New Year, New Journal (Izmailovsky Market)

[Seren]

Seren let Casey take the lead, moving with her through the thinning crowd and into the warmth of the café. The transition was immediate and almost physical: the cold’s sharp edge dulled, the market’s chaos softened into a low murmur, and with it the constant background shimmer of want settled into something quieter. Fewer people. Fewer lights. Easier to breathe.

She ordered tea, thanking Casey quietly when she paid, and then followed her to the table. As Casey shed layers, Seren’s gaze stayed polite but not uninterested. She noticed the small things – the way Casey’s shoulders eased once she sat, the way the gold motes clustered closer now, no longer scattered by cold or movement. They hovered warmly, steady, still a little brighter than before. Still a hopeful curiosity that hadn’t tipped into urgency.

Seren pulled free her own scarf and hat without fuss. She wore a simple aran sweater underneath her coat – all her clothes were serviceable rather than fashionable. She smiled, small and genuine, eyes lifting to meet Casey’s again. Not holding too long, just enough. Then she wrapped her hands around her own mug, letting the heat sink into her fingers, grounding herself before she answered.

“I travel,” she said first, lightly. “A lot. Cities mostly, I like learning them.” She paused for a moment, thoughtful. “Bookshops. Libraries. Places where people talk without realising they’re saying important things. I read – way too much, probably. Folklore, history, things that don’t fit neatly into categories. And I write, obviously” she added, tapping the edge of her new journal with one finger. There was a faint, self-aware curve of her lips.

“But I’ve been living here a while now. Looking for… well, patterns, I suppose. And places where people don’t mind a little strangeness.” She took a sip, then glanced back at Casey, curiosity genuine but measured. “What about you? Besides braving Moscow in January for stationery,” she said, tone warm, almost teasing. “What made this year feel like it needed recording?”

[Casey]

Casey leaned forward as Seren spoke, listening with rapt attention. Both hands cradled her cup of coffee and the warmth of it spread through her. Traveling was fun, and it seemed like Seren did a lot of research into folklore. Bookshops and libraries were among some of Casey’s favorite places to go. When Seren spoke, she couldn’t help but be interested - for no other reason than it just sounded interesting.

Casey smirked when she mentioned strangeness. ”Well, you’ll certainly find a lot of strangeness around here,” she was reminded of Nox. Strange things followed him and his entourage of people like a loyal puppy.

”Im a musician,” Casey said, leaning in a little to speak quieter. She didn’t want to attract fan attention of any nearby - she wanted this time to get to know Seren and not take pictures or give autographs. ”Play bass guitar for Cadence Mathis.” she kept hubris out of her tone. She wasn’t bragging, just stating the truth. ”It means I travel quite a bit too, although my trips are probably different than yours.”

Casey took a sip of her coffee, taking the time to gather her thoughts to answer Seren’s next question. There was a lot there, and she certainly didn’t want to overwhelm Seren with an unpacking of everything she had gone through recently. She wasn’t embarrassed by it, but it was a lot. ”Lately I’ve just been going through some good personal growth. Things that I used to feel guilty for that I shouldn’t have are being resolved. It’s freeing, and I think that it’s probably a good time to reinforce that I don’t really do anything worthy of those guilts,” she chuckled a bit. ”I know - that’s incredibly vague - it’s just a long story - one I’m willing to share, but I don’t want to overburden you.” it was true. Casey didn’t want to lay her burdens on this woman. But she would be very okay with talking about it. It helped sort things out to talk about it.

[Seren]

Seren listened without interrupting, elbows resting lightly on the table, fingers curved around her mug. As Casey leaned in, the space between them closed just enough to matter. The café’s background noise softened into something distant, and with it Seren became more aware of the gold around Casey – still warm, still steady, but now threaded with something else: a careful restraint. Not secrecy exactly. Maybe a choice.

When Casey mentioned being a musician, Seren’s brows lifted a fraction, not in surprise, but in recognition. Not of her specifically, just of the way it suddenly made sense to her – the soft, more intimate way she thought Casey wanted to be seen. The difference between a public and private persona. She’d heard of Cadence Mathis, but it was the vague recognition of something in the popular sphere. Seren wouldn’t have recognised her any more than she’d recognised Casey.

“Different kinds of travel still leave the same marks,” she said. “You learn how to live out of a bag. How to arrive without settling.” She paused for a moment, then added, more gentle and thoughtful: “How to decide what parts of yourself are allowed to come with you.”

At the mention of guilt, Seren saw the glimmer shift – loosening, rearranging, as if something tight had finally been unclenched. It sat close to Casey’s chest, not bright, but sincere. Seren didn’t reach for it. She let it be. But she could see the desire to share. She smiled again, softer this time. Her thumb traced the rim of her mug, grounding, and she studied Casey with open curiosity rather than intensity. “You don’t owe me the whole version,” she said. “But I’d like the true one. Whatever piece feels safe to share over coffee.”