𝖌𝖔 𝖆𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉 & 𝖐𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖒𝖊

A sharp, biting laugh ripped from Eleanora’s throat as Hana finally looked at her. She glared tiny daggers at her, annoyance evident all over her face. Her art could have been ruined, yes, but payment was necessary, too. Especially when she just laid her terms and rates out so pointedly. What was she supposed to do? “You are so dramatic,” Eleanora retorted, pressing her leg further against Hana’s as if to prove the point. “You ask for payment, and then you accuse me of a crime when I pay it. You will never be satisfied.” But the bright joy on her face was enough to realize just how unserious the blonde was about all of this, especially when she noticed the blood flowing to Hana’s face. She hummed happily against her girlfriend’s lips, allowing one final kiss before the artist situated herself back in her seat. The statement about compliments made Eleanora smirk. She could stroke Hana’s ego easily. “Your artistry knows no bounds, baby. You could make a masterpiece out of soot." A beat passed. "I actually think you’re doing better than any of my nail techs so far.”

hana knew eleanora was right about one thing: she would never be satisfied, though not in the way her girlfriend meant. there would always be another way to care for her, detail to remember, and task hana could quietly take upon herself before eleanora ever thought to ask. giving came easily when it was for her. receiving was more difficult. even after all their time together, hana still found herself disarmed by the sheer abundance of eleanora’s affection, by the way she insisted on returning every ounce of devotion in whatever language might reach her best. it made hana feel seen in a way she had spent centuries avoiding, and perhaps that was why the warmth in her face deepened when eleanora pressed closer and accused her of dramatics. “i’m perfectly reasonable,” she said, lifting her chin with false dignity. “you simply have no respect for professional boundaries.” the praise that followed drew hana’s attention back to eleanora’s hand, though the tiny, satisfied smile on her mouth betrayed how thoroughly it pleased her. soot was not entirely outside her experience, and the competitive part of her immediately latched onto the comparison with eleanora’s former nail technicians. hana hadn’t approached this as a contest, but now that one had been presented, she intended to win it permanently. “better than all of them?” she asked, careful to sound casual as she added another fine branch across the next nail. the thought of eleanora looking down at her hands later and seeing hana’s work there filled her with a private, possessive delight. “then i suppose finding a new salon would be unnecessary.” her eyes lifted briefly, amusement glinting in them. “though i should warn you, my ego is becoming very expensive to maintain. keep praising me like that and i may require another kiss before i finish this hand.”

Eleanora had a feeling the old church would interest Hana in some capacity. It wasn’t somewhere that she ran to show guests, but it was a part of her life. It seemed only right for her girlfriend to peek into it. “I don’t believe anymore,” the blonde admitted, shrugging her shoulders lackadaisically. How could she, after everything she’s survived? “Venice was religiously tolerant back in the day, but I was raised Roman Catholic. I guess it’s just a bad habit I can’t kick.” She chuckled ruefully. At least the building was beautiful, and the priests were pleasant enough. St. Patrick’s Cathedral was worth visiting too, but it was so crowded nowadays that it almost wasn’t worth the trouble. But Hana’s last comment drew a knowing smirk from Eleanora as she led them into her bedroom. “Oh, I don’t doubt it. You kept up very well with me at that nightclub we went to.” The blonde grinned. “Maybe if you still have energy after my itinerary, I’ll take you out somewhere nearby.”

hana’s smile deepened at the playful bite, even as she gave eleanora a look of exaggerated offense. “you guess?” she echoed, allowing herself to be led into the bedroom. the mention of marcella remained lodged in her thoughts, curiosity building around a woman who had shared four decades of stories with eleanora while revealing almost nothing about herself. hana understood why that bond mattered. there was an intimacy in finding another immortal who remembered the same world, who could speak of vanished streets and customs without needing them explained first. “forty years is a long time to know next to nothing about someone,” she mused, glancing at eleanora. “though i suppose mystery may be part of why you’ve kept returning.” her fingers brushed along the blonde’s forearm where she had squeezed her. “i’m glad you found someone who can remember venice with you. memories become lonely when no one else recognizes the world inside them.” the admission about the church drew hana’s attention back to her girlfriend, her expression thoughtful rather than surprised. she knew belief could outlive conviction through ritual alone; habits learned in childhood often clung more fiercely than faith itself. perhaps eleanora returned because the language and ceremony brought her closer to her father, or to the mortal woman who once sat through mass beside her family. hana would not decide that for her, but she wanted to witness it. “i don’t think you need to believe for it to mean something to you,” she said, stepping nearer as they entered the bedroom. “you may only be visiting a part of yourself that has nowhere else to exist.” her gaze warmed at the challenge tucked into eleanora’s final offer. “and i had more than enough energy at the nightclub. i was merely letting you believe you were setting the pace.” hana leaned in, lips hovering near hers with a teasing smile. “plan as much as you like. i intend to keep up.”

“I think she’s a witch. I’m not entirely sure, to be honest. All I know is that she’s immortal, uses a bit of magic, and her accent is still prevalent enough that I knew I could speak to her in Venetian when I met her.” The melodic, singsong characteristic of the dead language was so distinct, and it brought Eleanora a great deal of comfort to hear it outside of her own mouth. To be able to step back into that time of her life without the heaviness of her past swallowing her whole. Stopping before her bedroom, the next sentence maintained that same fondness. “I’d also like to take you to St. Patrick’s Basilica before we go. Sometimes I sit for the Italian evening masses,” she stated in passing. “But the building is beautiful, and I think you might appreciate it.” A beat passed between the two of them before Eleanora giggled. “Of course, there are more high-intensity, fast-paced things I like doing. But I figured to be kind and ease you into all that instead of throwing them all at you at once.”

hana listened with an affectionate smile, allowing eleanora to guide her through the hallway as each new detail added another layer to the woman she loved. marcella’s existence fascinated her immediately — not only because of the possibility that she was a witch, but because eleanora had admitted she mattered. there were so few people her girlfriend allowed beyond the polished surface of acquaintance, and hana found herself curious about the woman who’d earned a place there. the idea of hearing eleanora speak venetian again pleased her, too. she’d caught only the warmth and rhythm of it from the bathroom, but now she understood why eleanora’s laughter had sounded so unguarded. “you haven’t abandoned anything,” she murmured after the kiss to her cheek, turning her head to catch eleanora’s lips briefly. “you’ve simply been distracted by an exceptionally charming artist.” her expression brightened with interest. “although i’m very eager to meet marcella. anyone you consider a friend must be remarkable, or terrifying.” the mention of the basilica made hana glance toward her, curiosity sharpening once more. she hadn’t expected eleanora to attend mass, even occasionally, and the contradiction intrigued her rather than confused her. immortality had taught hana that people carried rituals long after belief changed, sometimes because architecture, language, and memory held more power than doctrine ever could. she wanted to see eleanora there, seated beneath stained glass while italian prayers filled the room, and understand what drew her back. “i’d appreciate it,” hana said, fingers tightening around hers. “and i want to know why you go. whether it’s the mass itself, the language, or who you remember while you are there.” she paused outside the bedroom, amusement warming her gaze at eleanora’s final warning. “as for the rest, i’m not as delicate as you seem to think. but i’ll allow you to ease me into your more reckless habits if it makes you feel responsible.”

But the sincerity couldn’t last; this was Eleanora after all. She had to get a tease or a dig in practically every other sentence. She watched Hana meet her gaze, a grin openly spreading at the helpless way her girlfriend’s eyes searched her face. It was so easy to tease Hana, and even with her impassioned care, the blonde wouldn’t be able to stop. The artist made it too easy, and she had a sneaking suspicion Hana enjoyed receiving it just as much as Eleanora liked giving it. Eleanora tilted herself forward as Hana spoke, leg still pressed into hers. She ceased the kicking (for now) and found herself beaming at the ridiculously serious terms and rates laid out in front of her. “Oh, Hana, that is very doable,” she replied, her unpainted fingers clasping around her chin. Gently, as if not to disturb her, Eleanora pulled her head forward so she could begin planting sweet kisses across her face. Starting at Hana’s forehead, she meandered down to her temples, cheeks, under her eyes, her nose, her chin, before trailing back up to press an unhurried yet eager kiss to her lips. Pulling away, Eleanora kissed the corners of Hana’s lips before praising her. “You look so beautiful when you’re focused on something you enjoy.” A beat passed between them. “What do I owe you after that?”

the sincerity in eleanora’s thanks caught hana more thoroughly than any teasing ever could. her hand paused around the brush, careful not to let the polish gather at its tip while she absorbed the weight of those words. hana had never cared for gratitude as payment; what she did for eleanora was never a favor being tallied, nor a duty she expected acknowledged. it was simply how her devotion moved through the world. she loved eleanora in remembered preferences, prepared spaces, anticipated needs, and the endless collection of small decisions that made her life easier. still, hearing that care recognized — and knowing it had given eleanora a sense of safety she’d once struggled to accept — left hana momentarily without a clever response. “you never have to thank me for loving you properly,” she said at last, her voice quieter than before. her eyes lowered to eleanora’s hand again, though the affection in her expression remained unmistakable. “but you’re welcome.” then eleanora’s fingers were beneath her chin, drawing her forward before hana could remind her that there was wet polish involved. each kiss dismantled another piece of her composure, and by the time eleanora reached her lips, hana had nearly forgotten she was holding a brush at all. she returned the kiss with restrained eagerness, unwilling to risk smearing her work even as every instinct urged her closer. the compliment that followed sent warmth across her face, and hana narrowed her eyes as though eleanora had committed a particularly unfair offense. “that was blatant bribery,” she accused, though the fondness in her voice made the charge useless. after inspecting the painted nails to ensure no damage had been done, she leaned in and placed one deliberate kiss against eleanora’s mouth. “you’ve covered the current balance,” hana decided, settling back into her seat. “but compliments like that carry interest, so i suggest you continue.”

He leaned back again, though he didn't fully retreat into the corner this time. His expression remained guarded, but the edge of his mouth softened, mirroring her own amusement. "I get the sense that this ain't your vibe either," he huffs out a laugh. "You look like you're about five minutes away from makin' a break for the door."

“reckon the mystery’s workin’,” shiloh replied, tipping her beer toward him. she’d listened to his songs enough to know there was more behind that rasp than he was letting on, though she doubted he’d appreciate being told she’d studied the cracks in his voice. it made him more interesting, anyway — the fact that he seemed just as unconvinced by all of this as she was. her gaze drifted toward the room again, catching another burst of laughter she hadn’t been included in. “four minutes, now,” she corrected, her mouth pulling into a crooked grin. “i was gonna disappear without sayin’ goodbye, but i don’t think anybody here would notice.” shiloh looked back at him, curiosity winning out over her instinct to flee. “you might, though.” she took a drink, eyes narrowing playfully over the rim of the bottle. “unless that brand of yours requires you to forget every conversation before it gets interesting.”

ANTONIO CIPRIANO as JOHN LOGAN OFF CAMPUS 01.08 ‘The Line Change’