Auden's studio apartment in Dublin was small but full of personality, a space that reflected her love for art and her tendency to retreat from the world. Located on the top floor of an old Georgian building, the apartment had slanted ceilings and a large, rain-streaked window that overlooked a quiet street below. The brick facade of the opposite building was close enough that she often felt cocooned, tucked away from the city's hum.

The walls were an eclectic mix of deep green and off-white, the former a choice she made on impulse one evening, half-drunk on wine, desperate for a change. She had done the painting herself, and if one looked closely, could still see the uneven strokes under dim light. Against one wall stood a series of bookshelves, overflowing with art books, old exhibition catalogs, and novels with dog-eared pages. Small framed prints leaned against the shelves where she hadn't quite committed to hanging them yet.

Her bed, a modest double, was unmade more often than not, draped in linen sheets in muted earth tones. Beans, her calico cat, had claimed most of the pillows, her fur constantly shedding onto the fabric no matter how much Auden tried to brush it away. A small antique desk sat by the window, covered in scattered notes, half-burned candles, and an old ceramic mug perpetually holding remnants of cold coffee.

At night, when the city lights glowed softly through the window, and the only sounds were the occasional footsteps in the hallway or the distant hum of traffic, the apartment felt both like a sanctuary and a place of quiet loneliness — exactly the kind of home Auden had built for herself.

The kitchenette, where she found herself early one Saturday morning — was compact. There was a tiny stove, single-basin sink, and mismatched ceramic plates stacked carelessly beside it. The fridge was mostly empty, save for oat milk, a bottle of white wine, and some cheese she kept meaning to throw out. A vintage radio that she found at a nearby thrift sat on the counter, playing whatever station she last twisted the dial to, usually something soft and moody.

"I cannot reiterate enough," Auden sighed loudly, "He is not interested."

Auden pressed the phone tight to her ear, her fingers drumming against the kitchen counter as she stared at the kettle, willing it to boil faster.

It mere three days since her encounter with Cillian. She hadn't heard from him, nor had she attempted to reach out. She didn't want to. Instead, Auden wished for him to disappear entirely, so that she could return to her normal routine of sulking and working without interruptions.

"Oh, please," Brigid's voice rang out on the other end, utterly unrepentant. "The man spent all night looking at you. I'm not making this up!"

Auden groaned. "Brigid. You keep telling people around the office that Cillian Murphy — an internationally known actor — asked me out on a date. Do you know how humiliating it is to have to explain to people that it was, in fact, a work meeting?"

Brigid scoffed. "It's only humiliating because you're fighting it. And honestly, what's the problem? The man is a free agent now, and you are incredibly single."

Auden rolled her eyes and turned off the stove. "You say that, yet the last time I tried to talk to him, he assumed I had some ulterior motive. Like I was trying to network my way into a better job or something."

Brigid paused. Behind the speaker, there was a soft clatter of closing dresser drawers.

"Okay, yes. That was a bit of an ass move. But he's also in the middle of a divorce, which means his ego is probably still in a fragile state," Another noise, this time a door slamming shut, "You must forgive him for that."

"Must I?" Auden deadpanned, pouring hot water over the freeze dried grounds of instant coffee, "What do you know about that, anyway?"

"What? His divorce?" Brigid clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, gathering her thoughts, "Not as much as I would like, honestly. I know his wife and Charles were pretty close friends. She used to stop by the gallery all the time."

"Huh," Auden stirred cream into the mug slowly, watching the chocolate colored liquid shifting to a light pale caramel, "So, there's definitely history there."

"Not anymore," Brigid chimed happily, "Now you must accept the reality that he was watching you all evening at the banquet, and probably wants to fuck."

Auden sighed and leaned against the counter, ignoring the latter half of that statement. "It doesn't matter. I have a job here. I didn't move across the world to become a walking cliché."

Brigid hummed knowingly. "Oh, my dear Auden. You think you're in control of your own fate."

"I am in control," Auden countered, growing tired of this conversation as she brought her coffee to her lips. She tested a small sip, nearly burning her lips as a result. Auden grimaced.

Brigid's laughter rang in her ear. "Alright then. If you say so."

"Don't you think he's a little too old for me, anyway?" she argued, crossing the room with her mug and settling onto her bed. Her calico cat, Beans, jumped up into her lap, purring happily.

"Too old?" Brigid nearly gasped, "Babes, I've gone on dates with men well into their sixties. Mid-forties is hardly old."

"He's nearly as old as my father," the comment slipped from her mouth without warning, but it instantly made her heart sink.

She glanced at the picture on her nightstand, to an old photograph of her and her dad. Auden, only a few years old, sitting on his lap. Michael's hair was unruly, his face grimey with dirt from a shift at the mills. He looked a lot younger and healthier as he smiled down at her mid-laugh. They were forever trapped in this small moment of happiness.

It was the way Auden wished she could remember him — not sickly, dying, gasping for his last breath. She looked away, unaware that Brigid was still rambling on about her dating life on the other end of the phone.

Gently, she pushed Beans away and moved to sit on the floor, with her back pressed against the mattress in an effort to avoid the weight of the photo entirely. Beans grumbled in discontent, before curling up on the duvet above her, oblivious to the way Auden's fingers twitched against her knee.

Brigid's voice crackled through the phone, lively and effortless as always. "...and then I remember telling him, 'If I wanted to hang out with a man who talked that much, I would have gone home with my brother.' You see? Young lads just aren't as sophisticated."

Auden let out a quiet breath, something like a laugh but without any real weight behind it. "You're terrible."

"I know." Brigid's tone was smug. "But that's what you love about me."

She gripped the phone tighter.

"...Auden?" Brigid's voice softened, noticing the lapse in conversation. "You still there?"

"Yeah," Auden said too quickly. She swallowed hard and forced a smirk into her voice as she lied, "Just distracted by my empty fridge. I really need to do a grocery run."

Brigid cackled, though not entirely convinced. "Oh, we both know you survive solely on coffee and spite."

Auden huffed a small laugh, though it barely reached her chest. "Maybe."

But the loneliness was sinking in, thick like fog, creeping through the cracks of her carefully constructed distractions. She was alone. Even with Brigid's voice in her ear, even with Beans curled up within reach, she was alone.
Her mind tried to drift toward the ache buried deep in her ribs, toward the grief pressing against her like a phantom weight, but she shoved it down. Hard. She was good at that – turning a blind eye to pain that flowed through her veins. She was her father's daughter, after all.

Auden cleared her throat and stretched out her legs, shaking off the feeling. She focused on the steam rising from her coffee mug next to her, watching it dissipate into the room like a ghost. "Hey, should we go out this weekend? I feel like I haven't seen you properly in ages outside of work."

Brigid perked up, the idea of spending the night wasted and against the body of some strange, sweaty man, always an energy boost. "Please! I'm going to need something fun after I spend all day at my cousin Marley's baby shower."

"That does sound like a waste of a Saturday."

"Don't remind me," Brigid groaned, "Anyway, where are we thinking? Somewhere with shitty beer and terrible men?"
Auden smirked, relieved at the shift in conversation.

"Always."

And just like that, the grief was pushed away. For now.

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Dublin was alive at night, buzzing with a reckless, care-free energy that Auden wanted to drown herself in. She and Brigid had started the evening with fueling their stomachs with greasy fried potatoes at a nearby bar, but the main event — the part Brigid lived for — had just begun. The first bar was somewhere near Grafton Street, one of Brigid's usual haunts, full of smooth-talking men in tailored coats and overpriced cocktails that Auden didn't hate but also didn't love.

"This," Brigid declared, tipping back the last of her drink, "is exactly what you needed."

Auden smirked over the rim of her gin tonic. "I didn't realize I needed lukewarm cocktails and men named Finn trying to impress me with their trust funds."

Brigid gasped in mock offense. "First of all, Finn's father has a trust fund, thank you very much. And second — this is about the experience." She leaned in, her shoulders slumping with ease. "And me trying to apologize for opening my big mouth."

Auden let the cold sting of gin settle on her tongue before responding. "I appreciate the effort."

Brigid beamed. "You should appreciate it! Do you know how much work I put into making sure you don't turn into a miserable recluse?"

Auden rolled her eyes but let Brigid drag her to the next spot — this one dimly lit, with low ceilings and a live band tucked into the corner. The music was lively, something with a folk influence that had the small crowd clapping along. The air smelled like whiskey and damp wood, the kind of place that felt distinctly Dublin.

They found a booth near the back, Brigid immediately setting her sights on a group of men at the bar, tossing Auden a devious grin. "I'll be right back," she sang, already making her way over, her red hair catching the light like a flame.

Auden watched her go, shaking her head fondly before turning back to her drink. She welcomed the distraction, the press of bodies, the way the music vibrated in her chest. She didn't want to think about Chicago, about hospital rooms, about Cillian Murphy and his sad, sharp eyes that looked strangely like her own.

She just wanted to be here.

Auden didn't know how much time had passed before Brigid reappeared, pulling her from the booth with a dramatic flourish. "We're dancing."

Auden groaned but didn't resist. "Brigid — "

"No complaints. We're celebrating your ability to function despite your moody tendencies."

Auden giggled, feeling drunk the moment her legs straightened to stand. She let Brigid drag her onto the small, crowded floor. The music swelled, the fiddle and guitar weaving together in a way that made everything feel electric. She let herself move, let the alcohol loosen her limbs, let the laughter come easier.

Brigid twirled her dramatically, then pulled her in close. "Admit it," she said, eyes twinkling. "You're having fun."

Auden, breathless and flushed, gave in. "Maybe a little."

Brigid grinned. "Good. Then let's make terrible decisions."

Auden laughed, letting herself sink into the night, into the noise, into the relief of simply being.

The rest of the night came in fragmented glimpses, stitched together by the haze of alcohol and flashing streetlights. Auden danced with Brigid, then with some man named Theo, who claimed to be the head chef at a restaurant nearby. He had the confidence of someone who thought he was irresistible, which was entertaining enough for a while.

One moment, his hands were on her waist, guiding her through the rhythm of a song she didn't know; the next, she was pressed up against the damp brick wall outside the bar, his mouth hot and eager against hers. His kiss was messy — too wet, too forceful — but Auden didn't stop him. It wasn't particularly enjoyable, but it was something, a temporary distraction, a way to fill the aching void that had been growing inside her.

It might have continued longer if not for the sudden, ice-cold splash that soaked both of them.

Auden gasped, shoving Theo away as the smell of beer filled her nose. Across from her, Theo stood frozen, drenched in Guinness, blinking in confusion. Auden didn't need to turn around to know who was responsible.

"Are you insane?" Theo sputtered, shaking off the beer like a wet dog.

Brigid stood triumphantly with an empty glass in her hand, her red hair wild and eyes ablaze. "Oh, I'm far from insane," she drawled. "But I do have standards, and I simply couldn't allow my best friend to swap spit with a douchebag."

Auden swiped at her soaked shirt, grimacing. "Brigid, what are you talking about?"

Brigid turned to her, placing a dramatic hand over her heart. "Did you know that this man isn't a head chef? No, no. According to his friends, he's actually a bloody graduate student at Trinity."

Theo groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "Oh, come on, it was just a—"

"Just a lie," Brigid cut in, looking deeply pleased with herself. "And a bad one at that."

Auden sighed, running a hand down her face, smearing what remained of her already smudged mascara. She had hit her limit. "We're leaving," she announced, grabbing Brigid's arm.

Brigid grinned, completely unbothered. "Excellent idea."

Auden didn't remember much after that. She didn't know how they got home or how she'd managed to peel off her beer-soaked shirt and change into something semi-clean. All she knew was that when she woke up the next morning, her head was pounding, her mouth tasted like regret and whiskey, and her phone was screaming at her.

She groaned, shifting slightly, only to realize something was beside her. Craning her neck, she found Brigid curled up under the blankets, her wild curls sticking out in every direction. The apartment reeked of stale alcohol and cigarettes, the air thick with the aftermath of bad decisions.

Auden exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples. She blindly reached for her phone under her pillow, bringing it to her ear without checking the caller ID.

"Hello?" she croaked, her voice dry and scratchy.

A pause. Then—

"Auden?"

The voice was deep, familiar, and entirely unwelcome.

Auden's blood ran cold. Her eyes shot open, a mistake. The room spun, and she swallowed back the bile rising in her throat.

"I'm hanging up," she managed, inhaling sharply.

From beside her, Brigid stirred. A toe nudged Auden's thigh, and when she turned, she found her best friend watching her with one bleary eye, hair tangled, her expression groggy but intrigued.

Who is it? Brigid mouthed.

Auden ignored her, pressing a hand to her forehead. "It's too early for whatever this is."

"I know," Cillian exhaled. "And I'm sorry. I just — "Another pause. "I was a bit of an ass, wasn't I?"

Auden scoffed. "A bit?"

He let out a low chuckle, but it was edged with guilt. "Alright. A proper ass."

Brigid's eyebrows shot up in interest.

Cillian continued, "I didn't mean to assume anything about you. That wasn't fair."

Auden chewed on the inside of her cheek, debating whether or not she wanted to let him off the hook so easily. She stayed silent, stubbornness winning over.

Then, Beans — in her ever-dramatic, food demanding fashion — chose that moment to leap onto the bed, stretching luxuriously before letting out a long, loud meow.

Cillian chuckled softly. "I wasn't expecting that kind of response."

Auden finally let out a small, reluctant laugh. "My cat wants breakfast."

"I would've assumed you were a dog person," he mused.

She snorted. "Maybe you should stop making assumptions about me in general."

Silence. For a moment, she thought he'd hung up. Then she heard him sigh, his voice dropping lower.

"Look, I really am sorry," Cillian said, his tone no longer playful. "Would you mind meeting me for coffee? Let me make it up to you."

Auden hesitated. It was tempting. She had nothing in her fridge, and her hangover needed a cure. She bit her lip, debating whether or not it was a good idea.

"Please, Auden," Cillian whispered, and something in his voice made her resolve crack.

She sighed, feigning reluctance. "Fine. But where?"

She could hear the relief in his exhale. "The café on Wicklow Street. You know the one?"

Auden rolled her eyes but couldn't quite suppress her own smirk. Of course she knew. It was the first place they had met.

"I'll be there in an hour." She hung up before he could say anything else, tossing the phone onto the mattress and burying her face in her hands with a muffled groan.

Brigid, now wide awake and far too amused, propped herself up on her elbows. "Tell me that wasn't—"

"Yup," Auden said into her palms. "He wants to meet for coffee to apologize."

Brigid flopped dramatically onto the bed, giggling like a schoolgirl. "God, I love being right about everything."

Auden reached behind her, grabbing a pillow and whacking Brigid over the head with it. Brigid shrieked, swatting her back, and just like that, they collapsed into laughter — both ignoring their nausea, their headaches, and the fact that, no matter how much Auden tried to fight it, something about Cillian Murphy got to her