She seems nice, put in the effort

You decide the cafés can wait.

"Actually," you say, setting your coffee down before you've even taken a sip, "I don't have anywhere to be today. Want some company? You could show me some of those connections you've made or just tell me about them, at least."

Claire's whole face brightens, easy and unguarded. "Yeah? Okay, good, because I was going to spend the day reorganizing my sock drawer out of sheer boredom, so you're doing me a favor." She waves you back toward the table with the coffee pot still in her hand. "Sit, sit. First things first, real breakfast. Whatever that is you're drinking doesn't count as sustenance."

"It's coffee."

"It's a cry for help is what it is." She grins over her shoulder as she pulls out a pan. "I'll make some pancakes with maple sirup. You can keep me company and tell me why you've been hiding in your room for a month."

"I haven't been hiding."

"John. I live here. I would know." But she says it kindly, without any real edge to it, and you find yourself smiling despite being called out.

You watch her move around the kitchen with the easy familiarity of someone who's made this space her own, she knows exactly which cupboard sticks, exactly how long to let the pan heat before the pancakes go in. It occurs to you that you've lived here for weeks and couldn't have told anyone where the good frying pan was kept. And this girl has been living here alone, at least somewhat, for some time. And all the roommates she got to know have already moved out.

"So," you say, leaning against the counter, "half a year in Vienna. You must have this whole city figured out by now."

"Hardly. I know where to get decent poutine substitutes, which is a very specific and very sad skill set. I know a bar a few streets from here, that does trivia on Tuesdays, we should go sometime, honestly, you'd probably be useless at it but it'd be fun to watch. And I know the 13A bus driver on the morning route hates everyone equally, so don't take it personally."

"Good to know. I've been avoiding the 13A entirely. Those buses seem unnecessary, with the U-Bahn going everywhere."

"Smart man." She glances back at you, warm and a little teasing. "What about you? You've been here just as long as I have, minus a few weeks. What's John's Vienna been like so far?"

You consider giving her the polished answer "Oh, you know, exploring, settling in" but something about the easy way she's talking makes you want to actually answer. "Honestly? Mostly this apartment. I keep telling myself I'll go explore and then I just... don't. It's strange, moving somewhere new when you've already done it once before. You'd think it'd get easier."

"Geneva," she says, and you're a little surprised she remembers. "You mentioned it once. Weeks ago, in passing."

"You remember that?"

"I remember things about people in my life" she says simply, sliding a plate in front of you, pancakes done just right, and there's nothing performative about it- just a plain, easy sort of fondness that catches you a little off guard.

"Oh, we know each other, huh? Bold of you to assume."

"Oh, please." She swats your arm with the dish towel on her way past, laughing. "You've been stuck with me every morning for weeks. At this point we do know each other."

You eat with her leaning against the counter across from you, arms crossed loosely, watching you with the kind of open, unbothered warmth that makes it easy to talk. There's nothing calculated about her. She just seems genuinely glad for the company, and that, more than anything, makes you want to give her more of it.

"Tell me something else," she says eventually. "Something you haven't mentioned once, in passing, weeks ago."

You think about it, about the years in Geneva that never quite felt like home, about the French and German and Italian that never quite stuck, about being the anglophone everyone was too polite to let struggle. You could give her the guarded version. You don't, quite.

"I'm terrible at languages," you admit. "Genuinely terrible. Everyone in Geneva just switched to English the second they heard my accent, so I never really had to try. Half the reason I picked Vienna was hoping it'd force my hand a bit."

"And has it?"

"Not yet. You're speaking English to me right now."

"Only because you looked so pathetic over your coffee this morning, mangling 'good morning' like it personally wronged you. And its not like i speak german, either." She laughs, bright and unselfconscious, and swats you again with the towel, lighter this time, more habit than anything. "Tell you what, i'll speak French with you. Properly. No switching back the second you get that panicked look."

"That sounds like a threat."

"It's a favor. You'll thank me in a month." She bumps your shoulder with hers as she reaches past you for the coffee pot, entirely casual, entirely comfortable, and yet you notice it anyway, the small warmth of it, the fact that she didn't have to. "Deal?"