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It started with the window. Carol noticed it because she always noticed things like that—the way the breeze moved the curtain just a little too much, the faint chill curling across the floor. She stopped mid-step and stared at it for a second longer than necessary. " You left that open," she said. Athena looked up from the counter, where she was slicing figs with a knife that was definitely too dull. "Yeah," she said easily. "It felt nice."

"It's going to rain tonight." Athena shrugged. "The forecast said maybe." Carol crossed the room and closed the window, latch clicking softly into place. "Maybe still counts." The silence that followed wasn't sharp. But it was... new. Athena set the knife down. "You don't have to fix everything," she said, not unkindly. Carol stiffened before she meant to. "I'm not fixing it. I'm—being practical."

"I know." Athena leaned back against the counter, folding her arms. "I just liked the air." Carol opened her mouth, then closed it again. She didn't know how to explain that the open window felt like an invitation—for weather, for sound, for things she couldn't see coming. Instead she said, "It's our place now. We should agree on things." Athena smiled faintly. "We are agreeing. Just not on this."

Carol frowned. "That's not how agreements work." Athena laughed quietly. "I think it is." The rain came early, as if on cue. A soft tapping against the roof, gentle and unthreatening. Athena glanced toward the window, then back at Carol. "Hey," she said, voice gentler now. "You okay?" Carol exhaled slowly. "Yeah. I just... forget sometimes that nothing bad happens if I don't control it."

Athena crossed the room without hesitation, stopping just in front of her. She didn't touch her—not right away. "You don't have to unlearn everything at once," she said. "And I don't have to pretend I don't like open windows." Carol's shoulders dropped. "I can meet you in the middle," she said. Athena reached out then, thumb brushing Carol's wrist. "How about we open it during the day," she offered, "and close it at night. Together." Carol nodded. "Together."

Athena smiled, relief soft in her eyes. "Look at us," she said. "Married and already negotiating like adults." Carol huffed a laugh. "Thrilling." They reopened the window just a crack. The rain-scented air slipped in, cool and clean. Athena leaned into Carol's side, and Carol let her—didn't scan the horizon, didn't brace. The argument ended without a winner. Which, Carol realized, might be the point.