You’re Insecure.

“Baby,” You huff dramatically as Vada walks through the door to your bedroom, “I’m glad you’re here. We have to break up.” 

Vada halts. She blinks, her brown eyes widening as her entire face falls. Her hands fall limp by her sides. She’d arrived, not two minutes ago, while you were toiling in bed, thinking seriously. Clutching a twelve inch record in your hands and deciding some things just had to be done. 

“What?” She asks, sounding crestfallen, “But I got you flowers.”

She gestures to the stack of lilies she has in hand. She looks wounded, confused, hurt. Like a little puppy you’ve just kicked in the face. 

Immediately, you sit up, heart falling. 

“No, babe,” You retract, reaching out to her. She blinks back at you, eyes as wide as chocolate buttons, “I wasn’t being serious.  Not a real breakup. A fake breakup. A fake-up.” 

Now, she’s confused. Her eyebrows knit together as you watch as she tries to work it out. 

“A fakeup?” She repeats, blinking slowly, “Why?” 

You tilt your head back to reveal your latest purchase. A shiny, purple vinyl of Taylor Swift’s latest record. 

“Taylor Swift just released an album and I need to experience it in full.” You say, quite seriously. You are serious when it comes to Taylor Swift. You’d thought Vada would know this by now. 

Vada stares. 

Your lips purse into a coo as you pry the lilies from her hand. 

“You got me flowers?” You say, rubbing your hand over her cheek, “That’s so sweet.” 

She smiles, a little shy. 

“Yeah. The lilies you like.” She says, and then she frowns again, “But I’m confused. Why does Taylor Swift mean we have to fake break up?”

“Because I need to be sad, babe,” You explain as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “I need to feel pain the way she felt pain when she wrote these songs.”

“Doesn’t she have a nice song?” Vada asks, a little dubious. 

“No,” You say immediately, “I mean, yes, but I’m saving those ones for when we get back together.” 

“But we’re not apart.” Says Vada, still confused. 

You can’t resist. You lean down and press a kiss to the pout on her lips. 

“We are as of now.” You tell her. You exhale, close your eyes and try to think of Vada breaking up with you. A sharp pain flashes through your chest. You imagine her looking mournful as she does it. Stuttering over her words. Looking almost embarrassed as she tells you she never wants to see you again. 

It works, for a split second.

And then you open your eyes. 

She’s staring back at you, looking sweet as ever. Tilts her head like a confused puppy. 

“Say something mean,” You prompt.

She frowns. 

“No,” She says, “I don’t want to.”

“Babe,” You groan, “I need you to make me sad.” 

“I don’t want to make you sad,” She says. She leans into you and wraps her arms around your waist, snuggling into your chest, “I want you to be happy all the time.” 

You groan. In all your grand-scheming plans, you’d forgotten you were dating a literal ray of sunshine. A golden retriever of a girlfriend who’d never gotten mad at you, or said nasty things about you, or even had a bad thought about you in her life. 

But you need this. 

“Please?” You ask, smoothing down her dark hair to look into her eyes, “For me?” 

Vada frowns. She’d do anything you ask, this you know. And it's hardly a big ask. All she’d have to do is tell you she never wants to see you again and you’d cry and listen to ‘Last Kiss’ and pretend as if your entire world is crumbling. 

And then have vigorous make-up sex to ‘Sparks Fly’. A win-win, truly. A rollercoaster of emotions.  

You squeeze her shoulders in encouragement. 

“Okay,” Vada says, sounding resigned. Her eyebrows knit like she’s thinking hard, “I… don’t like your shoes.” 

At this, you snort. 

“You don’t like my shoes?” You ask, “That’s the meanest thing you could think of?” 

She looks up at you, pout still on her lips. 

“Yeah,” She says. She curls back into your chest, “Because you’re perfect and there’s nothing mean to say about you.”

She pauses. 

“And I actually do like your shoes,” She mumbles into your chest, “I’d steal them if we were the same size.” 

You sigh, wrapping your arm around her shoulders and lean down to kiss her head. 

“How am I supposed to listen to the album when you’re being so sweet?” You grumble. 

“We could listen to the nice songs together?” Vada pitches with a happy smile. And then her lips curl into a coy smile, “And then we could listen to the naughty songs and make out.” 

“There’s no naughty songs, babe, it’s Taylor Swift.” You say with a laugh. 

“Oh,” She looks a little disappointed, “Well, maybe we could make out to the sad songs and pretend like we just got back together?” 

You hum. 

Making out with Vada does sound a lot better than fake breaking up with her. She emphasizes her point with a kiss to your chest. 

“Fine.” You relent, leaning down to press your lips to hers. 

She sighs, happily, curling her hand against the back of your neck to pull you closer. 

“I hope you can rest easy knowing I’ll never experience the blood-curling pain Taylor Swift felt writing ‘Dear John’.” You grumble against her lips. 

“Call me back right now,” Tara hisses into the phone. 

She paces back and forth, the living room a mess. Cushions strewn across the floor, coffee table toppled over in a fit of panic and rage and more panic. 

“I mean it, YN, this isn’t funny. I have no idea where you are, you could be lying dead in a ditch for all I know. Call me back or I’ll-” 

She stops. Tries to think of an appropriate reaction for a slight of this sort. 

“I’ll call your Dad.” She nods, in agreement with herself, “I’ll call your Dad and tell him you’re missing and you know what happens when I get him involved.” 

She hangs up. 

She takes a deep breath. Her mind wanders to the worst - another Ghostface, some psychopath determined to take vengeance for some minor crimes Tara had committed when she wasn’t of right mind.

Then - her mind wanders to something much, much worse - maybe, you’re out with another woman. 

The thought almost flattens her. 

She breathes deep, rage and anger and jealousy brews like a tornado in her chest. She reaches for one of her Mom’s dumb decorative ornaments - a crystal duck - and tosses it as hard as she can to the floor. 

It shatters, leaving a mess of glass in its wake. 

Tara reaches for her phone again, determined to call once more. Her fingers quiver over your name. Remorse floods deep through her. 

You’re missing. You’re missing and she’s yelling at you. 

Tara swallows. She presses the phone to her ear once more and closes her eyes the moment she hears the beep of your dial tone. 

“Hi babygirl, it’s me again,” She says, voice softer, “I’m sorry for yelling, I’m just worried. Please call me back, sweetheart, I’m going out of my mind-” 

Tara freezes at the sound of a car on the driveway. 

She hears the sound of a laugh - Sam’s laugh and then yours. 

Her stomach flips. 

She races to the front door, trying to clean up the mess of her ire in her wake.

When you open the door, Tara is standing right in front of it. Her face is a little flushed, her eyes a little wild.  

“Hey baby.” You say, with a bright smile. You’re holding shopping bags in your hand. 

“Hey,” She says, voice a little high, “Where were you?”

“Girls day!” Sam says, jutting past the two of you, shopping bags in hand. 

Tara frowns. 

“I’m a girl, aren’t I?” She says, sounding a little aggrieved, “Why wasn’t I invited?” 

“Future sister-in-law day,” You say with a smile, pecking her cheek, “Sorry, babe, no future fiancés allowed.” 

Tara relaxes a little. She can’t help the smile that edges over her lips. 

“I got you something,” You tell her, bumping her hip with yours. You lower your voice so Sam can’t hear, “I’d give it to you now but I want you to wear it for me later.” 

Tara’s ears perk up. She peers into the bag you’re holding. 

And then Sam moves into the living room. 

“What happened in here?” Sam asks, looking crestfallen. 

Tara swallows as four sets of eyes find hers. 

“Um, nothing,” Tara says, voice hasty, “There was a racoon or something.” 

Sam’s eyes widen in horror. 

“Don’t worry, I got rid of it,” Tara says. 

Sam drops her bags and hurries off to no doubt clean up the mess the raccoon had caused.

“Do you mind if I borrow your phone?” Tara says, but it’s not a question. She reaches into your back pocket and tugs it out, “Thanks babe, I need to call Chad.”

“Something wrong with yours?” You question, voice wry as she fumbles your PIN into your phone. 

“Yeah,” Says Tara, eyebrows knit as she moves to clear your voicemail, “The raccoon- stole it.” 

“A raccoon stole your phone?” You question, eyebrows raised. 

Tara blinks up at you. 

“Peed on it,” She says, “Sorry. The raccoon peed on my phone.” 

She’s a terrible liar. But it’s fun to watch her try. You press your hand to her lower back and lean in to press a kiss to her forehead.

“You left a bunch of semi-threatening voicemails on my phone, didn’t you?” You question. 

Tara has the decency to look sheepish. 

“No.” She says, somewhat unconvincingly. 

You smile. Circle her back and press a kiss to her lips. 

“Sorry, baby,” You say, “I should have called.” 

“Mom’s duck!” Sam exclaims from the other room. 

Tara wedges her head into your neck. Her hands circle your waist, gripping tight. You press a tender kiss to the side of her head as Sam reenters. 

“I’m calling the exterminator,” Sam says, sounding stressed, “If a raccoon can cause all this damage while someone’s in the house, god knows what it can do if we’re all out.” 

She retreats back into the living room, hands in her hair. 

You sigh. Press a kiss to Tara’s lips and decide to save your girlfriend’s dignity. 

The school bell rings, loud and shrill, and everyone scatters towards the doors. Everyone but Y/N. She's partly frozen on the spot, not really sure where to go and her heart sinks when she looses sight of Chad and Amber.

She's nothing but nerves and the threat of tears, but she won't show it. Her jaw is tight, her back much too stiff for the likes a six year old, and her gaze is steady at nothing in particular. That is, until she feels a presence sidle up to her.

"Are you lost?" a gentle voice says and Y/N turns to follow it.

Y/N is small, but the girl she finds standing next to her is even smaller. She's all dark brown hair, bright brown eyes, and a denim skirt covered with what looks like iron on flower patches. Y/N might recognize her from a different kindergarten class, but doesn't know her name.

Y/N shakes her head turning her gaze away, but the girl next to her doesn't move.

"You look lost," the girl tries again.

"I'm not lost," Y/N says softly but firmly. There's a hint of a waver in her voice. She is lost though, completely. She's never been on this side of the school before and when her mom had told her there'd be a lot of bigger kids, she was not expecting this, not expecting to feel like she might get trampled or swallowed at any given second.

The girl takes a step in front of Y/N, but Y/N looks past her. "Okay," the girl says shrugging. She waits a moment before turning on her heels but only makes it about three steps.

"No, wait," Y/N calls out, closing the distance. She looks at the girl sheepishly. "I'm...lost," she says, quieter this time.

The girl smiles, eyes lighting up like she has been waiting to help Y/N. "Who is your teacher?" she asks.

"Um, Ms. Garcia, I think."

"Hey! Mine too!" The girl squeals, practically jumping on the spot. "Come on," she says, grabbing Y/N by the hand and leading her towards the doors.

Y/N follows, but pulls her hand out of the girl's. The girl stops, turns around, and half pouts.

"I don't bite," she says, re-extending her hand. Y/N eyes it apprehensively and eventually takes it when she hears the rush of kids coming from behind her.

"I'm Tara, by the way," the girl finally says when they're inside in the school. "You're Y/N right?"

"How did you know?" Y/N says, following Tara closely, eyes sizing up her surroundings.

"You know Chad and Amber. They're my friends too."

"Oh," Y/N nods. "Yeah, I'm Y/N." She smiles for the first time all morning.

They're in a maze of hallways, loud noises, and big people and it's actually Tara who tries to let go of Y/N's hand first, but Y/N clings tightly. Her heart isn't beating as quickly as it was a few minutes ago, and she doesn't feel like slipping through the fence in the schoolyard and running home to her mom and dog anymore.

If Tara minds Y/N's sweaty palm in hers, she doesn't do or say anything about it. In fact, it actually makes Tara squeeze harder. It's not until they're safely inside the classroom that they both reluctantly let go. They stay close though, never drifting more than a few feet apart.

Y/N doesn't understand it now, but years and years later, she'll pinpoint this moment as the very first time she fell for Tara Carpenter.

ii.

Y/N finds Tara outside on the trampoline; knees hugged tightly to her chest as she sits and watches the breeze ruffle the treetops in the backyard. The sun is low now, the sky a deep, smoky orange colour.

Somewhere in the Carpenter household, the adults are all cleaning up the aftermath of Tara's 12th birthday party. It had started wonderfully, all her friends present; now Tara is feeling foolish for letting it end with herself in tears.

"Hey," Y/N says gently as she climbs through the side netting of the trampoline, crawling next to Tara. Tara sniffles, wiping the tears from her eyes looking away.

"Hey," Y/N repeats, even more gently this time while draping an arm around her best friend's shoulder. "Wes is the dumbest person I've ever met. Don't let him ruin your birthday."

Tara is silent, willing the tears to stop. She knows that Y/N is right, knows that Wes loves to cause trouble and is all around a grade A jerk. Still, he's in her friend circle and she hates how he has always known how to get under her skin. Always saying the wrong things at the wrong times.

"But did you hear what he said, Y/N/N?" Tara finally manages through a sob, hurt laced into her words. "He said I'd never be as pretty as Liv and that should I just stop trying."

Y/N shakes her head, feeling the anger starting to bubble in her blood. She has never liked Wes Hicks, not from the first day they met in the third grade. Everything about him is stupid as she always likes tells Tara, especially his hair. Y/N had once tried to gift him with a comb at school, but it ended up back in her cubby with a note that read, "you could use it more." It has been war ever since.

"I can beat him up for you if you want," Y/N offers with a sudden sparkle in her eye and lilt to her voice.

Tara leans her head into Y/N's, trying to hide a smirk. She doesn't doubt Y/N in the slightest; Y/N would do anything for her, always loyal to her word.

"I just don't want to be his friend anymore," Tara says, heaving a sad, shaky sigh.

"So don't," Y/N says, holding out her free hand across her lap into Tara's. Tara takes it and holds onto it like she always does. "Wes isn't worth it," Y/N reassures, trying to mend her best friend's broken heart.

"He's a stupid boy with a stupid name and an even stupider haircut." She pauses, mulling over her words. "Liv is pretty, Tara, but you're prettier. The prettiest girl in school."

Tara scoffs almost immediately. Her tears are gone. "No I'm not. You must be crazy."

Y/N pulls her head away from Tara's in search of her gaze. When she finds it, she smiles shyly. "You are to me," she says.

There's a beat of silence and then Tara is back to usual grinning self. She wraps her hands around Y/N's neck and pulls her close, planting a firm, but wet kiss onto her cheek.

"Thanks, Y/N," she says, pulling away and tucking her head into the crook of Y/N's shoulder. "I love you."

Y/N lets the words fill and expand in her chest, and the warmth spread throughout her body. There's a slow burning sensation deep in her stomach and she's not all too sure what it means. What she does know is that she wouldn't mind staying like this for a little bit longer, nestled in as close to Tara as possible. She also knows she doesn't ever want to see Tara like this again: sad because of a boy; sad because of anything. All she ever wants to do is make Tara feel as safe as Tara made her feel on the first day they met.

"Love you too, Tara," Y/N breathes, ruffling brown flyaway hairs that tickle at her nose.

iii.

It's their senior year in high school and they're in Charleston, South Carolina for spring break. They forgo the big party cities despite Liv's pleas for them to join her, Chad, Wes, Amber, and Mindy, in Miami. Hearing Wes's name is more than enough for Y/N to immediately shun the idea, and Tara doesn't want to be anywhere that Y/N isn't.

Wes and Chad try to tag along, but Tara insists this is a girl's trip. Best friends only.

On their second day there, they meander through sunny colourful streets in tank tops and flip flops; large sunglasses and floppy hats. Often they're hand in hand with silly grins plastered on their faces. It's nice to spend time alone together like this and if Y/N is being honest, it always becomes harder and harder for her to spend any time away from Tara.

After what seems like hours of walking, hunger catches up with them and they stumble into a small and quite café nestled between an antique store and bookstore, which backs onto the water. Y/N leads them out onto the patio to a table as far away as possible from anyone. There isn't much shade out here, the sun relentless on their skin, which will later turn pink and sore. A waitress promptly brings them water and menus.

"I'm really glad we came here," Tara smiles. She means Charleston of course, not the café. Y/N flashes a smile back, reaching for her water.

"Me too," she says, and then crinkles her nose. "I'll bet Chad and Mindy are throwing up in a hotel bathroom somewhere."

"Gross," Tara laughs, pulling off her hat and hanging it onto the side of her chair. She leans back and unabashedly regards Y/N for a moment. Y/N's eyes twinkle brightly like emeralds in the sunlight, and her lips are full and probably taste like the chapstick they've been sharing.

"What?" Y/N wrinkles her brow, feeling her cheeks slowly tickle pink. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing," Tara says, opening up the menu trying to dismiss the conversation.

"Tara," she presses again and Tara closes the menu.

"Do you remember after my 12th birthday—"

"You mean the night my hatred for Wes came to life?"

Tara purses her lips into a straight line, trying to suppress a grin. "Yes, that night. You said you thought I was prettiest girl in school. Did you really mean that or was that just something a best friend is supposed to tell their best friend?"

Y/N swallows hard and she's certain of the blush that's creeping up her neck. She's also aware that Tara is aware.

"Of course I meant it. Why—"

"We're in high school now. What about now?"

Y/N blinks and her gaze is calculated. She doesn't understand where this is coming from and takes a moment to measure Tara's words before answering.

"The statement still stands, Tara. It always has and it always will."

There's a rigidness in Tara's shoulder that dissipates when she hears the words. As if for some reason she needed to be reassured of this, as if Y/N doesn't already look at her with a look that's only reserved for her.

As if they don't look at each other like they are the damn universe.

Y/N makes no mention of her observation at first, letting Tara's gaze flicker back to the menu. She does however make quick of the moment, letting her own eyes settle onto Tara. Tara is beautiful all the time, but right now, hair sloppily thrown into a bun and sunglasses resting atop her head, face bright and carefree, she looks a different kind of stunning and it leaves Y/N breathless.

The light catches the tiny scar under Tara's eye, the one she had gotten when they had both fallen out of a tree when they were about nine years old. No stitches required, but Y/N remembers the moment well—Tara nearly passing out from the sight on her own blood.

Y/N reaches her arm across the table and softly touches the side of Tara's face. It takes her by surprise at first, but then Tara is closing her eyes leaning into the warmth of her palm and Y/N is running her thumb across the scar.

"That wouldn't be there if you hadn't kicked me," Tara teases quietly.

"I didn't kick you, my foot slipped and you just happened to be in the way. It's not my fault you have the slowest reflexes ever."

Tara narrows her eyes, but her smirk makes it less than menacing. Before Y/N can retreat her hand, Tara reaches up to keep it in place. She places a quick and tender kiss in the centre of her palm and then lets Y/N have her hand back.

"I never told you," Tara starts, "but I always thought you were the prettiest girl in school."

Y/N is beet red for sure now. She can feel the sting high in her cheeks all the way up to her ears. There's a familiar buzz circuiting through her entire existence and an even more familiar rolling tug in the pit of her stomach. The only difference between now and the first time, is that now she can place an emotion to it, can identify it for what it is.

She's falling for her best friend and it's eating her up.

iv.

They are both a little drunk when it happens.

Too many miles have separated them for too many weeks and Y/N never fully understands the phrase "absence makes the heart grow fonder" until they both go to different colleges.

Now they're practically cuddling in Tara's dorm room at Blackmore University and laughing and catching up while they share a bottle of luke warm white wine. ("I'm on a starving student budget," Tara says, "we're drinking straight outta the bottle.")

They've always been overly affectionate growing up—their friends not so subtly taking bets on when they'd finally get together—but tonight, whatever line that does separate their friendship from anything beyond that starts to become a little blurry.

It starts when Tara falls to her bed and pulls Y/N onto her lap. It's innocent enough, nothing out of the ordinary, much like old times when they'd watch TV or movies together at each other's houses. Tonight, however, Y/N's sits perpendicular on Tara, her legs dangling off of her to the side. Her arms are wrapped tightly around Tara's shoulders for support while Tara's arms are securely around Y/N's waist. Tara rests her head into Y/N's chest and Y/N prays that she doesn't hear the way her heartbeat quickens.

"I missed you a lot, Y/N," Tara mumbles into the well worn material of Y/N's shirt.

"I missed you more," Y/N says, placing a soft kiss into Tara's temple. She likes to humour herself in thinking that there's a permanent dent there from all the times her lips have made their mark. "This is so much better than FaceTiming and texting."

"Tell me about it." Tara shifts, positioning Y/N more comfortably on top of her. Her hand slips though, and winds up flush against the warm skin just above Y/N's hip. The goosebumps read like braille.

"I'm squishing you," Y/N fidgets, quick to remove the attention from herself, and it's comical because even if she's some five inches taller than Tara, she's always been just a hair thinner and lighter. "I'll move," she offers.

Tara's grip only tightens. "No, stay," she rushes, then more slowly: "I mean, it's fine, I'm totally comfortable."

Y/N gets up anyways, her fingertips trailing the width between Tara's shoulder blades as she does. She doesn't actually want to get up, but she knows that the longer she's like this with Tara—so intimate—the more she'll start to lose her resolve and the last thing she wants to do is something stupid.

You know, like, kiss Tara.

Instead, she retrieves the half bottle of wine from the desk and hands it to Tara; another stupid idea in it's own right.

"Drink up, buttercup," Y/N urges, a coy smile playing at her lips. Tara's eyes don't leave Y/N's until her mouth is pressed to the bottle and her head is tilting back. And Y/N's eyes are definitely not the painting the length of her neck.

After a long swig, Tara hands the bottle back.

"You know the rules. Wine must have wine."

They never actually finish the bottle. They don't need to. They're both teetering the line between tipsy and drunk (Tara more so on the drunk side than Y/N) and for whatever reason unbeknownst to either of them, especially Y/N, they want to keep their wits about them.

Maybe it's because they both know that for the past year or so, something has changed. Like a switch has been flipped.

Sure, they've been best friends for as long as they can remember, but there's always been an undercurrent of something deeper than friendship that runs between them. Something they've both been too scared to explore. (Maybe it's for the best.)

Now it feels like an opportunity is presenting itself. For Y/N, it's an opportunity that could make or break them.

The next time they check the time, it's well after two in the morning. The alcohol is slow to leave their system; their senses dulled, their guards are down. Not that they ever really have one up around each other anyways.

Tara is already in bed (not) watching Y/N change into one of her oversized t-shirts. Y/N is overtly aware, though, her ears burning. Tara has never been one for subtleties and is caught in the act when Y/N unbuttons her jeans and slides them off.

"You looking for a show, Carpenter?" Y/N winks.

Tara has always been good at the recovery though.

"Maybe. Why? You wanna give me one?"

Y/N rolls her eyes and simply toes off her sock and kicks it at Tara's face, who swats it away. "Shut up," she laughs and climbs into the bed next to her.

It's small, the bed, and they are suddenly both overcome with nostalgia.

"Remember when my dad bought me that bunk bed so we could have sleepovers?" Tara sighs fondly, rolling onto her side. She slings an arm and a leg across Y/N and nestles so closely that her breath tickles at Y/N's neck.

"Mhm," Y/N hums, heart singing at the memory.

"And remember all the times we'd end up in each other's bunks?"

"Doesn't feel any different right now."

"You're right."

There's a silence filling room, a growing sort of static electricity. Y/N reaches out to turn off the light and then makes herself comfortable, relishing in Tara's body heat. She smells good too, like the same shampoo she's used since she was a teenager.

Maybe it's the alcohol, but Tara can't seem to keep her hands still. They're tracing up and down the side of Y/N's ribcage and as a result, Y/N's shirt has bunched up, her underwear partly exposed beneath the covers.

"Sorry," Tara whispers, her hand coming to a halt. She doesn't move it though, instead, it lays splayed on Y/N's hipbone, feeling the thin layer at her fingertips.

Y/N doesn't say anything. She blinks into the darkness not really sure of what to even say. She's been in the position a million times with Tara, but never like this. It's new and exciting and yet she knows she should probably turn the other way and go to sleep. But her heart is beating a little faster, her body temperature is rising, and she wonders if it's possible that Tara can hear the blood whizzing through her veins. She shifts, and instead allows herself to bear more of Tara's weight.

"Night, Y/N/N," Tara manages. And maybe it's because it's too dark and her head is in sorts, but she's quick to realize that the goodnight kiss she means to place on Y/N's cheek actually ends up on her neck.

It's so unexpected that Y/N can't help the small gasp of air that escapes her and then she's covered in goosebumps again.

Tara stills once more, her mind working overtime, but Y/N's lack of resistance cloaks her in a blanket of braveness so she kisses her again.

This time longer; this time more purposely.

Y/N lets out something more akin to a moan this time, her breathing suddenly more shallow and rapid. "Tara..." she tries, but before she can get much else out, Tara has shifted and is hovering above her; nose to nose, forehead to forehead.

"Y/N," Tara breathes so quietly, eyes closed, onto Y/N's lips that Y/N can taste it more so than she can hear it. It sends a rocket of a shiver down her spine and then her hands are gripping Tara's waist, hungry, holding her in place. "Y/N," Tara breathes again, rocking forward slightly. This time their lips actually brush. "Tell me I shouldn't do this."

Y/N screams it loudly in her head, but can't fathom it into words or actions. This isn't how she wanted this to happen; not while they're drunk and desperately missing each other, but alas she just can't find the willpower to stop it and thus her silence is answer enough to prompt Tara close what little space is between them.

Y/N's lips are much softer than they look and they taste sweet like the wine; and Tara does this thing with her tongue that if Y/N were standing, her knees might have given out. Nothing is frantic though. In fact, it's all very slow and tender because this isn't a random make out session with a stranger. It's two best friends kissing each other for the first time, one of which may have loved the other for the better part of a decade.

It's Y/N asking Tara if she's okay even though it's Tara who initiates the kiss.

It's Tara meticulously peppering Y/N's face with kisses, light like raindrops.

It's Y/N's hands nervously creeping their way underneath Tara's shirt, mapping the bumps and ridges as she goes.

Mostly it's Y/N being cautious, fully aware of the ramifications that tomorrow may bring.

But for now, Y/N will put up a mental block. It's years and years of pent up heart aching desire and love that Y/N is going to drown herself in because right now she can't separate her head from her heart.

v.

They don't see each other until the Thanksgiving break. When they do, it only happens once.

It is far too quick and unfulfilling. Y/N drops by the Carpenter residence the night before Thanksgiving Day to have dinner. Tara's parents and Sam welcome her with open arms as they have been since Y/N was six years old and this is the only place Y/N feels more at home than in her actual home.

They laugh and reminisce over spaghetti and meatballs like nothing has ever changed, but Y/N can feel it, can feel the distance that has wedged itself between her and Tara, though Tara's parents are seemingly oblivious, as well as Sam.

She doesn't regret sleeping with Tara, she regrets the way it happened: alcohol induced after desperately missing each other for too long. Y/N knew that Tara would not see it for what it was the next morning, solely blaming it on the alcohol and poor choices. Y/N also knows that if Tara could look past the alcohol, she could see that maybe, just maybe what happened had been a long time coming—inevitable.

Instead, now they walk on eggshells and Y/N is starting to lose the person she loves the most.

—

By the time Christmas rolls around, they talk so infrequently—sparse texts, not a single phone call—that Y/N begins to wonder if they are even still friends. It's not for lack of trying on Y/N's end, Tara just doesn't seem ready to face the reality.

It's tragic and earth shattering, the thought of losing Tara completely, and Y/N would rather die than entertain the idea.

It's after midnight and the ground is powdery and white when Y/N peers out of her bedroom window. Everything behind her is dark, lit only by the moonlight that reflects off the white glow of snow. She stares outside for so long, completely mesmerized by the giant snowflakes that drift from the sky that it's not until her phone buzzing on her side table startles her back into reality.

Her heart practically stops when she sees Tara's face light up on the screen and she has to will herself to pick it up.

"Tara?" Y/N answers in a hushed tone almost too urgently. She can really only hear her pulse thumping in her head.

"Hey you," Tara says softly, her voice raw and Y/N can't tell if she's half asleep or has just been crying.

"What's wrong? Is everything okay?" It's the first time they've spoken in way too long that Y/N doesn't know how to react other than alarmed and worried.

"I—I miss the sound of your voice," Tara says earnestly and Y/N's heart grows heavy in her chest. It aches all the way to her toes and she wonders how a voice could break her so easily.

"I'm right here," Y/N assures, sitting on the edge of her bed. She buries her head into her free hand and rubs at her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Tara squeaks, her voice wavering. There are rocks settling in Y/N's stomach.

"For what?"

There's silence and Y/N thinks the call is dropped.

"For how we got to this point. I'm—"

"Tara," Y/N interrupts. She not sure she wants to hear whatever else Tara has to say. "Don't. Please."

There's silence again and the sound of sniffling in the background of the phone breaks Y/N heart all over again.

"Can you meet me outside your house in fifteen minutes?" Tara finally says.

"But it's snowi—yes. I'll be there."

—

Y/N is sitting on her porch bundled in her jacket, hat, and scarf when Tara finally appears at the edge of the driveway, dressed in similar fashion. She springs to her feet trudges through the snow to meet her halfway, but before any words can be exchanged, both girls are hugging each other tightly unwilling to let go. Y/N lets a tear roll down her cheek but quickly wipes it away before Tara notices.

When they pull apart, Tara's eyes are red and raw. She has definitely been crying and all Y/N wants is to go back to simpler times, to when they were ten years old and hiding from the boys in the cardboard fort they had built in Mindy and Chad's backyard, water guns as their only defense.

"Whatever is going on, you can tell me," Y/N comforts, even if she feels like she has nothing much to give. "You can tell me anything, okay? I love you."

The words almost feel like poison on her tongue because Tara will never know just how deeply she means them. Of course they love each other, but Y/N loves Tara. Unforgivingly so.

They end up walking aimlessly in silence for a few blocks, all the while Tara's gloved hand is intertwined tightly with Y/N's bare hand. It might feel like everything is back to normal again if they can stay like this long enough. When they eventually wind up at Tara's house, Tara doesn't lead them inside. Instead, she takes them through the side gate into the backyard and onto the trampoline.

Y/N's heart swells at the sight. It was never just a trampoline; it was their safe space growing up. Rarely was it ever used for bouncing and both girls have lost count of the number of times they've fallen asleep on the canvas under the stars after hours and hours of endless talking, zipped into the security of the surrounding safety netting, only to have woken up the next morning covered in blankets from the living room.

Tara unzips the flap and ushers Y/N in first. She brushes away a small area of snow so they can sit then reaches out to help Tara in, who then re-zips the flap shut behind her. There's history within these walls—secrets, tears, laughter, anger—that not even a textbook could rewrite.

They settle in side by side, keeping each other warm. When Tara finds Y/N's gaze, any unfamiliar outsider might mistake it for disinterest, but only Tara knows she's been hurt and there's nothing more devastating than knowing that ultimately, it's because of her. Her stubbornness, her fear.

"How did this happen?" Tara seemingly blurts out, like she's been holding in too many words for too long. Her body language is unnatural. "How did we get here?"

It's rhetoric more than anything else.

Y/N lets out a light and airy laugh that puffs white and wispy through her parted lips. Two months ago she would have never predicted being in this situation.

"I can think of at least one reason."

Tara turns her head, slight disapproval at first; then Y/N meets her gaze and lifts a knowing eyebrow. They both laugh together for the first time in what feels like forever. It's not a huge weight lifted, but it's something, a start. (Or an end. Y/N violently bemoans the idea in her head.) At this point, the least of Y/N's worries is that her love for Tara goes unrequited. She just wants her best friend back.

"So do you regret it?" Y/N asks. The air is heavy again, thick with unanswered questions. Tara confidently shakes her head.

"No. Not at all. I regret what happened after. How I acted, how I pushed you away. I was just so scared."

"I wish you would have talked to me," Y/N sighs. She angles herself so she can look at Tara more directly. It's been so long since she has really looked at her best friend that the pang of affection that follows is overwhelming. "You never have to be scared when it comes to me, okay? Tara, I lo—"

Y/N stops herself. She knows that in this context, I love you is just a simple gesture of their friendship, even if it's being held together by threads right now. The thing is, she can no longer say it without meaning it on a whole other level, a level that Tara can't reciprocate.

She's willing herself to say something when Tara cuts her off.

"That's just it," she tells her, "you love me, and I love—" Tara pauses, searching for eloquence in her words. She shifts, propping herself up onto her knees so she can regard more steadily at Y/N.

"Remember when we were in Charleston for spring break?" she tries again.

Y/N's face contorts in confusion, but she's listening and nods.

"And I asked you that stupid question if you still thought I was the prettiest girl in school and you said yes and then I said you were also the prettiest girl in school?"

Y/N nods again, swallowing. Of course she remembers. She remembers everything.

"I asked you because I had all these confused feelings about you, for you. I knew I was attracted to you, but I didn't know how far that attraction went. I had so many questions for you, I wanted to tell you so many things. Eventually I just repressed all of it."

Y/N blinks, letting the weight of the words register. It's a revelation, really, and Y/N is struggling to find the right words to fill the silence. If only she had known; if only she had the courage to speak up. Maybe this wouldn't be happening, maybe this, maybe that. She can't fault either of them for this being the current situation; no one is to bear the burden of simply feeling.

She can, however, find a way through it.

"What about now?" Y/N asks, pulling Tara back into a sitting position. She leaves her hand wrapped around Tara's wrist, letting her know it's okay, that she's safe not only within the walls of the trampoline, but within her.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you still have questions? Do you still have things you want to tell me?"

Y/N can see the gears turning in Tara's head. She knows there's so much in there that wants to come out so she waits patiently until Tara is ready.

Then finally:

"Y/N, you are my best friend and I literally can't remember anything before that. You're the only person I've ever felt completely safe and like myself around. You are my better half, and you are everything to me." Tara pauses, catching her breath. She takes a second to study Y/N, to see if she should stop, but Y/N is wide eyed and all ears. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that is it so unheard of to fall in love with your best friend? Is it so unheard of that two people who have shared their entire lives together would have this, sort of, visceral connection?”

By now, Y/N's heart is beating somewhere in her throat. There's a welcomed hum buzzing under the skin, but still, she is cautious. It is not often she is guarded around Tara, but she is not looking to have her heart crushed anymore than it has been.

"For how long, Tara?" Y/N asks hesitantly.

Tara shrugs. "I loved you in the first grade when you were lost in the schoolyard and refused my help."

Y/N laughs. "Shut up." She swats at Tara's arm and Tara flashes a genuine smile for the first time all night.

"I loved you when you pushed Chad down a slide for kissing me on the playground. I loved you all those times you offered to beat Wes up for me. I loved you when I went on my first date with Chad and you went on yours with Amber. I even loved you when you kicked me out of a tree."

There's a break in the sky and the snow stops falling. The moon shines through brightly, haloing Tara in silver light. Her eyes are wet and she looks more scared than she ever has.

"I told you," Y/N hushes, heart slowly filling with warmth. "I didn't kick you. You got in the way of my foot."

"That's hearsay."

"Whatever," Y/N rolls her eyes, but it's only laced with affection. She pulls Tara closer by the front of her coat so she can wipe the tears that have fallen. Her hand is cold against her face and Tara shivers.

"Sorry," Y/N whispers, placing a feather light kiss on her cheek. Tara closes her eyes and leans forward into it.

"No," she says pulling away, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I shut you out. I'm sorry I ran away from what I was scared of. I'm sorry I hurt you."

Y/N's guard is low though there is still much to be processed and talked about. But for now, she will take this moment for whatever it may be, letting herself ruminate in the gravity of it all.

"Come on," Tara says, a hitch in her breath, "say something. I know I don't deserve much an explanation, but I need to know I'm not gonna have frostbite in the morning for nothing."

"I mean, what is there to say?" Y/N says, bearing everything she has into Tara's soul with her eyes.

"I've loved you before I even knew what love was. It's as simple as that."

"And now?

"The statement still stands, Tara. It always has and it always will."

The words are familiar and they etch themselves into the walls of the snow-covered canvas, into both of their hearts. This is where the free fall begins to slow. The parachute deploys as Tara leans in close, pulling the scarf away from Y/N's face.

She whispers, "I love you," low and slow onto Y/N's lips before she kisses her soundly, no holds barred, no more questions in the air. If Y/N is teeth chattering cold, she isn't anymore. She let's herself melt into Tara, pulling her onto her lap. They kiss until their ears and toes are numb and there's nowhere left to go but inside to get warm.

And this is where Y/N's feet finally touch the ground.

The free fall is over.