"Sorry." Natalie's voice slipped out like a breath she hadn't meant to release. The moment the word left her lips, heat surged up her neck, flooding her ears. She let go of Sabrina's hand as if it burned.
The apartment was small, the hallway narrow—space compressed until every sound, every glance felt amplified. The air between them thickened, humming with something Natalie couldn't name. It had been so long since she'd felt this way, as though the walls were tilting, the floor swaying beneath her feet.
Her world seemed caught in an undertow, dragged toward some unseen depth. A force she couldn't fight, pulling her down, down, until her thoughts scattered like shards of glass.
Her skin prickled, feverish. It felt as though someone had pressed her against the searing bottom of a skillet—so hot she might melt away at any second.
The silence stretched, taut and fragile. Neither awkward nor easy, suspended like a thread that refused to break.
Sabrina was the one who cut it. Her voice was calm, but there was a weight beneath it. "You came over so suddenly… was there something you wanted to say?"
Natalie blinked, startled by the question. "Oh… I just…" She slipped past Sabrina into the bedroom, fingers brushing the quilt as if searching for an anchor. "I wanted to ask—this blanket… is it too thin for you?"
Her words felt clumsy, too ordinary for the storm inside her.
The truth was simpler: she worried. Worried Sabrina might feel cold, might wake feverish and fragile. Worried about something as small as a blanket because it was easier than admitting the real reason her heart was racing.
"I think it's fine." Sabrina's glance was brief, her tone light. The quilt looked thick enough to her—no different from the one she used at home. Perfectly adequate.
Natalie's brows knit. "Your constitution must be incredible. You really don't feel cold?"
She hated how small her voice sounded, how it betrayed the envy curling in her chest.
"Not really." Sabrina tilted her head, studying her. "Are you… a little frail?"
Natalie gave a soft laugh, almost self-mocking. "Seems so. The doctor said I'm yang-deficient. That's why I'm always cold."
Her fingers tightened on the quilt, remembering bitter herbal brews and long nights of trying to mend what was broken. It helped, a little. But she was still the girl who shivered when others didn't.
"That explains it." Sabrina's gaze lingered, quiet and assessing. "You should move more. Eat better."
Natalie nodded, meek as ever. "I know."
Outside, fireworks cracked open the night—sharp bursts that rippled through the air like electric currents, impossible to ignore. Natalie turned instinctively toward the window. A cascade of colors spilled into her eyes, lighting her gaze with a brilliance that startled even her.
"So many fireworks tonight," she murmured, stepping closer to the glass.
"Of course. It's New Year's." Sabrina joined her, arms folded loosely, her voice lazy and warm.
Natalie's lips curved upward. "Funny thing is… I've never set one off."
"You mean fireworks?" Sabrina blinked, a flicker of surprise in her eyes.
"Mm." Natalie nodded. "Never as a child. And later… I just didn't bother."
Her childhood had been a role reversal—while other kids were cared for, she was the caretaker. Always mediating between parents, always cooking for a mother too frail to stand. Always afraid the fragile scaffolding of her family would collapse.
She grew up fast. Too fast. Became the "remarkably sensible" child everyone praised, the one neighbors joked about trading their own kids for.
Come live with me, Natalie. Be my daughter. Mine's a little monster.
They laughed, but she knew the truth: their children were spoiled with everything they wanted. She, the "good one," was assumed to need nothing at all.
And so she learned to bury her wants so deep she could barely name them anymore.
Sabrina was quiet for a beat, then asked, "What kind did you like?"
"The handheld ones." Natalie smiled faintly. "I saw them in old dramas—those palace scenes where everyone laughed and played."
Her voice softened, almost wistful.
"Are you tired?" Sabrina's question came like a ripple across still water. She remembered Natalie saying she'd slept all day.
Natalie blinked. "Why?"
"If you're not," Sabrina's brow arched, a spark in her eyes, "let's go out."
Natalie stared, words tangling in her throat. "Now? You just showered. It's late…"
Her instinct was to retreat, to follow the rules etched into her bones. But Sabrina only laughed, low and warm. "So what? Who says we can't?"
Natalie froze. She had never thought to break the rules. Never imagined running into the night on a whim. Sabrina was different—reckless, free, a gust of wind against Natalie's still water.
"So?" Sabrina pressed, her voice dipping, teasing. "Should I change?"
Something inside Natalie stirred—an ember catching light. Before she could stop herself, she nodded. "Okay."
"Then hurry." Sabrina swept the curtains shut, her smile a quiet dare. "We leave as soon as you're ready."
Natalie's lips curved, soft and secret. She slipped into her room, pulled open the wardrobe, and chose a caramel wool coat, cinching the belt into a neat bow. A scarf, a quick brush through her hair, and she was done.
When she stepped out, Sabrina was there—glasses perched on her nose, door clicking shut behind her. "Let's go."
The elevator hummed them down. The moment they pushed through the building's doors, winter struck—an icy blade slicing across their faces, sharp enough to sting.
Natalie shivered. "Where do we even find fireworks now?"
Skylark was a ghost town at this hour. Shops shuttered, streets swallowed by darkness. Only a few stubborn convenience stores glowed in the distance—and they never sold fireworks without permits.
"Don't worry." Sabrina scanned the street, then smirked. "Follow me."
Natalie obeyed, curiosity tugging at her heels. They slid into Sabrina's car, the engine roaring to life. Headlights carved through fog, the city melting into a gray ocean beyond the glass.
Ten minutes later, Sabrina pulled up outside a dim storefront. Natalie peered out just as a man in a puffy jacket jogged from an alley, breath puffing white, face split in a grin.
"Miss Myers?" he called, fumbling for keys.
"Thanks for coming," Sabrina said easily.
"Not at all!" He hurried to unlock the door.
Natalie watched, puzzled. "You know him?"
"Know him?" Sabrina chuckled, flashing a card between her fingers. "Let's just say… money ripens everything."
Natalie stared, half amused, half stunned. If it were her, she'd have gone home, waited for morning. But Sabrina? She bent the night to her will.
Inside, shelves brimmed with color. Natalie picked two boxes of sparklers, but Sabrina only raised a brow. "Just those?"
Natalie hesitated, guilt prickling—Sabrina had paid extra to drag the owner out of bed. So she lingered, indecisive, until Sabrina strode forward, stacking half a dozen varieties on the counter.
"These good?" she asked.
"Best sellers!" the man beamed.
"Bag them," Sabrina said.
Outside, the streets were hushed. They walked to a designated clearing, where only a handful of people lingered. Natalie tore open the bag, fingers itching for the sparklers.
A child nearby lit one, flames leaping like a sudden star. Natalie's breath caught.
"I'll light yours," Sabrina murmured, flicking her lighter.
Natalie held out two sparklers—then flinched back. "Wait… these aren't dangerous, right?"
Sabrina's lips curved, her voice dropping to a velvet tease. "Oh, deadly. One slip and you'll rocket straight to Mars."
Natalie almost believed her—until Sabrina laughed and struck the flame.
Blue-orange fire kissed the fuse. Sparks burst alive, scattering light across Natalie's hands. Her eyes widened, joy blooming like dawn.
She laughed—bright, unguarded, a sound Sabrina wanted to bottle and keep. Natalie spun among the children, her hair loosening in the wind, her cheeks flushed with color. For once, she looked like the girl she'd never been allowed to be.
Time blurred. When Natalie finally glanced down, the bag was nearly empty. She turned to Sabrina. "You barely played."
Sabrina smiled, slow and secret. "I had something more important."
"What?"
"Admiring the view." Her chin tipped toward the night.
Natalie frowned. "What view? It's pitch-black."
Sabrina's gaze held hers, steady as gravity. "The most beautiful one."
Natalie laughed softly, trying to deflect the heat rising in her chest. "You're teasing."
"Not even close." Sabrina lifted her phone, thumb tapping. "Don't believe me? Look."
Natalie leaned in—and froze. On the screen, a video played: her own laughter spilling into the dark, sparklers blazing in her hands, hair wild in the wind.
Her heart stuttered. "That's not… a view."
Sabrina's voice was velvet, her eyes deep as midnight. "It's not just a view."
"It's the most beautiful sight in the world."