Page 21 of Catastrophically Yours
"We've been asking him to adapt to a lot." Piper printed out a replacement insurance form, checking it against the original fragments. "New apartment, new human, disrupted schedule because of my late work hours."
"Plus I'm probably radiating anxiety about..." Drew caught herself before saying 'leaving,' the word too painful to voice. "About everything."
"Emotional feedback loop." Piper aligned papers with geometric precision. "His stress increases ours, which increases his."
At 2:30 AM, they finally finished. Piper's filing system reconstructed, digital backups printed and organized, even a few successfully taped documents that looked professionally repaired. Drew had researched pet anxiety solutions while Piper handled the logistics of replacement paperwork.
Exhausted but strangely peaceful, they settled on the living room floor among the neat document piles. The apartment felt calm again, crisis managed through partnership rather than individual struggle.
Pickle emerged from his hiding spot tentatively, approaching with the cautious optimism of a cat testing the emotional weather. He sniffed at the organized papers, found them less interesting than chaos, and settled into the space between Drew and Piper with a deep, settled purr.
"Think he's okay now?" Drew stroked his orange fur, noting how his breathing had returned to normal.
"For tonight." Piper's hand joined Drew's, their fingers overlapping on Pickle's back. "We'll need a longer-term plan. Pet-proofing, anxiety management, maybe..." She hesitated. "Maybe talking about timeline expectations."
The phrase hung between them, loaded with implications neither seemed ready to examine directly.
"I love how your brain works," Drew said softly, watching Piper organize empty file folders for tomorrow's paperwork refiling. "You see problems as puzzles instead of disasters."
"I love how your heart works." Piper's cheeks flushed, but she maintained eye contact. "You see solutions I'd never consider. The benefit concert idea would have never occurred to me, but it might actually help more than trying to solve everything alone."
Pickle's purring intensified, a rumbling soundtrack to their whispered conversation. Outside, the city had settled into late-night quiet, emergency sirens distant and infrequent. Inside, the three of them formed a small island of resolved crisis, the kind of domestic moment Drew had written songs about but never quite experienced.
"We should probably get some real sleep," Piper said eventually, though neither of them moved.
"Probably." Drew closed her eyes, suddenly aware of how tired she was. The adrenaline of crisis management was fading, leaving behind the deep satisfaction of problems solved together.
But as they began to gather themselves for bed, Drew found courage in the darkness and the intimacy of shared crisis resolution.
"What if I didn't want to find another place?" The words came out quieter than intended, but in the apartment's silence they carried clearly.
Piper's hands stilled on the file folders. "What?"
"What if this feels more like home than anywhere I've ever lived?" Drew's heart hammered against her ribs, but the words kept coming. "What if temporary stopped feeling temporary somewhere around day three, and I've just been too scared to say anything?"
Piper was quiet for so long that Drew began to worry she'd misread everything. Then Pickle chose that moment to stretch and resettle more firmly across both their laps, as if determined to keep them exactly where they were.
"I've been dreading the day you'd tell me you found somewhere else," Piper admitted finally. "Which is ridiculous, because temporary was the deal, and I don't do roommates, and this whole thing was supposed to be practical and limited and?—"
"But it's not," Drew interrupted gently. "Any of those things."
"No." Piper's smile was soft and wondering. "It's not."
They fell asleep there on the hardwood floor, Pickle warm and settled between them, surrounded by the evidence of their partnership. Tomorrow would bring new challenges—venue confirmations, musician schedules, conversations about lease modifications and long-term arrangements. But tonight, they had proven something important: that some problems required two people, and that accepting help didn't mean abandoning independence.
It meant finding better ways to build something together.
TEN
THE CONTRACT
The hardwood floor felt cold against Drew's bare feet as she paced from the kitchen to the living room window for the dozenth time in twenty minutes. Her phone screen showed 10:47 AM—Piper had left for her Saturday morning run an hour ago, but Drew couldn't shake the restless energy that had kept her awake most of the night.
Pickle wound around her ankles, his orange fur brushing against her legs as he released a long, plaintive meow. Even he seemed to sense the weight of unspoken decisions hanging in the air.
"I know, buddy," Drew murmured, crouching to scratch behind his ears. "I'm overthinking everything."
The irony wasn't lost on her—here she was, seeking comfort from the cat who'd supposedly chosen Piper over her. But watching Pickle's obvious contentment, the way he moved through this apartment like he owned it, Drew wondered if maybe he'd simply recognized home when he found it.
