The first time Nova saw her, it felt like looking into a distorted mirror. Same swagger. Same clean fade. Same heavy-lidded stare like the world owed her softness but she refused to beg for it.
It was a Wednesday.
The rain had just finished its assault on the cracked sidewalks of East Hollow, leaving the neighborhood drenched in the smell of asphalt and steam. Nova was on her porch, hoodie damp, black boots muddy, rolling a blunt she didn't plan to finish. She liked the calm after a storm it reminded her of herself. Storm first, silence later.
That's when the U-Haul pulled up next door.
Nova paused, lighter in hand, and leaned against the rail.
The girl who hopped out wore cargo pants and a white tank top clinging to her toned frame. Tattoos slipped beneath the edge of her sleeve. Silver chain around her neck. And the look on her face? Like the world hadn't touched her yet, but she was daring it to try.
They locked eyes.
Not a greeting. Not even a nod. Just… a sizing-up.
Nova almost laughed.
So that's how it's gonna be.
Later that night, Nova heard music pounding through the shared wall.
Trap beats. Bass heavy. Confident.
Too confident.
She stared at the ceiling, then the time—2:04 a.m. She was too tired to be diplomatic.
She grabbed her durag, slid into slides, and knocked on the neighbor's door like it owed her money.
It swung open faster than expected.
There she was again.
No name. No apologies.
Just a "Yeah?"
Nova raised a brow. "You deaf or just rude?"
The girl smirked. "Both. You?"
Nova crossed her arms. "I'm the one who likes sleep."
"I'm Smoke," the girl said, leaning on the doorframe. "And this is how I settle in."
Nova blinked. "You *settle* with 808s?"
"You settle with knocking like you own the place?"
A beat passed. The air between them thickened.
Then Nova smiled. "You're funny."
Smoke tilted her head. "You're cute."
Silence.
Nova's chest tightened just slightly just enough to feel it, but not enough to show it.
"You always flirt with the enemy?" Nova asked.
Smoke shrugged. "Only when she looks like me."
...…
The music was off the next night.
Nova noticed because the silence felt louder somehow charged, humming with expectation. She tried not to think about Smoke, but her mind kept going back. Not just to the confrontation, but the way Smoke had said "enemy," the smirk riding her lips like it had a place there. Girls flirted with Nova all the time, but this wasn't flirtation. It was… reflection. It was tension and mirroring and challenge.
And Nova loved a challenge.
By Friday, Nova caught herself peeking out the window whenever she heard the sound of movement next door. Smoke came and went like a ghost fast, quiet, unpredictable. Sometimes Nova caught flashes of her braids tied up, hood on, eyes hidden behind sunglasses even when the sky was overcast. She wasn't loud, but she wasn't hiding either.
Saturday came with boredom and a storm of impulse.
Nova grabbed her speaker, her sketchbook, and a bottle of juice and headed out to the front steps. She didn't look over. Didn't *need* to. Five minutes later, Smoke walked out too.
No words. Just sat on her own steps, matching Nova's pose exactly long legs stretched out, phone in hand, head tilted back.
They stayed like that for an hour.
By the end of it, Nova had drawn a faceless figure in a white tank top with stormclouds for eyes.
By Monday, Smoke finally knocked.
***
"You draw?" she asked, holding up a lighter.
Nova didn't answer. She opened the door wider instead and nodded toward the couch.
Smoke walked in like she'd been there before. She took in the small apartment the minimalist setup, the walls full of charcoal sketches, some abstract, some real, all black and moody.
Nova watched her from the kitchen. "You want water or something?"
Smoke grinned. "I want to know why you were staring like I stole your face."
Nova smirked. "You didn't steal it. You're just what I'd look like if I wore my trauma like armor instead of hiding it."
Smoke paused at that. The grin faltered just a little. Just enough.
Nova liked that.
"I see," Smoke said. "You're the poetic type."
"I'm the real type."
"I bet you say that to all the mirrors."
Nova's brow arched. "You really like pushing people, huh?"
Smoke shrugged. "I push. You don't move. That's why I came back."
The silence settled again, this time less tense. Nova sat across from her and folded her legs.
"Why'd you move here?" she asked.
"New start," Smoke said simply. "Bad habits die hard. Thought new air might help."
"Will it?"
"Doubt it. But the neighbor's interesting."
Nova didn't blush easily.
But she blinked once, slow. Her smirk curved like a dare. "You're bold."
"You like it."
She did.
And she hated that she did.
***
They didn't kiss until the third week.
They didn't plan it.
It wasn't romantic.
It was a Thursday, and they were both on Nova's floor, talking trash over a game of cards. Smoke cheated. Nova called her out. Smoke laughed and lunged to snatch the cards. Nova caught her wrist. Their faces were inches apart.
And then… it just happened.
Fast. Heavy. Unapologetic.
Teeth, tongues, hands desperate.
Like two storms meeting at the center of something bigger than either of them.
They didn't talk about it afterward.
Didn't need to.
It wasn't a question of *if* it would happen again. Only when.
***
But when it did… it was different.
Soft. Then sharp.
Laughter turned to whispers. Smoke's hand on Nova's waist, slow and grounding. Nova's nails in Smoke's back, searching. Their mouths learning. Nova's voice cracking open, not in pleasure but in release.
Later, Nova stared at the ceiling, chest rising and falling like she was trying to catch up to herself.
"You always like this?" she asked.
Smoke was watching her with an expression Nova couldn't read. It wasn't smug. It wasn't cocky. It was… present.
"I don't know," she said. "I've never met someone who made me forget I was trying to be hard."
Nova turned to her. "Maybe you don't have to try so hard."
Smoke reached up and tucked a curl behind Nova's ear.
"Maybe I don't."
***
But it wasn't that easy.
Of course it wasn't.
Because the problem with meeting someone who reflects you is that they reflect your darkness too.
The first fight came like lightning.
Loud. Hot. Sudden.
"You don't let people in," Nova snapped one night after Smoke had disappeared for two days without a word.
"And you want me to what bleed for you after three weeks?" Smoke shot back.
"You've been bleeding since the moment I met you, Smoke. I'm just the first person who noticed."
Smoke's eyes flickered. She turned away. "You don't know me."
"I know enough."
"No. You *think* you do."
Nova took a step forward. "Then tell me. Let me."
But Smoke was already halfway out the door.
The sound of it slamming echoed like a gunshot in Nova's chest.
***
Three days.
No texts. No knocks. No music.
Nova tried not to care. She poured herself into her sketches, into her art, into walking too far and sleeping too little. But everything reminded her. The shared wall. The empty steps. The way her hands had started to reach for something that wasn't there.
Then the note slipped under her door.
Four words.
*You scare me, too.*
***
The paper trembled in her fingers, edges curled from being folded tight, like it had been clenched too long in someone's hand. Nova stared at it again.
*You scare me too.*
Four words, simple. Devastating.
Her knees gave way, and she sat on the floor, back against her door. The hallway outside was silent again, save for the hum of the old building breathing through its walls.
Was it real? Had she imagined Smoke standing in front of her door, lips parted like she wanted to say something but couldn't?
Nova's heart wouldn't slow down.
She pressed the note to her chest and closed her eyes.
This wasn't a game.
It wasn't flirting anymore.
It was something tender. Dangerous. Real.
And it terrified her.
***
The next day, Smoke didn't show up at their usual rooftop spot. Nova waited with two steaming cups of ginger tea just the way Smoke liked it, sharp and sweet.
The wind bit her cheeks. The city blinked beneath her like a restless machine.
She stayed for an hour. Left both cups untouched.
The second night, Smoke was there first.
Nova climbed the ladder and found her leaning against the rail, cigarette unlit between her fingers. The city was drenched in pink light, dusk dripping gold onto everything.
Nova didn't say anything. Just walked over and stood beside her.
"I didn't want to mess it up," Smoke said after a while.
"You didn't."
"I'm not used to wanting something that scares me."
Nova glanced at her. "You wrote it?"
Smoke nodded. "You weren't supposed to see me. I panicked."
Nova laughed softly. "I reread it like twenty times."
"I spent an hour writing just those four words," Smoke admitted.
Nova leaned in, just enough that their arms touched. "Then I guess I owe you a reply."
Smoke turned toward her, eyes questioning.
Nova reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a crumpled napkin. On it, she'd scribbled four words too.
*Meet me here tomorrow.*
Smoke took it, read it, smiled wide and real.
Then quietly, she lit her cigarette, took a single drag, and handed it to Nova.
Their fingers brushed.
And in that tiny touch, a spark caught fire.
Not lust. Not chaos.
Something slower. Warmer. Becoming.
Tomorrow had just become a promise.