𝙄𝙍𝙄𝙎

The Talk

Morning came slow and soft, pulling its weight across the window blinds like lazy fingers, casting pale gold shadows on the sheets. Dave blinked awake to the familiar hum of the low-volume TV, reruns of a sitcom with the laugh track turned down just enough to sound like white noise. His eyes adjusted to the light as he turned his head slightly, finding Iris lying beside him, her back rising and falling in gentle rhythm.

For a few moments, he didn't move. He just lay there, watching her sleep, studying the way a few strands of her hair had fallen into her face. Something about the stillness made him feel protective, like if he made a sound too loud or moved too quickly, he might break this strange, beautiful calm they'd fallen into.

Eventually, Iris stirred, stretching lightly and blinking her eyes open. Her gaze found his, a slow smile spreading across her lips.

"Good morning," she said sleepily, her voice low and raspy in the way that came with early morning and too many beers the night before.

Dave smiled back. "Morning. Feel okay?"

She nodded, though she winced a little as she sat up. "Better than I expected, honestly."

"Wanna go out and get breakfast?" he asked, pushing himself upright, rubbing a hand through his tangled hair. "Something greasy and carby to settle the damage?"

"That sounds like heaven," Iris grinned.

They got dressed quietly, comfortably, moving in sync the way people do when they've spent enough time in each other's space. When they walked out to Dave's car, the sunlight was gentle and the sidewalks were still dewy. The air was crisp, full of that rare Seattle clarity that only came after a few days of rain.

As they pulled out of her neighborhood, the conversation was light at first, small comments about how good sleep had felt, the strange dream Dave had, and which breakfast spot might hit the right level of comfort food. But the silence between sentences grew longer. More thoughtful.

Dave's hands tightened on the steering wheel. He glanced at the road ahead, then briefly over at her, before finally speaking.

"Can I ask you something?" he said, trying to keep it casual. "About... this."

Iris looked over at him, brow slightly raised. "Sure."

He hesitated, then asked, "How do you think this will affect the band? Us, I mean."

She turned toward him fully in her seat, hugging her knees a little. "You mean... if we were to actually start something?"

Dave nodded. "Yeah. I just... I want to be smart about this. We've got something really good forming with Foo Fighters. I don't want to mess that up. For you, for me, for anyone."

Iris went quiet for a moment, her gaze drifting out the window at the storefronts and trees sliding past.

"I've been thinking about that too," she said finally. "And I get it. It's not nothing. But..." she looked back at him, "I think we could make it work. If we're honest. If we take things slow and keep communication solid, I don't see why it has to be a problem."

Dave felt a wave of quiet relief roll through him.

"Taking it slow sounds good," he said. "I'd like that, actually."

There was something vulnerable in his voice that surprised even himself.

"I just..." he continued, "I don't want this to feel rushed or tangled. I want it to feel real."

Iris's hand found his on the console between them and rested there lightly.

"I do too," she said.

Dave exhaled slowly through his nose, his eyes scanning the road while his mind raced through the possibilities. In the passenger seat, Iris had gone quiet again, the kind of silence that wasn't uncomfortable, just thoughtful, like both of them were letting their feelings settle.