Laurel decides on a new apartment come Thursday.
She moves in by the weekend, during a flash-flood warning, soaking all of the cardboard boxes. Her place is right above a tattoo parlor that has a rosy pink-neon sign. It whirs and crackles with unstable electricity, closest to Laurel's kitchen-seat window, and spells out vertically its name.
Stone walls feel rough and chilly to Laurel's hands. The smell of cheap, noxious weed drifts in from the hallway.
(But it's home while getting rehab.)
Sara waves from down below, dressed without her Black Canary outfit — thank god. "Oh sweet Ophelia!" she yells, grinning and reaching for the bottom of the rain-gutter, swinging herself up.
"Do I look like I've got wildflowers in my hair?" Laurel yells back, blushing despite herself.
"My tenderest heart's desire! My aching loins!"
Sara continues to wax awful and mocking poetry, as one or two bystanders halt below in confusion, until Laurel yanks at Sara's dark-leather sleeve.
"Jesus christ, Sara," Laurel hisses, blushing harder, "will you please GET IN HERE—!"
"Yeah, yeah, jeez," Sara tells her, laughing.
Once she's standing in Laurel's unlit, cockroach-infested kitchen, Sara's grin fades. Laurel feels those chapped, plump lips, opening against hers, dragging to her ear. "I just miss you… that's all."
"I miss you too," Laurel answers quietly, hugging her arms around Sara's small, muscular waist.
She's more home than anything else.
Arrow isn't mine. Day 4! Day 4! Day 4! Not a ship I ship but hey that's not why I'm out here doing this project. Thanks for reading! Comments appreciated!