Tidewoven Inc | The Dishwasher Incident: A Temporary Ceasefire
Later that night, after Lucy was tucked in, after Nora retreated with her laminated rule packet, after Daniel finished muttering about plate trajectories under his breath, the house finally went still. Micah wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water. The dishwasher was running. It hummed with that low, steady rhythm it only made when the cycle was perfectly balanced, no clatter, no rattle, no stray spoon ricocheting off the silverware basket like a grenade.
Micah leaned a hip against the counter and listened. It was stupid how satisfying it was. Stupid… and grounding. He opened the cabinet, got a glass, filled it at the tap, and took a slow sip. The dishwasher hummed again, soft, efficient, peaceful.
Micah snorted under his breath. “Southwest,” he muttered. “Unbelievable.”
Behind him, Daniel’s voice drifted from the hallway, deadpan: “I heard that.”
Micah didn’t turn. “Good.”
Daniel stepped into the doorway, arms crossed, trying not to smile. “That cycle is flawless.”
Micah rolled his eyes. “I didn’t say it wasn’t.”
Daniel smirked. “Feels like you implied it.”
Micah took another sip of water. “Feels like you should go to bed.”
Daniel raised his eyebrows. “Feels like someone is deflecting.”
“Feels like someone is annoying.”
“Feels like someone is cranky.”
Micah sighed, but the tiniest smile tugged at his mouth. “Goodnight, Daniel.”
Daniel nodded, softer now. “Goodnight.”
Micah waited until he was gone. Then he let the smile slip out fully. The small, private kind he only ever had in this house, in this kitchen, with these people. He set his glass in the sink. The dishwasher hummed again, calm and perfect. Micah touched the counter with his fingertips, grounding himself, letting the moment settle over him like warm water. Quiet. Safe. Steady. Home.
He turned off the light and whispered to the empty room, almost sheepish: “Southwest. Fine. Whatever.” And for the first time in weeks, the dark didn’t press in. It held him.
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