ℍ𝕌ℝ𝕋𝕊 𝕊𝕆 𝔾𝕆𝕆𝔻 - ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪᴋᴀᴇʟꜱᴏɴꜱ

¹ 𝐣𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤

JJ BLINKED AGAINST THE SUNLIGHT bleeding through her too-thin, the familiar sting drawing a groan from her lips.

Damn it. The blanket.

This was the third time this week she'd forgotten to tack something over the window, and once again, the sun was here to remind her of her failure. Blackout curtains were still sitting on her list, somewhere between "help Caroline with her Go -Green Initiative" and "help Damon fix the grandfather clock in the living room." But the list never got shorter—just heavier. And the curtains? They weren't moving from the "good idea" stage anytime soon.

The pounding in her skull wasn't helping. It felt like someone had taken a hammer to the base of her head, each thud dragging her closer to the realization that being awake officially sucked.

She rubbed her temples, trying to piece together the fragments of her dream—if you could call it that. Running. Ragged breathing. Moonlight glinting off water. Someone laughing. It had echoed faintly, sharp and distant, but she couldn't tell if it had been mocking or joyous. A nightmare? A warning? Or just her brain screwing her again? Who knew.

With a groan, JJ shoved herself upright, her bare feet meeting the cool wood floor. She dropped her head into her hands and muttered, "Ugh." It was less a word and more a declaration of her mood,

The bathroom wasn't far, but it felt like a journey. She shuffled toward it in her pajamas: a too-big shirt she'd swiped from Kaiah years ago and plaid flannel pants that had definitely seen better days. Flipping on the light, she winced as the brightness stabbed her retinas. Why is everything the worst? She thought, blindly reaching for the aspirin bottle on the counter.

The bottle rattled when she shook it. Almost empty. Of course. Because the universe apparently liked to test her patience before noon.

Two pills. Tap water. Down the hatch.

JJ caught sight of herself in the mirror, and the reflection was not doing her any favors. Her curls were a tangled disaster, her skin pale under the bathroom light, and the dark smudges under her eyes? Chef's kiss. She sighed, running a hand through her hair, which only made the tangles worse, and then gave up entirely. Some battles weren't worth fighting.

Back in her room, she sat on the edge of her bed for a good fifteen minutes just staring at the wall before her eyes drifted to her small jungle of plants by the window. The sight of them steadied her—a collection of greens she'd gathered over the years, each one quietly thriving despite the chaos surrounding them. She had pothos with its vines trailing like ribbons, succulents lined up like little green soldiers on the sill, and her favorites: the rosemary, lavender, sage, and juniper. Not just decorations—they were tools. Roots and leaves stepped in magic, ready whenever she needed them.

She grabbed the battered watering can—plastic, blue with faded flowers—and dragged herself to the bathroom sink to fill it. The water trickled slowly, and her thoughts wandered back to the dream. The flashes of moonlight, the laughter, the sharp gasp of breath. Whose dream had it been? Because she was pretty sure it wasn't hers.

Back at the plants, she watered each one with care. The pothos got a gentle drink and an untangling of its wandering vines. The succulents only got a tiny splash, they didn't need any more than that otherwise they would be mush. And the cactus by her books? It got a side-eye and the bare minimum. Last time, it stabbed her, and she wasn't about to let it win again.