familiarity tends to breed complacency

Darrow is a city that makes you believe you have the luxury of time. Most days, there's no sense of urgency. You walk down the same streets, faces blending one into the other, and encounter the same traffic day by day as you head from one point to the next. The news fades into the background. Disasters may surface suddenly, but give it all a few days, and even they retreat into the shadows, to be forgotten until the population's recovered their sense of complacency.

It's been wonderful, having that time. Waking up to the sun streaming through the curtains, legs tangled in the sheets, my arm curled up and over Harley's shoulder as my forehead presses against the side of his neck. To be able to take the time to feel his pulse against my skin and revel in the fact that we're alive, we're healthy, with no end in sight.

But lately, there's been a thread of anxiety tightening. A tension, just behind the eyes. I've fixated on words before, but this time I know that it's not just in my head — Purge, Purge, be prepared for the day when everyone's encouraged to throw away all inhibition.

It's a fucking terrible idea. Harley and I, we've been making plans to stay safe. But as much as being prepared helps, it also makes our house feel less comfortable and carefree, makes the need for fresh air more acute.

Which is why we're here at the cat café, warm cups of coffee between our hands and the brush of tails against our elbows. I rest my head against Harley's shoulder, smiling as a shy little tortoiseshell cat with pale blue eyes watches us, just out of reach.

"We won't bite," I murmur, holding my hand out for her to smell.