A/N: kinda overdue, mah bad

She walks in on Joy sitting at the kitchen island, contemplating. The waft of home cooked dinner as soon as she opens her apartment door has her stomach grumbling and mouth almost watering. But it comes like a double-edged sword.

Joy only cooks when something is on her mind. And when Irene comes into her kitchen to see her island decked out with an entire roast chicken with stuffing and multiple side dishes? Joy must be thinking up an entire storm.

She grabs two plates and pairs of cutleries for the both of them, sliding Joy her set before going in at grabbing herself a portion of everything. Irene would ask Joy what's on her mind, more out of courtesy than actually curiosity, but it's always better to let her talk in her own time.

It's by the time she's going for round two, because she's hungry and swears Joy should've been a chef instead of a sales director, that her silent companion finally lets out a peep.

“It just doesn't add up.”

Swallowing a good mouthful of mash and gravy, Irene's cutting a slice of her roast before indulging Joy. “What doesn't add up?”

Her fingers swipe her chin like she's some kind of mastermind at work. With a cluck of her tongue, she runs a hand through her hair in frustration. Interesting. It's not often one sees a disturbed Joy. Must be work, Irene assumes.

“Ms Murphy said she never saw her leave. So, she must be home. And I knocked on her door, alright. Even gave her two minutes to answer before knocking again. And Ms Murphy is never wrong. That woman has eyes like a security camera and ears of a professional eavesdropper.”

Irene hasn't been more confused in a while from Joy's rants. And really, half the time what leaves Joy's mouth has her thinking if the woman even has a filtering part of her mind that thinks things through before she speaks.

“What on earth are you on about?”

She starts piling food onto Joy's plate to encourage her to eat, and to make sure she at least has some of the food she's made before Irene gobbles it all up.

“Maybe she's dead.”

From how flat her tone is when she said it, Irene finally puts her fork down. “Okay, start from square one. Who is Ms Murphy spying on now? Who are you annoying this time? And why must they be dead for not opening their door?”

Joy finally looks at her for the first time tonight. A glint in her eyes as she finally drops the main subject of her late night ponder. “Your new neighbour.”

Irene lets out a huff for assuming it was something important. Stuffing the heavenly roast's stuffing into , Irene just hums for Joy to continue. She should have known, really. Since she's lived here Joy has made it her own personal mission to get to know everyone that lives on her floor. She honestly doesn't know why, because who can actually be bothered. But by no surprise they all seem to enjoy Joy's company. And of course, perks did come with it too. Fed like a favourite granddaughter, treated like the golden child, and nudged discounts if she visits them at their stores, Joy gets it all from her neighbours. So, it isn't a shocker that Joy wants to get to know her new neighbour as well.

“There's no other explanation. Unless, she leaves by the fire escape instead.”

Irene furrows her brows at Joy even contemplating the idea. “Or maybe, just maybe, she's asleep. I don't know, sounds more realistic than hopping out her window.”

“But it's nearly 9pm. And I was knocking at her door at 7. Who's already asleep by then. Even Granny Mary is still alive and kicking at that time. And she's 95!”

Patting her full stomach with a content sigh, Irene lazily gives Joy a shrug. She isn't her neighbour so how would she know what she's up to? “I don't know what to tell you.”

“I haven't even seen her yet,” Joy groans, sinking against the island to play with the food on her plate.

Irene's hand darts out, out of habit, slapping at Joy's hand, “Don't play with your food. Food is for eating, toys are for playing. And, why does it matter so much. You'll run into her sooner or later. You basically live here anyways.”

With a pout of a reprimanded child, she begins forking some peas into . “I'm just curious, is all,” she mumbles. “You're right, I'll see her eventually. It's not like you've seen her anyways.”

“Well, I didn't say that. I saw her this morning. If you'd even count seeing the shadows of her as having seen her.”

Like her entire world had been flipped with that useless information, Joy flings some carrots into the darkness of her living room with how she jerks on the spot. “What!?”

“You're cleaning that,” Irene gets in before Joy could continue to blow her casket.

“How did you see her before me?”

Irene shrugs once more. It's not like she was keen on catching sight of her neighbour. Unlike someone. She doesn't know what Joy wants from her. She saw what she saw.

“I was leaving for work. She must have come out to grab her paper.”

She doesn't know if she should add the little fact of her neighbour sporting a tattoo, but Irene was never one for mindless gossip, so opting out of it seemed best.

“That's it!”

“What's it?”

“I'll wait for her in the morning. Nothing like running into your neighbour whilst collecting your morning paper.”

“So, you're just going to wait by the door, all morning, in hopes of catching her? Don't think that's running into someone if you're literally waiting for them.”

“You're absolutely right!” Irene can't help but narrow her eyes, because Joy never admits she's right. “I can't be staring through your door peephole all morning. I'll just steal her paper, and when I hear a confused commotion, I'll come out with her paper pretending I got it back from the Ericsson twins! You're a genius!”

Stupid. She's thought it on more than one occasion but tonight especially. For a smart person Joy could be so stupid sometimes. “You're being ridiculous. This is as far as running into someone as it can get. And you can't be stealing people's papers and blaming it on teenagers.” When Joy goes to cut in, Irene raises her hand to stop her. “Even if it is them who are doing it. Don't add to their mess. Can't you just be normal about it.”

Tired, Irene places her dishes into the sink to wash tomorrow. Passing by the quiet Joy, she pats her on the back as encouragement. “It will happen when it happens. Don't force it. It's not like you to. And remember -”

Joy mumbles before she could finish, “Lights off and lock the door. I know.”

Irene smiles lazily heading off to bed.

The smile doesn't stay intact the next morning when she comes into the kitchen and sees two rolled up papers on her island.

“Joy, don't tell me you actually did it.”

Bowl of cereal held higher against her face than it should've been, Joy is obviously avoiding her. With a sigh, and like the responsible adult she is, Irene grabs the paper that isn't hers and heads to the door.

“Irene, wait!”

Ignoring the stamping behind her, she's out the door before Joy could grapple at her. But like children fighting over a toy, Joy has her arms around her before she could drop the paper back on the welcome mat, trying to grab at it as Irene wriggles in her grasp, evading all of her attempts. It isn't until someone clears their throat in front of them that they realised the door to apartment 203 is open.

“May I help you?”

She's smaller than Irene thought. Taller than her, still, but petite, nevertheless. And she's staring at them like they're weirdos. That's when the self-consciousness in Irene kicks in and she elbows Joy in the ribs to let go of her.

“Ahem,” she clears , hoping it'd get rid of the awkwardness. “Your paper,” she stretches her hand out, like she's passing a relay baton.

“Thanks,” she girl drawls.

“You're not blonde.”

Irene elbows Joy in the ribs again. Because dammit, can she not make a fool out of the both of them anymore than they already have?

“I've noticed,” the girl deadpans back.

“Right. Well. We're sorry for disturbing you so early in the morning. Enjoy your day and paper.” Irene starts backtracking to her apartment, not caring that she's stepping on Joy in the process. This whole predicament being her fault entirely, anyways.

The girl hums, staring at the both of them as they stumble their way back into Irene's apartment with a slam of the door. “Weirdos,” she mumbles before heading back in too.

Tossing the paper at the sprawled-out body on the couch, she makes her way through the dark towards the bedroom. “You've got a weird lesbian couple as neighbours, by the way.”

The blonde dozing off on the couch only continues to snore