Isabelle's Point of View

On the sixth of June, the rain began shortly after eight thirty. At that time, Tom and I were still in the office. The rain trilled against the windows with a sky dim with gloom, occasionally broken by a soft rumble of thunder as our heads bowed over our work in the young night. Tom packed up his work and took off right at ten when our shift ended, but I still had a thin stack of paperwork to glance over before the morning, so I kept myself in a little later. After another half hour of brisk skimming through text, scribbling notes and signing my name where needed, listening to the soothing accumulation of storm sounds, and sitting in a room that grew increasingly darker as the night progressed, I followed the action and left.

Unfortunately, the pale blue morning sky forced my paw to the now unfavorable decision of neglecting my umbrella at home. Staggering along the damp sidewalks under the striking downpour, it was all I could do to guard my face with one arm—Short-sleeved, as per the season, and easily soaked—And shelter my knit purse with the other. It wasn't exactly the intense nighttime storm, but my goodness, was it relentless. My feet squelched through the drenched path and the moisture streaked down the exposed fur on my face, though I persisted.

A stone step up and a shadowed door met me at the end of my journey—Not mine, but that which belonged to my most dearest friend and one I found myself at frequently at this time of the night after my shift. Despite the rain beating down onto my head and pattering around me on the stone, the door alone radiated a sort of cozy warmth like the glow of light through the white curtains behind the window next to it. Just as what remained behind it did.

I shifted my purse under my arm again and rapped my other fist against the door. I hardly even pulled away again before I registered the shuffling of approaching footsteps towards the door in answer. Only moments later did the door unlatch and patiently slide open, revealing Tom standing in the doorway. He had yet to change out of his work clothes and the yellowy light seeping out from within the house shimmered in his deep blue eyes.

"Oh, Isabelle," Tom noted. "Hello. What are you doing here? Is everything all right?"

"Hmm?" I blurted out before it occurred to me what he asked me. The unanticipated question had caught me off guard. "Oh, yeah. Everything's fine. I just wanted to stop by for a bit. I feel like I've been needing some time with friends and you're the first animal that came to mind, to be honest."

"Oh, is that so?" Tom withdrew his paw from the open door, seeming pleasantly surprised by my words. The crisp air was slowly sinking into my bones in a deep chill as the conversation went on. I needed to get out of this rain. "That's very sweet. Thank you. I'm quite flattered to hear that."

"I hope I'm not interrupting something," I answered sheepishly. A clap of thunder rumbled in the distance that Tom noticed, sneaking a brief glance at the sky behind me before returning his focus. "I kind of dropped by unannounced."

"No, no, we're just washing up from dinner," he assured me. He quite suddenly appeared to realize my current situation and hastily leaped to remove himself from my path into the house. "Please, come in. You must be freezing."

"Just a little bit," I admitted, managing a short laugh, and didn't mention the relief pooling into my stomach as I stepped politely through the doorway. With the audible dribble of the rain water slipping from my body onto the polished wooden floor, another thought struck me as Tom gently shut the door behind us. "Oh, I'm going to get everything all wet. I'm sorry."

"Please don't worry about that," Tom said gently as he removed his paw from the doorknob. "I'll grab you a towel."

Tom disappeared to the left past the room where I stood into the hall, invisible from my perspective. I turned my head to study the area—Partly to entertain myself and partly due to the sound of trickling sink water in the distance implying the presence somewhere of his twin sons, twelve years old but coincidentally turning thirteen as soon as tomorrow came around. I couldn't count the number of times I had visited this place for casual hangouts. The sight of it alone was thoroughly burned into my memory. The living room where I stood at the door, awkwardly puddling rainwater at my feet, with white walls wrapping around it, soft carpeted floor, and a brown couch at the left as it faced a flat-screen television fixed into the wall. A wide opening into the dining room, with lights peering down onto a wooden set of tables and chairs. The double doors in the far back that blocked the kitchen from view. The hall at the left between the living and dining room that I couldn't see.

Tom's footsteps approached from the hall again, reappearing with a gray towel hanging from his paw. He adjusted his hold on the towel to grip it with both paws, outstretching it as he neared. I immediately assumed that he was giving it to me, so I started to reach out my paws to take it, but was quickly proven wrong.

"Here's that towel for you," Tom said, raising his paws which grasped the towel and wrapping it snugly around my shoulders before I had the chance to do it myself. Another smile climbed up into my face, closing my arms around myself to keep the towel in place as he withdrew again.

"Thank you," I said. "Would it be okay if I sit down on the couch, or am I still dripping too much?"

"No, go right ahead," Tom offered, briefly setting his paw on my extra-clothed arm as if to turn me towards the couch we mentioned. The warmth fluttered through my entire arm at the simple, most gentle touch. "I'll make us some tea."

I eased myself down into the furthest left cushion as Tom departed through the dining room to reach the kitchen. I was shifting into a comfortable seat when the sound of voices from the other room caught my attention. Tom had engaged in a hushed conversation with his little boys—Well, they weren't so little anymore—Likely letting them know that I was here. It was just moments later that a pair of shuffling footsteps followed, turning into both Timmy and Tommy wandering into the room with blue eyes searching for my presence. They were both still dressed in their work uniforms, but considering they must have only arrived at home an hour ago, it made sense. I flung out my arms to offer a hug, causing the towel to slip down from my shoulders, and the same beaming smile from both twin promptly met the effort.

"Hi there!" I greeted brightly as they both crashed into my embrace, both clutching me close with a squeezing grip.

"Hello!" Both voices chorused in unison next to my ears. It was almost creepy how often the two of them spoke together with the same idea, but that was probably because they were so close with each other.

"I'm sorry, I haven't completely dried off yet," I apologized, gripping the two twins close to me. I could already feel the dampness from my arms seeping into the fabric of their shirts.

"That's okay," Timmy reassured me on the left. His arms slid across my back as he pulled away again, stepping back into conversation range, and his brother followed the action on the right. Both of their shirts and aprons were stained with moisture. "I know it's very wet out there."

"Mm-hmm," I agreed, my focus briefly snatched to the window blanketed by the white curtain with a faint grumble of thunder as if on cue. "It's really pouring."

"Did you get cold?" Timmy inquired. Tommy watched me quietly from beside him, shyly anticipating my response.

"Only a little," I admitted. Pausing in my explanation, I scooted further towards the middle of the couch and settled back into a seat to offer the places on either side of me to the twins. "But I'm okay. Take a seat!"

Timmy and Tommy had no complaints, nothing verbal at least, as they sank down into the seats on either side of me. I waited until they stilled again to keep speaking.

"How was work?" I inquired.

For a little longer than a year, shortly before the twins turned twelve and around when I had first moved to this island, they had been titled the main managers of a little shop known as Nook's Cranny. Their hours were the same as mine, from eight thirty until ten, and presented tools for gardening, environmental conservation, and more, including a row of special items that changed out every morning. At the start, I kept circling back into a loop of concern over the long workday, but I had never once heard a negative word leave either of them about it.

"Good!" Timmy replied cheerfully.

"Good," I echoed. "I always like to hear that. Was today a particularly productive day for either of you?"

"I suppose so!" It was Timmy to answer again which, over the years, had settled itself into pattern. "It was about the same as always."

We continued talking while Tom kept himself in the kitchen to prepare the tea for himself and I. We discussed the happenings of their jobs, I reminded them of their upcoming special day, and I explained why I stopped by for a visit tonight. I was just explaining how the rain would have been a specifically pleasant sound to fall asleep to when a different thought struck me: Their bedtime.

"Oh, that's right," I realized aloud, interrupting myself. "It's really late for you two, isn't it? You should get going to bed."

"Okay!" Timmy said brightly. When he slid off of the couch to take his leave to his room, his brother quickly followed. We exchanged brief wishes of a goodnight, shared a couple more firm hugs, and they disappeared for bed. Even my eyes were growing sore in the drowsiness of the late hour, but I ignored it. I was here for a reason. That reason elbowed his way through the kitchen door just minutes after I was met with solitude once again, carrying a ceramic cup in each paw as he shuffled to cross the dining room.

"All right," Tom said—Almost tiredly, or with a sigh—As he approached. I raised my paws in preparation to accept the cup he outstretched to me. "Here's that tea for you."

"Thank you so much," I said, carefully closing my paws around the mug as I brought it closer to me. The warmth of the liquid immediately bled through the surface onto the pads of my paws. The dark reddish color of the beverage implied some kind of peppermint tea. "Ooh, nice and warm."

"Mm-hmm," Tom gently agreed, slowly sinking down into a seat beside me. "I hope it helps you warm up a little bit."

Tom paused to allow himself a quiet sip of his tea, lowering the cup before he spoke again.

"Mmm," he remarked. "That's lovely."

I gulped down a sip as well. The liquid scorched my tongue, but a surge of mint accompanied it. Even before I swallowed it, I could almost sense the warmth swirling through me and heating me up from the pouring rain.

"Wow, it really is," I agreed.

"I just love having a nice cup of tea in the evenings," Tom told me, turning his blue eyes to meet mine. Another flutter of warmth shuddered through me, but it wasn't from the tea.

"So do I," I said. It wasn't often that I delighted in the treat when I usually arrived at home—Most days, I simply ate dinner and collapsed into bed—But I couldn't deny that it was an efficient way to relax when I did. "It helps me wind down to go to sleep."

"I definitely agree," Tom agreed with a slight nod of his head.

We designated the next portion of our time to sipping tea and silently appreciating the moment. The rain pattered against the window, thunder rumbled in the distance, and a rustling down the hall proved Timmy and Tommy's efforts to get ready for bed. The minty flavor continuously danced along my tongue with every sip, albeit with a sear of heat every time. I didn't know how late it was as the moments crept onward, but considering I only arrived at about eleven o'clock, we must have been moving towards a quarter to midnight. In the passing minutes, we listened to the rustling of the twins preparing for bed, the little tapping of their feet crossing the floor somewhere I couldn't see, and at last, the soft sound of their door shutting as they went to sleep.

"How have you been lately?" I asked at last and Tom, who had just been about to take a sip from his cup, quickly lowered it again to listen. By this point, I hadn't heard a single sound from the kids' bedroom for at least twenty minutes. "I feel like I haven't checked in recently, aside from professionally."

"I suppose I've been all right," Tom replied casually. "No complaints. How are you?"

"I've been okay," I said. "Things have just been the same. I haven't really had the time to think about anything besides work, between being at the office and at Smash for the entire day. But I like it that way."

A memory resurfaced the moment that my sentence came to an end. Mario's face, beaming and bright as he sat across from me at the silver conference table. The familiar company of Peach, Luigi, and Daisy sitting around me. And his words. The four of us here have decided that it's time for you to join us in this managing team.

An enthusiastic gasp clawed its way from my throat at the reminder of the thrilling news that I had neglected the delight of sharing and Tom's eyes instantly widened, seeming to sense that a good announcement was on its way.

"Wait, I forgot to tell you!" I exclaimed, but only after I spoke did I realize that my voice was too loud since the twins had already gone to bed.

"Oh, what is it?" Tom inquired curiously.

"I got a promotion!" I declared. A joyful smile was already climbing onto his face before I had even finished speaking. "I'm a part of the highest status now."

"Wow, that's amazing!" Tom remarked excitedly—Though not lively enough to wake his sons, of course. Something that was nothing short of utter pride glistened in the depths of his eyes, gripping my chest in another surge of emotional warmth. "Congratulations! That's such wonderful news. Shall we do something to celebrate?"

"Oh, we don't need to," I assured him, slipping a paw from my cup to wave it and dismiss the thought. I couldn't tear the beaming smile from my face, despite the throbbing ache that was becoming increasingly obvious in my cheeks. "This is enough celebration for me."

"Are you sure?" Tom asked me.

"Mm-hmm," I answered confidently. "Enjoying a cup of tea with my best friend is celebration enough."

But he still had no idea why. As far as I knew, he hadn't the faintest inkling of what he meant to me. I wasn't completely decided on whether it was a problem or just a fact. As conversation died out again, the thought swelled to the corners of my mind until it was the only one left. In the second patch of silence, Tom continued occasionally sipping his tea, oblivious to the thoughts darting through my mind. Even if I were to tell him about it, which I had never genuinely considered and today wasn't an exception, I wouldn't have known the right words to use on the spot like I was right now. Still, refusing to express my gratitude for us wasn't an option I took up on.

"I'm really glad to spend this time with you," I said at last. Tom, holding his cup between his paws and resting it on his lap as it cooled, turned his head again to listen. That was something else about him. He was always such a good listener, no matter the day and the circumstances. "I feel like this is where I'm meant to be tonight."

"Really?" Tom said.

"Mm-hmm," I replied. "To be honest, this feels really special."

"Wow. That really means a lot to me," Tom admitted. The rain had lessened into a slow drizzle as we spoke, likely having fully passed through for the night. At past midnight, it was about time.

"Really?" I said.

"Mm-hmm," Tom told me, giving another small nod as that same usual gentle smile crept across his face. "It was quite nice to see you today."

"You think so?" I answered.

"Of course," Tom said. "It's always nice to see you, Isabelle. I wouldn't trade moments like these for anything in the world."

Once the rain washed away on the late night of June sixth—Well, technically, the early morning of June seventh—It didn't dare return. I almost wished it had, though. I wasn't overly fond of the baking heat that followed around this time of year. We were all somewhat lucky not to be subjected to it until this late in the season. The thing about the summertime heat was that it stuck around way too long. Under a nearly debilitating sweltering heat on the morning of June ninth and sweat smearing across the pads of my paws, the walk from the airport into the Smash building wasn't any different.

Stepping through the glass doors earned me a rush of refreshing cool air from the air conditioning blasting through the inside. I headed right for the cubby room to find it empty of fighters passing through. I chucked my bag into the cubby, promptly changed into my fighting uniform in the back changing rooms, and was interrupted while returning my office clothes as well. Just as I bowed down to dump my t-shirt, cardigan, skirt, and shoes into the bottom of the cubby with my bag, a short knock on the propped door snatched my attention away.

"Well, good morning, Isabelle," Mario greeted me brightly as he stood in the doorway. It was a casual stance while his hand sprawled against the surface of the door as if he was the one to prop it open, even though the knob alone was at his eye level. "I thought I saw you coming in."

"Good morning, Mario!" I replied, tossing my clothes into the cubby before straightening up and turning to better engage in conversation. "How are you today?"

"Fine, thank you," Mario told me, nodding his head as if expressing appreciation for my asking. "And yourself?"

"Sick of this heat," I admitted.

"Aren't we all?" Mario let out a lighthearted laugh before he removed himself from the door. "I just thought I should let you know that the committee's got a meeting this morning. That's you now, so you're gonna start attending them from now on and contributing to the runnings of Smash Ultimate in the ways that you can."

"What are we discussing?" I inquired. Between two members on the main committee, surely that was an appropriate question to ask.

"I suppose you'll find out, won't you?" Mario replied cheerfully.

I had no more questions. I let Mario direct me along the path that I had only traveled once before, that time with Daisy, and followed his lead without complaints. We ascended to the top floor by elevator, I watched the endless plot of grass rocket lower and lower, we crossed the skyview tunnel, and Mario permitted us into the room with his handprint on the sensor. When the door slid open for our entry, the last three members were already seated around the table. Luigi and Daisy claimed one side of the table, as expected, and Peach was alone on the other side. My heart jumped a little upon realizing the subtle lack of color in her cheeks and the trash bin a few feet from her chair, though she didn't appear to have any immediate need to use it.

"Thank you for coming, everyone," Mario greeted, hustling towards the table to a seat beside his wife. I was hesitant to do the same, overrun with the concern that she was sick, and sat myself down next to Luigi instead. After the two of us got settled in our seats, Mario spoke again. "You might have noticed that Peach doesn't look very well today. I can assure you that everything is perfectly fine. Just something that comes and goes. She's not contagious and says she feels well enough to come to work, so we're just going to move past it."

The knots in my stomach loosened. At least she was doing all right. Probably, it was nothing more than a stomach bug. It was a shame that she had to feel unwell at all, though.

"But there's something else that's a bit different, too," Mario went on. "You might have noticed that she hasn't been around as much for the past month or so. I mean yes, physically, she's been here, just not as active in the combat sort of work here. She has decided to step back and take a break for a while so that she doesn't overwork herself. I'd say she'll be back on her feet around March next year."

"It's important to be able to tell when you need to take a break," Peach pointed out to his right. Her voice was almost fragile in a way, but she drew no attention to it as if it was just how it sounded at all times.

"True. Very true," Mario agreed, gesturing to his wife to represent the importance of her statement. "Anyway, what else was there to talk about? Uh... Please forgive my forgetfulness. It's so early. Oh, yes, of course. Silly me. Allow us to address the elephant in the room. Or, more specifically, the dog in the room."

My attention was instantly pricked up at this. Being both a dog myself and the only member of the committee who wasn't a human, that was clearly about me.

"I apologize, I didn't mean to startle you," Mario said. I hadn't realized my reaction had been so evident. After addressing me, Mario let his eyes sweep across the rest of the group. "As we are all aware, during our last meeting, I made a very important decision towards the future of this committee. That decision was to bring Isabelle in and officially join us in the running of Smash Ultimate."

A crackle of polite applause struck the air as the remaining three members quietly congratulated the accomplishment. A smile wriggled onto my face as I shied my gaze to my paws folded together in my lap.

"Long overdue, in my opinion," Mario said when the applause faded out. "With that said, let's talk about schedules. Peach taking a break has opened up the opportunity for me to provide schedule changes. I think I remember what each of your schedules are, but let me make sure. Peach, you are here from five in the morning until eight in the evening and used to have the nine o'clock to three o'clock combat work section, yes?"

"That's right, but I'm always willing to use that time in other ways," Peach explained. "Meetings and supervision and anything else you'd like me to do."

"All right, I will make a note of that," Mario replied. Next, he turned his focus to Luigi. "Luigi, you are here from six in the morning until nine thirty in the evening with the two o'clock to eight o'clock for combat?"

"That would be right, yes," Luigi agreed brightly.

"Fantastic. And Daisy," Mario said, next sending a glance towards Daisy on the other side of Luigi. "Five thirty in the morning until seven thirty in the evening with the seven o'clock to the one o'clock."

"Mm-hmm." Daisy nodded firmly.

"All right," Mario said. His eyes flicked to meet mine as I was the last committee member to be prompted. "Isabelle, as of right now, you have the shortest shift. I'm thinking I won't change yours around so that I won't make a choice on a whim that clashes with your tight schedule. You've got seven in the morning until eight and combat the entire time. Here's what we're going to do. Check in with me at the start of each of your shifts and I'll let you know whether I need supervising work from you or if you're free to continue your training. Sounds good?"

"Absolutely," I told him. "I can definitely manage that."

"Perfect!" Mario remarked, enthusiastically clasping his hands together as he searched the faces in the room again. "Now, with that out of the way, this is the time to come forward with questions or concerns about your schedule, your work, anything that involves being here."

There was hardly a moment of pause before Peach spoke up in response.

"I have a bit of a concern, actually," she pointed out. Every pair of eyes in the room darted to meet hers. I noticed that a whisper of tiredness etched into her face. "Not with my schedule or my shift, but something that happened when I was supervising last week. There was some kind of aggression in the room and I witnessed a fight break out. A proper fight, not a controlled fight. It worries me to think that in a burst of anger, one has enough training and knowledge to do such a thing."

"Has it happened before?" Mario asked. "Earlier on at some point?"

"No," Peach confessed, almost shakily. "I've never seen anything like it before. I didn't know how to handle it."

"All right. Well, don't worry about that," Mario assured her. "If it happens again, get another fighter in the room to supervise while you come and let me know. I'll handle it personally. Is there anything else of concern that we need to bring up?"

Nobody answered. For a long stretch of silence, there were only awkward glances towards one another as we waited for someone to speak. Accepting the quietness as an answer, it was Mario to speak up next.

"In that case, let's call this meeting to a close," he suggested. "Isabelle, I'm going to have you on supervision today. Because of what we've just talked about, I think it's best if you piggyback someone else's supervision section to get acquainted with being in control of a training room. I think... Well, it's about ten past seven, so everyone except Daisy is available to supervise. I'm going to send you to the first training room with Peach."

"What a wonderful way to begin the day," Peach commented, turning her attention to me across the table. "I've always had my eye on your success, Isabelle, but I'll admit, I'm pleasantly surprised for you to get to this point. You're really moving up, I must say. You're still working for Mr. Nook, aren't you?"

"What?" I said. The topic of conversation had altered so abruptly that I was sluggish to process the question at first. "Oh. Yes, I am. That's what limits my shift times as I work full-time under the company of Nook Incorporated as well."

I had anticipated further questions about my work—Surely she would have understood not to ask anything that broke company policy to confess—But they didn't come.

"Wow," Peach whispered thoughtfully, shifting to rest her chin on her hand. "With all of that and everything here, he must be so proud of you."

"Are you all right? You seem to be deep in thought about something."

The room was fairly empty, though no less productive. Between the six blocks of space throughout the room, bordered by strips of neon green tape pasted across the gray floor, only two of them were occupied. Two pairs of sparring fighters took up the space of the back left and right, filling the air with the sounds of flurried footsteps as well as the occasional smack when a punch was landed and leaving plenty of space for Peach and I standing at the other end at the wall. Peach's gloved hands were folded in front of her, resting in the poof of the skirt in her regal pink dress, and her ocean-blue eyes pried through me in curious anticipation of my answer. Even a little bit of color had returned to her face since the meeting earlier.

Hearing her address me, I dropped my focus from the practicing fighters to look at her.

"I'm fine," I told her. She nodded patiently, waiting for more. "There's nothing wrong. I was kind of just thinking about what you said about Mr. Nook. How are you feeling? You look better."

"I do feel better," Peach admitted as a smile climbed up onto her face. A little more natural, a little less fragile. "Thank you, Isabelle. It's kind of you to be concerned."

A tremendous thud struck the room, yanking my eyes back to the other end of the room. One of the fighters on the right side had collapsed down onto the hard floor, probably from a sudden slip, but didn't seem bothered as she scrambled back to her feet with the palms of her hands pressed into the floor beneath her.

"I meant it, though," Peach pointed out from beside me. I tossed a glance back at her again to find her still watching me with her hands clasped together in front of her. She really was the image of elegance, all the way down to the way she casually stood. "When I was speaking of Mr. Nook. Have you told him about your promotion?"

"Yes, I did," I replied with a nod. "He was impressed."

"Well, I think that's proof right there," Peach said. "He's more proud of your progress and you yourself than you even know."

The minutes ticked by. Half past seven turned into a quarter to eight. The duo on the right side of the room set off to leave, sharing the clap of a high five before ducking through the door. The last remaining duo appeared to have adjusted into more of a teaching session than one of training, a more familiar fighter demonstrating the motion of throwing a punch without the first revealing step while the other copied it. It was a lesson that I had been taught during my own training two years ago. Still, my shift here was nearly over.

"May I ask you something?" Peach said and I turned to listen again. They were the first words she had spoken in several minutes, just as preoccupied with the sights of the training playing out as I was.

"Of course, Peach," I replied.

"How was Mr. Nook when you came out of the hospital?" Peach inquired. "You know, after... After Ganondorf."

I hadn't so much as uttered the name in months, much less discussed what he had done to me. It wasn't like I had any problems talking about it, given that it was four years ago and I was already well recovered. Nowadays, the trauma only got to me through a panic-ensued nightmare here and there. I had thought even less frequently about how it had impacted Tom.

"Well, um..." I began, racking my brain for the whispered memories that remained of the event and everything that came after. The white—Or maybe blue—Blankets of the hospital bed as I awakened four days later from the brink of death. The pale blue gown that draped loosely over my reclined body. The leather-like seats in the airport gate. The searing lights of the Nook Inc. building. "I don't really know. Goodness, that was so long ago. I remember that I wasn't meant to be discharged for a week, I think, but I was let out early for some reason. He was frightened, absolutely. He couldn't bear the thought that something like that had happened to me."

"Mm-hmm. Right." Peach thoughtfully scratched her chin with a gloved thumb. "I can imagine that. He was one of the first people who—Animal, I mean—Who Mario called to talk about what happened. The first was your mother."

I nodded slightly. That part rang a bell of familiarity. That was how Mario had found out that I was a twin, after all.

"How did he react to you coming back here?" Peach asked. "Was he worried that you would get yourself hurt like that again?"

"You're going back?" Tom echoed. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"He was, yes," I recalled audibly. "I had to remind him that I can look after myself and that expecting me not to hurt myself to some extent is unrealistic here. He made me promise that I wouldn't succumb to such harm as I did last time."

"He was willing to go to great lengths just to make sure you were safe," Peach agreed. After a pause, she shifted to slip her right glove from her hand in one swift motion, revealing a luxurious pink watch that shimmered under the beaming lights. "Oh, your shift is just about over, isn't it? Eight o'clock?"

"That's right," I said as she raised her wrist to examine the clock face.

Peach stared at the watch for an unusually long time. It was as if the first few seconds were for taking note of the time and the rest caused her eyes to glaze over in thought. Her wavy blonde hair tumbled down her back, her blue eyes unmoving. Then, she carefully slid her glove back into place with a soft drawn breath.

"Isabelle, have you ever heard of something called platonic twin flames?" Peach inquired.

"I haven't," I confessed.

"They're a lot like soulmates," Peach explained. Her voice was gentle, sturdy, and knowing. "I'm assuming you know about soulmates. Only some truly believe they exist. I do, absolutely. Two souls destined to find each other and share such a profoundly deep bond that their lives can only fully be completed by each other, even while they haven't met yet. Oftentimes you'll hear the term star-crossed lovers, which is another term for soulmates and quite clearly the romantic side of things. Twin flames are the exact same thing, but with non-romantic intentions or purposes. One might want absolutely nothing romantic with another and still find themselves head-over-heels in love with them non-romantically and incapable of living without them just as they might with their soulmate. Does that all make sense? I just dropped a lot of information on you."

"I understand," I said. "But may I ask why you're telling me all of this?"

"Well," Peach said, weaving her gloved fingers together again as she held her hands together against her skirt. "All that I'm saying is that a connection like yours and Mr. Nook's doesn't come around every day."

. . .

The ceaseless ticking of the clock etched into my quivering heart with every sound. My stomach tumbled like a washing machine, my paws trembled with every move, and I strained to keep my knees from bouncing nervously under the desk. Fortunately, I concealed my anxious shudders well enough to prevent Tom from noticing, watching him as his head bowed towards his work in front of him without the faintest clue that something was different. I intended to keep it that way. Amidst the churning of flutters in my stomach, each and every noise to strike my ears were almost magnified in some way—The whooshing of the fan sweeping across the room, the faint ruffling of papers as the air rushed across them, the scratching of Tom's pen against the paperwork he was sifting through, and of course, the ticking clock.

The day hadn't started this way. In fact, I had made it well past lunch smoothly and cheerfully as I did most days, settling comfortably into my shift at the office. Until Peach's words surfaced again and I made a decision.

The glow of the lights throbbed against my eyes in the late hour. It was a few minutes past ten, the cutoff of both of our shifts. He didn't realize. But I did. Counting down the seconds before he moved again, enough to take himself out of his chair or to the doors to head for home. What was I even supposed to say? Was there a right and a wrong? What if I said something that intimidated him?

Well, I should get going, he would say. Or I should close up here soon. Or I think I'll call it a day, but I'll see you tomorrow. I would stop him. I would tell him that I had something to say. No matter what he said, I would respond for him to wait, One more thing. There's something I want to talk to you about. And then, as long as he did in fact wait, the barrier between me and the truth would crumble down and everything would finally come to light. But what was he going to say?

Pausing in his writing, Tom raised his head to glance up at the clock. Noticed. Gashes of stress pierced my entire stomach and chest like a squeezing paw. He looked at me briefly but didn't speak, instead ducking his head again to proceed to set aside the stack of paperworks to reach his computer. My heart hammered sickeningly as he first slipped his computer into his brown bag, with the careful precision to keep it unharmed, and then the paperwork. Then, he rose to his feet and wrapped the strap of the bag onto his shoulder. He was leaving. Instantly, I readied my next words.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Isabelle," Tom spoke to me, offering a final soft smile of goodbye before he started off in a casual pace towards the double doors.

"Wait," I blurted out just as he clasped onto the hinged counter to duck past it towards the rest of the room.

He stopped again, withdrawing his paw and turning to face me. Curiosity had begun to seep into his face, though it was almost completely drowned out by the wide-eyed surprise of my sudden protest. I had his attention.

"One more thing before you go," I said, straining not to stumble over my words. "Please. Um... There's something I want to talk to you about."

"Oh. All right," Tom replied. "What is it?"

"It's, uh..." I began, stalling to take in a deep breath and a gulp as if it would ease the thumping of my heart. "It's actually kind of a big thing."

"Oh, it is?" Tom adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder as if he was about to remove it again and sent a glance back towards his unoccupied seat across from me. "One moment, I'll prepare accordingly."

Tom shuffled back across the orange tile to reach his desk, unwinding his bag from his shoulder and slowly laying it back down beside it. He grasped the back of his swivel chair with one paw, dragging it closer as it clicked across every tile, and released it once it was positioned beside mine to face me. He sunk down into the flat cushion of the chair, settling into his seat before his eyes met mine. Another surge of flutters sharply descended my stomach. Okay. It's really happening. This is the year, the month, the moment where it happens.

"All right," Tom said before I could mutter a single word. "What is it?"

I didn't know how to explain it. How could I have explained this? Peach's words about and definition of twin flames flooded my mind, but obviously I couldn't have led with that. I had to ease into the truth. I ran my paws across each other and ransacked my brain for the right thing to say. At least I wasn't admitting to a crime, right? At least it was only me telling him for the first time that I was in love with him.

"Before I say anything," I started. "I do know how this can be taken in the wrong way, so please don't respond until I'm completely done."

"All right, but now I'm getting nervous," Tom admitted. "Should I be concerned?"

"No, no," I rushed to assure him. I tried to cough out an awkward laugh to lighten the mood, but my throat was too tight to allow it. "No, it's nothing like that. It's just something I've never told you before. It might be a bit, uh... startling, I guess, but I figured it was time for you to know."

"Oh, I see," Tom said. "Please go on, then."

I managed a slight nod, gathering another deep breath before I began. Once I began, then I was rambling, words pouring out of me before I could consider them.

"I feel like our friendship has changed a lot across the years," I told him. His deep blue eyes fixed upon me as he listened intently. "And we've grown a lot closer because of it. But I've noticed that, since then, I'm actually starting to feel a bit different about it and you. Nope, that sounds even weirder as I say it out loud. Once again, I promise you it's not quite as it sounds."

"All right," Tom prompted patiently.

"Well... I guess it's kind of how it sounds," I admitted hesitantly. "But not in the weird way. Definitely not. That would be completely inappropriate for a workplace. I can say with one hundred percent certainty that I have no romantic feelings for you. No offense, though. I'm sure you understand. But something else I know now is that something different is there."

"All right," Tom echoed.

"Jeez, this is harder than I thought," I mumbled, reaching up to pass my paws across my face to help soothe myself. After it did nothing for my tumbling stomach, I dropped them quivering back to my lap. "You're not like any other friend I've ever had. You're like a part of me, like my second half. I don't think there's any words that could describe the comfort and bliss that you bring me, but I... Well, at least I know how to label it now."

Tom's eyes had rounded again in his telltale expression of surprise, but I wasn't finished.

"And now I think there's maybe... probably... a definite chance that I'm genuinely in love with you," I confessed. Tom didn't speak over me, just stared at me with his widened eyes. But I had no idea what was under that surprise or what would follow it. "All platonically, of course. You don't even have to say anything. I know this is awkward. I just wanted you to know it."

"Huh," Tom mumbled thoughtfully. His expression was sinking back into something more casual, but I saw the spinning thoughts threw his eyes. He was calm, which was better than anything else it could have been, unless he was hiding his more true reaction for the sake of my stability. "I suppose I just never considered the possibility of being platonically in love with someone. I never considered it to be an actual thing, but now that I think about it, it makes more sense than I previously thought."

"Are you upset?" I asked. "I mean, I didn't think you would be, but I just want to put that out there now that I've said it to your face."

"No, of course I'm not upset," Tom assured me. "Actually, I'm quite flattered to hear you say that to me. It's quite refreshing to hear someone say something so kind and genuine."

A downpour of relief pooled out into my stomach, finally deteriorating the remaining tingles of anxiety, but he had more to say. He paused, shifting in his seat as he contemplated his next words, and our eyes met.

"Actually, while I am still very new to the concept of being platonically in love," he began, "I believe that may be an accurate way to describe how I feel about you as well. You're my best friend and almost like a daughter to me. I already knew that I loved you deeply, just without the presence of any romantic feelings. Perhaps that's what being platonically in love really means."

I already knew that I loved you deeply. He had been thinking about this just as I had. A different twinge squeezed my chest, springing tears to my eyes as they welled up and blurred the room.

"I hope you're not feeling uncomfortable with all of this," Tom went on gently. "It wasn't my intention to cross any boundaries."

"No, not at all," I replied, pretending to scratch the corner of my eye to subtly rub away the tear that had slipped out of it. "I'm the one who said it first, after all. I'm just relieved."

"Well, in that case, I'm certainly glad," Tom said. That same soft smile I fell for in the first place. "I'm definitely glad that we had this talk. It's good to know that we're on the same page now."

"Mm-hmm," I agreed at once. "Absolutely. There's so much less pressure."

"I definitely agree," Tom told me. His smile never wavered in the slightest. "If it's all right, may I give you a hug? I feel like this situation calls for an embrace."

When Tom's arms closed in around me, my body was so light that it was a wonder how I stayed planted in my seat. He squeezed me close, as I him, wound up in each other's arms and warmth. It was the feeling of curling up into a cozy bed at the end of the evening. The comfort of finally letting go of the pressing responsibilities of life after a day that would never end. It was all I needed to know that Peach—And every little thing she had taught me about twin flames today—Was right.