You told Lucy once, half-joking, that you’d never smelled anything in the wasteland that wasn’t dust, blood, or gunpowder. Vault 4 changed that.

It hadn’t been the plan—falling into the place. You’d been limping along after that Fiend tore into you, Lucy trying to find supplies in some abandoned Vault-Tec building, when the floor gave way and dropped you both into a different world.

In the med bay, under the bright white lights, the Vault 4 doctor leaned over your arm with tweezers. “Well, that’s a first,” he muttered, twisting the tool until you hissed. “Not exactly standard ammunition.” Lucy was seated in front of you, hands holding the edge of the cot, watching with equal parts of curiosity and disgust. With a little pop, the tweezers came back holding what looked like a jagged human tooth. “Guess you’re keeping that,” the medic said dryly, dropping it into a dish. “Souvenir,” you muttered, wincing as he cleaned the wound and bandaged it up.

The first night was surreal. A clean bed. A real mattress. You lay there for hours, waiting for the ceiling to leak or for someone to knock and tell you it was all a mistake.

But the days kept passing, and nothing broke.

For you, every small thing was a wonder: the hiss of hot water in the showers, the burn of soap on skin that hadn’t been scrubbed clean in years, the way fresh bread made the air in the dining hall warm and sweet. You ate until your stomach ached—caviar, oysters, apple pies—and still found room for more. You tried coffee that wasn’t made from burned chicory and drank water that didn’t taste of rust. You walked halls without looking over your shoulder.

Lucy, of course, wasn’t dazzled. She’d grown up in Vault 33; this was just another vault to her. Still, you noticed she liked seeing you take it all in— your wide-eyed stare at the fresh produce, your ridiculous grin when you found a stash of clean clothes in your size. Sometimes she’d watch you with this quiet little smile, like your joy was contagious even if the place wasn’t new to her.

The days melted together in comfort. You could almost forget the wasteland existed.

It was on the third night that you heard the knock—light, quick, just enough to draw you out of your thoughts. You opened the door to find Lucy standing there, hands tucked into the pockets of her jumpsuit.

“Hey,” she said casually, though her eyes flicked past you to the small, neat room. “Figured I’d stop by. It’s quiet tonight.”

You stepped aside, letting her in. She wandered, looking over the few personal things you’d collected in your short stay—a couple of books, a deck of cards, a mug someone had given you in the cafeteria with a faded ‘Vault 4 Welcomes You!’ printed on the side.

“You like it here, don’t you?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at you.