in-hand was the last place Duval wanted to be.

Yet that guest was not at all affected by these little details, but was instead amazed with everything else around her. Sierra leaned forward in the crawling position she had taken in Duval’s hand, eager to study this new and important location. Each room was stylistically designed, architecturally created with as few sharp corners as possible past the foyer; different areas melded together with walls of a gentle curvature, the passageways tall and without doors, thus making for a connected atmosphere across most of the first floor. Corridors and staircases branched off from a central living room, of which there was enough space for both a conventional entertainment area as well as a trendier conversation pit. A fireplace lay cold and idle beneath a sprawling wall-mounted television, but that cozy scene paled to the image just beyond it: a beautiful landscape of the rolling hills dotted with homes of their own, though Duval’s sat high above them like a crown, complete with an outdoor terrace garden that overlooked the neighborhood even more steeply.

“Your house… is gorgeous, Duval,” Sierra commented, her mouth hanging open. She shook her head, denying to herself that she was impressed solely because of her tiny scale; her admiration was sincere, and seemingly enough to wash away her jagged attitude. “I-Is that real? That garden outside, i-is that yours…?”

Duval unslung her purse off her shoulder and onto a couch before finally looking to where Sierra had pointed. She hesitated before answering, “Uh, it is. It is real, and… also mine.” After peering out the glass doors to the terrace, she winced. “I don’t, err, take as good care of it as I should. I-I normally just let the gardeners handle it…”

Sierra scoffed at how casually Duval dropped the mention of gardeners, how it meant so little to her that she hired people to regularly take care of her home. To Sierra, that was a dreamy and distant idea for what she imagined a house of her own to be like; she had known it well already, but clearly Shoote Labs paid its top scientists handsomely.

No wonder Duval loves this job so much, Sierra concluded, a thought that deflated her. I don’t think I could ever land a job that makes this kind of money. She really did work hard to get where she is. And so, as wonderful as the setting was, Sierra slowly crept back into her despair, more than before understanding the difference in worlds between her and Duval.

Pulled away from the luxuries and glamor, Sierra’s attitude shifted as she looked elsewhere around the home. Duval had continued into the dining area and kitchen, two areas that Sierra noted were especially still and lacking -- it was devoid of signs of life. No stains on the table, no decorations along the counter, no recipes or coupons clinging to the fridge; yet Sierra caught a glimpse of sparse dishes occupying half the sink, leftover from possibly days ago or longer. It was not that the space was unlived in, Sierra thought, but that it reeked of loneliness.

Duval flipped the lights, illuminating more of the hollow interior. There was only one remarkable feature that caught both their attention, which was a wine rack occupying a long row of counter space. Various labels were turned out for display, and emphasizing the dozen bottles were soft gallery lights. It was impossible not to look at the collection, but where it captivated Sierra with delightful envy, it chilled Duval with anxiety and temptation.

What am I doing in here…? Wh-Where was I going? Duval stuttered in her own headspace. She reached a corner of counters, turned to the fridge, then blankly looked back to the cabinets -- I wanted a drink, but…

“You… really do like your wine,” Sierra said, her volume almost too gentle to hear. Duval lifted her slightly higher, prompting Sierra to say again, “I-I always thought a wine collection was… classy. I kind of figured you… you might have something like this.” Her voice trailed off in a mumble; just as she had approached comfort with Duval, her heart sank, not yet ready to rise like she wanted.

But Duval took to heart Sierra’s off-handed remark to break some silence -- her head was elsewhere, dwelling on that drink she wanted. She licked her lips nervously, the taste of alcohol suddenly souring as she imagined it. After a beat, she shook her head, rejecting the wine and shuffling towards the fridge. No excuses, Duval told herself, no more alcohol. Not around her… Maybe not for a long while…

“Uhm, oh,” Duval awkwardly giggled, “thank you f-for noticing.” Already moved away from the subject, she proceeded with making herself a glass of ice water. She hurried through the steps, managing to do so with the one available hand and her hips to close the fridge door behind her.

Careful as she may have been, Sierra was nevertheless shaken and fumbled as Duval’s hand tilted along with her motions. She fell onto each of her sides back and forth, her hospital gown twisting around her to make correcting herself more difficult. The exhale of freezer air brought on shivers, and the avalanche of ice cubes falling into the glass was booming. There was a thrill to being a part of these everyday, real-life things; both exciting, and concerning.

“D-Duval?” Sierra piped. Duval was just then preoccupied taking a drink; from her chest-high location, Sierra fell captivated to this basic scene, losing her train of thought to it. She heard the water from overhead flood between those plush red lips, and heard the stream be swallowed into her throat before becoming lost into her torso. Duval had not heard her, so Sierra spoke up again, “Duval!”

“Mm! Y-Yes?” Duval choked, shakily lifting Sierra closer to eye level. “I-I’m sorry, I-- wh-what’s wrong?”

Sierra caught her breath. “I-It’s just that… you could set me down, if you needed to.” She tried to look into the huge pair of eyes she was taken to, but her head always went heavy. “If it’s safe, c-couldn’t I stand on a table? Or the counter?”

Duval blinked, only then realizing she had kept Sierra in-hand since leaving the car. She began searching for something; “You’re right, v-very right,” she said, “so let’s find somewhere to put you. Somewhere safe-- safety first.” She set her water aside to bring that hand into a cup around the other, its coolness shared with Sierra subtly. “God forbid,” Duval huffed, “anything happened to you while you’re here. We can’t afford a single scratch, n-not with the way they’re watching us…”

Sierra was dragged along as Duval began opening drawers around the kitchen. The objective was unclear at first, but Sierra pieced together that Duval was judging the cabinets for their space inside -- she was, in her fluster, looking for a place to lock Sierra away.

“Hey… Hey!” Sierra squeaked, kicking down at Duval’s middle finger to get her attention. She was rocked by Duval’s sudden stop, throwing her emotions forward; “You’re not! I-I won’t just be closed up inside a cabinet, Duval! You can’t just--!”

“N-No, no!” Duval stammered. “I-I wasn’t-- I wouldn’t keep you there, j-just for the moment! I don’t want you to f-fall or something…”

Sierra bit on her frustration. “No. I don’t want to be put in a cabinet,” she asserted. “Not even for a moment! Please, Duval…”

“It wouldn’t be like this,” Duval argued, “not in the kitchen. Y-You would be so much safer in my nightstand. Right beside me, i-if an emergency came up--”

“I said no.” Sierra pointed firmly up at Duval, striking a second of stillness in her. There was a tense silence before that point aimed away at a counter. “Set me down there. I won’t fall, th-that’s… just not likely…”

In being slowed down, Duval could admit that her reasoning about Sierra’s safety was extreme. Being outside the lab with a shrunken individual had altered her perspective; everything was sharper, steeper, and unmade for a tiny person. But, harking back to their argument from before, Duval sympathized with Sierra’s strive for independence despite her condition.

Against her instincts, she lowered Sierra to the marble counter, far away from the curved ledge. Duval glanced around for any potential dangers, but there was nothing along the space to possibly hurt her -- her own weight was the greatest threat to Sierra’s well-being, she figured, and so she trembled a step backwards. With her hands freed, she reacquired her ice water and dotted her brow of sweat, allowing Sierra the moment to fix her gown and hair.

The kitchen was flooded with an awkward tension, both women holding their breaths without remark. After having gotten so heated towards Duval, Sierra found herself quickly cooled by the countertop against her bare legs. Not long later was she missing the warmth of a protective palm, but she stood by her decision -- whatever that decision meant. She crossed her arms, realizing that in all this, she wasn’t sure what she truly wanted.

Duval found herself in a similar position, though where she stood, it was less about what she wanted, and more of what she needed to do. The options in front of her were few and uncertain, a maze of different deadends that could result in her and Sierra facing punishments. Every choice felt incorrect, yet she dwelled on what she was capable of doing, her stare aimed long and empty into a wall when it wasn’t flickering to Sierra.

Then, after a long stretch of silence and stillness, there was a grumble. Sierra turned her head to the noise, deciphering the source when Duval stroked her stomach between the buttons of her suit. The low sound could have been ignored, but Sierra was struck with the same pain, though her belly rumblings were much quieter. She remembered then how little she had been eating, as was part of her plan to get medical attention. What with everything happening, Sierra had forgotten to eat -- and seemingly, so did Duval, her stomach whining again as her fingers curled around it.

Duval sighed. “I suppose there’s no reason we can’t eat,” she said, her voice quiet and aimed away. “I’ll make us something-- i-if you’re hungry, that is.”

Sierra hesitated to reply, thinking she might deserve to go hungry after having caused so many problems. She was about to turn down the offer, but a preemptive chill of regret was changing her mind. This was the first, perhaps the only time she would be able to enjoy a meal alongside Duval in her own home, or anywhere outside the lab. She despised these feelings of still being in love, still wanting to treasure moments like these, but was exhausted from being stubborn. Her shoulders slumped with her exhale, “I could eat something. Uh, what would you make?”

The quality of the kitchen suggested a delicious, intricate meal to match the upper-class atmosphere would be in store. Sierra had dreamed of Duval’s cooking before, imagining the overseer to be an adequate chef capable of serving fancy dishes. Those expectations were dashed and ditched after Duval’s reply: “I have some pre-cooked fish, and th-there’s rice I can put to boil. Oh, I-I think I have a pot ready for that…”

Sierra blinked as she watched Duval begin to “cook,” or as involved as the process asked of her. There was nothing spectacular or even noteworthy about her preparations, every step as lackluster as it was described. Two seasoned filets of fish were taken from the freezer and laid out to bake, while a pot of water was set to boil for the rice to cook in later. Sierra could admit that her expectations were farfetched, but that Duval had to read off the directions to prepare rice was a surprise.

This is Duval I’m looking at, Sierra thought as dishes and pans clanged together in a nervous rhythm. An unbelievably intelligent scientist… but she looks so lost when she’s in a kitchen.

“... D-Did you need something, Sierra?” Duval wondered, her voice rattling Sierra out of her trance. Duval glanced over where her last few movements took her around the island counter. “Uh, I didn’t… forget something, right? You seem giggly.”

Sierra tensed up quickly, her fingers clenching at her gown wherever they happened to be. Not having known her expression was so full with a smile, she melted where she stood and shuddered to turn away. “I-It’s nothing,” she said. “Sorry. J-Just staring.”

“Ah, r-right…” Duval nodded, leaning over the pot of water as a distraction. She cracked a weak laugh, “I, uh… You can probably tell, but I don’t usually do much cooking. So, I’m sure it’s… funny to watch.”

Sierra shivered, feeling called out on her earlier giggle, yet she giggled aloud again. She coughed to adjust her tone, “I-I just figured that… since you’re so organized and precise at the labs, I assumed you’d do well in a kitchen.”

“I’ve heard that cooking is a science,” Duval joked, “but it’s definitely outside my field. I used to cook more, but I don’t… really have that sort of time most days. And to be honest, I don’t see a point to it. So much work for just a single meal, i-it’s not very fulfilling…” She looked to Sierra, but her stare was weighed back down to the floor.

“... I never put much thought into how busy you must be,” Sierra replied, her voice leaning back into timidness. Directionless, she began strolling up the counter, personally noting the unused kitchen appliances and the untouched seasoning rack. “Even your life outside of work gets swallowed into it. I-I understand not wanting to cook… I wouldn’t want to cook either, if I had to live like that.”

“Sorry. I-I really should be able to make something better for when I have a guest, at least.” Duval made her apology, but she found it too lacking for what it meant to her. Sierra, after all, was more than just an unexpected visitor -- it was Sierra, and as little as a week ago was she fantasizing about sharing a meal with her favorite test subject. Thus far, nothing had gone according to those dreamy visions.

Sierra came to a halt and her arms fell to her side. “I’m sorry for all the trouble.”

“It’s no trouble,” Duval swiftly said back, gesturing the apology aside. She chuckled, “It’s no problem at all making you some food, of course.”

“No, n-not just the food, Duval…” Sierra inhaled fully, strengthening herself against her own emotions. “For everything. It’s all because I’ve been so selfish…”

“S-Sierra, please…”

“It’s true… I’ve only been thinking of myself, I-I hardly considered what all this was doing to you… what consequences it meant for you. I can’t be that wedge between you a-and what you’re so passionate about.” She swallowed, her throat trembling. “... Maybe it’s just not meant to work out. You know, what we had… really was never right to begin with.”

“Sierra, wha…?” Duval approached Sierra with light and sensitive footsteps. She only got so near before deciding her looming would only make matters worse. “What do you mean?”

“Come on,” Sierra sighed, turning a pathetic look up to Duval. “This relationship… It’s not healthy. C-Can’t we agree? You’re a scientist, doing this… experiment, all this studying on me, and all of the others, too. It’s… unethical.” She turned away upon admitting that, her arms tossing up once in defeat. “And just look at us, standing next to each other. It’s absurd… This whole thing, i-it’s been wrong from the beginning…”

Duval’s tongue twisted just like her heart was inside her chest. She mumbled disagreements, but lacked the energy to really counter what Sierra had to say. Indeed, Duval too felt bitter about the conditions of their relationship, the dynamics that brought question to the sincerity of their bond. All this time, she had guessed that Sierra simply didn’t think of these factors, worried not about them; clearly, she suffered from these migraines as much as Duval herself did.

Searching within herself, however, Duval found support for her and Sierra, a stake that affirmed what she desired. “It is complicated,” Duval said, “but… so is a lot of love in this world. And I do love you, Sierra. This is a very difficult situation we’re in, though. It’s going to take sacrifices from both of us.”

“And will it be worth it? Worth all these risks?” Sierra asked, her tone barely audible. “By reaching out to one another like this, w-we’re putting so much at risk. My safety, your job… Neither of these things should be played with. Eventually… it will happen, when something goes wrong, and it all falls apart. We’ll end up unable to see each other ever again… No matter how I think of things, it always comes back to that ending. For one reason or another, us being together… our relationship just isn’t meant--”

A mad hiss of steam interrupted the conversation, the water in the pot boiling over onto the burner. Having been left unattended and walked away from, Duval had to toss herself back over the stovetop in a gasp in order to remove the water off the heat, flinching to each pop and sizzle as it spilled out of the pot. Sierra was even more shaken, having tripped onto her knees after initially spasming away from the sharp and sudden sound.

“Gah, shoot…” Duval complained, wafting at the steam that rose from the stovetop. She stood tense for a long moment as she looked over the situation, then grabbed the packet of rice to add it into the pot. “Well, that was great, Ophelia… Another little mistake.” She shook her head while criticizing herself quietly, far more weighing on her mind than just spilled water. She closed her eyes, then opened them again onto Sierra. “I’m sorry… You were talking.”

Sierra swallowed, remaining seated where she had fallen. “Y-Yeah, uh,” she stuttered, unsure where to pick up where her words had been left. Her chest ran cold as she thought of where that conversation had been headed. There had been more to still say, but she lowered her chin, “Th-That’s all, basically… There’s just, you know, always something, but…”

Duval exhaled as Sierra’s voice trailed away. She continued to cook without conversation, digesting the emotions of what all had been aired out, thinking ahead of what their relationship was and what it could be. The two were at a precarious crossroads with no way to turn back -- the choices ahead were serious and largely final. But, if there was anything to call a silver lining, it was that they were not in a rush to decide on any course of action. They could wait, at least for today, and definitely through one freshly cooked meal.

A single plate was put together with a fish filet laid out over a serving of rice; it was Duval’s best attempt at making a presentation out of her food, an attempt to impress her tiny guest. Sierra was walked over to the dining table where Duval sat at, lowered to the opposite side of the plate. Duval was eager to read her reaction, but with Sierra simply standing still, it was hard to parse what she was thinking.

Truthfully, contrary to Sierra’s empty stare, her head was full of thoughts and opinions. She said nothing without being prompted, but when she eventually felt Duval’s curious stare, she realized she was meant to say something. “I-It smells really good from here,” she began. “There’s… a lot of it.”

Duval giggled as she picked up a fork to cut apart some of the fish. The little selection was then cut into smaller chunks along with a portion of rice, which was then pushed to the edge of the plate where Sierra stood. “I hope you like pre-seasoned foods,” she quipped, earning a short chuckle from Sierra just before she took her first bite.

It was awkward to hold in her hands, but the fish and rice were both easy for Sierra to chew through and enjoy. She prepared subsequent bites while her mouth was already full, each swallow reminding her how empty her stomach had been these past few days. As much of a relief as it was to fill herself, there was a spiralling regret that bittered the taste, her hunger having been a pain of pride, her dedication to Duval. Now that she was eating again, and in such an important setting, the whole scheme of starving herself felt silly in hindsight.

It was enough stress to bring her dinner to a pause, swallowing slow and hard on some rice before her focus went to Duval overhead. She watched for a moment as the scientist ate the relative mound of a meal, a plain scene that played out from her lower angle. It was normal, this interaction they could share with one another, a glimpse of what an everyday life could look like for them -- If I wasn’t being so ridiculous, Sierra thought, and making life so much harder for her…

“I’m really sorry about all this, Sierra,” Duval said, stirring Sierra out of her trance. “I know this is all… terribly awkward, what with everything going on, and… now a disappointing meal to add to it.”

“Disappointing? Duval, no,” Sierra shook her head, “th-this is… It’s wonderful.” She glanced at the food that happened to be in her hand, more grateful for it then than she had been. “I really appreciate this. N-Not just the meal, but, well, everything you do for me.”

“Sierra… You say that like I’ve been humoring you or something.” Duval shifted in her seat, her fork held idle in her fingers. “Everything I’ve done has been out of love for you, dear. We’ve both made serious sacrifices, and if this is to continue… there’s going to be more sacrifices to make. But I hope you can understand--” she stopped, breathing in deep before continuing, “that I can’t jeopardize this career. It… isn’t realistic, n-not after everything I’ve been put through. It would be washing away all those sacrifices I’ve already made…”

Sierra nodded slowly, the food in her grasp gradually being put back down. She crossed her hands atop her lap, dwelling on Duval’s remarks. “Duval… c-could I ask a strange question?”

“Mm, I don’t see why not.”

“It’s… a different topic,” Sierra admitted. “I wanted to ask if… if I could call you by your name.”

Duval lifted her head against the proposition. “You mean, Ophelia?”

“Y-Yeah. Ophelia.”

Duval smiled. “Of course, sweetie. You can call me anything.”

“... Your coworkers call you Ophelia. And your friends probably do, too. This whole time, u-up until now, it feels like I’ve only known Duval, the overseer. If it’s possible… I’d like to start knowing Ophelia.”

Duval’s cheeks flushed with warmth, bringing life to the pale complexion she had developed. She giggled over herself a few times, wrestling with her swelling heart to speak. “I-I suppose I understand what you mean,” she finally managed to say. “This type of work does, somewhat, instill a bit of a… split personality. But whether I’m Ophelia or Duval to you, I hope you trust that I love you all the same, Sierra.”

Sierra smiled weakly. “I love you, too… Ophelia.”

An electric current of romantic power existed between the two, but the words they spoke to one another rang with a certain hollowness. Both women felt that empty chill in what they said, understanding that these whimsical words being shared were short of being able to relieve all the tension of their situation. It brewed quickly just after their talk, the stress and worry of what the future had for them beyond tonight.