It started with socks. As most great battles do.
Noa stepped into the shared laundry room to find a trail of mismatched, colorful socks leading from the hamper to the washer. The machine was full—stuffed, actually—with a pile of Emery's clothes swirling in a cycle of questionable chaos.
She stood there, staring at a neon pink sock clinging to the edge of the laundry basket like it was trying to escape.
"This wasn't part of the contract," she muttered.
Right on cue, Emery burst into the room holding a bowl of cereal and a single slipper. "Oh! You found Socky. He likes to wander."
Noa looked at her, deadpan. "Socky."
"Mmhmm." Emery popped a spoonful of cereal into her mouth. "Don't worry, I'll gather the others later. They're like little goblins. Can't be tamed."
Noa blinked slowly. "You used my detergent."
Emery's eyes widened. "I thought it was the communal one!"
"No. It was the clearly labeled, alphabetized, color-coded one."
Emery looked genuinely guilty for a moment. "I thought that was just for aesthetic."
Noa pinched the bridge of her nose and turned away. "You know what? It's fine. I'll wash my clothes later. Just—please—keep your goblin socks contained."
"Message received, Captain Order," Emery saluted. "I shall lead them back to their sock fortress."
Noa walked away muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "this is my villain origin story."
---
Later that afternoon, it was the dishes.
Noa entered the kitchen to grab tea, only to discover the sink had been buried under what looked like the aftermath of a cooking show gone wrong. Emery stood nearby, blissfully humming a tune as she tried—and failed—to separate pasta from the bottom of a scorched pot.
"Did you cook... a five-course meal for one person?"
"Technically," Emery said, using a spatula as a crowbar, "it was meant to be dinner and lunch prep. But I got distracted halfway through and made dessert first. Then forgot dinner existed."
"Why is there flour on the fridge?"
"Oh! That was for the banana bread that turned into banana soup."
Noa took a deep, steadying breath. "We agreed to clean the kitchen immediately after use."
"I know, I know! I was gonna clean it after I taste-tested everything and took pictures for my blog and—" Emery stopped mid-sentence, watching Noa's eyebrow rise like a guillotine.
Without another word, she grabbed the sponge and started scrubbing.
"You can glare," she muttered, "but I'm scrubbing with my soul."
Noa poured her tea with surgical precision. "If your soul cooked like this, I'm terrified of your afterlife."
They stayed in the kitchen, side-by-side, as Emery slowly returned the space to a semi-functional state. She didn't complain. Noa didn't offer help. But something about the silence wasn't as sharp as it had been before.
When Emery finally wiped the counter dry and exhaled, she glanced sideways. "You know, you're not that scary once you stop talking."
Noa sipped her tea. "And you're not that messy once you start cleaning."
They stood in silence again, letting that tiny truce settle in.
Then Emery smiled, that same warm, lopsided smile she wore when something ridiculous was about to come out of her mouth.
"I feel like we're in a buddy cop sitcom," she said. "You're the uptight detective who plays by the rules. I'm the chaotic one who breaks into vending machines for snacks during stakeouts."
Noa blinked. "…You broke into a vending machine?"
"Once. It was for a worthy cause. The Snickers bar was right there, Noa."
Noa left the kitchen without responding, but not before Emery caught the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips.
The war of the laundry and dishes may not have ended, but something had changed.
And neither of them wanted to admit it just yet.
---