#dayfoxx

Routine became your staple once again. Class, lunch out (alone and then not), class, work, homework, sleep. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Then weekends: volunteer, lunch (alone and then not), work, homework, sleep. Repeat, repeat. It felt good to have something else to focus on; instead of fixating on your beautiful, blonde problem, you forced yourself into focusing on yourself. It felt good. 

There was the issue of the project, but a helpful listening ear had helped you sort that situation out.

-x-

"Hi." You startle from your spot on the porch in the hammock that Fiona had gotten for you. The doctor had said something about needing more sunlight or something, that you needed to get out of your room, and so your mother bought you a fucking hammock. You wouldn't admit to loving being able to lie out in the New Orleans' sun, reading and drinking tea, but as you turned away when she had shown you her newest purchase, you couldn't help the barely there smile that graced your lips. Sure, Fiona still drank, still yelled, but it was all... less than before. And you couldn't think of the last time you had smiled at your mother, and you realize that she probably couldn't either because she had caught the small, pleased look on your face and had matched it with her own. And things were better. Not great, not good, but better.

"Hi?" you glance over the railing, trying to find the source of the voice you just heard. 

"I'm down here." sitting up, you see a small, brunette girl. Her bangs brush into her eyes and she smiles brightly up at you. The stiff white collars and cuffs of her dress contrast sharply with the fitted black design. She looks kind and thoughtful and innocent. 

"Oh, hello. Who --"

"I'm Nan. We just moved in next door." she points to the sunny yellow house beside the sprawling white of your mother's estate. "I... this is going to sound weird, but I kind of sensed you? I thought maybe you could use some company."

"I... could, actually." It'd been two weeks since you went to your first appointment, two weeks since you stopped talking to the only friend you really had, two weeks and you could really feel the onset of your loneliness again. "Won't you come up and sit with me?"

Nan ascends the stairs with a kind of grace you didn't expect but aren't really surprised by either. 

"I'm Cordelia, by the way." 

"Hello, Cordelia." she smiles again before frowning in thought. "So. Uh."

"So?"

"So, what's the matter?"

"Pardon?" 

"Would you believe me if I said that sometimes I have kinda like a sixth sense?"

"I don't really know, I mean. I don't know you."

"But something is wrong. I'm right, aren't I?"

"Isn't something always wrong?"

"Only when it gets to you. You have an air of sadness about you, Cordelia. Maybe I can help." you sigh, trying to resist rolling your eyes. You can tell she has the best of intentions at heart, but you're tired of being a burden that people need to help with. "You know, you're not a burden just because you need to lean on someone sometimes." 

Your eyes widen with the lift of your brow; you almost feel like your mother.

"How did you...?" Nan laughs and shrugs, shifting in her seat beside you.

"So, can I help?"

"Why do you even want to?"

"I don't know, it's not like I seek out specific people. Something about your energy speaks to me. Plus, I'm new and I'm home-schooled. I don't have a lot of friends, and you seem like you need one. Or, you don't have to say anything at all, and we can just sit here. You can tell me about the book you're reading, and then I'll go home and tell my mom about the girl next door who has heaviness in her heart but a lock to her lips and has good taste in literature."

-x-

Somehow, you ended up telling Nan everything that had happened over the course of the last few weeks. Even the kiss, which you were afraid she might judge you over. And she had sat patiently and then organized an emailing system for you to use with Misty. And in the following two weeks, the two of you got to know one another really well.

It was, thus, kind of a lie that you hadn't talked to Misty. You hadn't, in person. In emails, she'd write her part of the paper and you'd write yours. She'd add in little comments about what was happening in her life and asked you about yours. Of course, you ignored the side notes completely, and the two of you finished the paper with little effort and gotten a high mark and everything. Emails on your end stopped, even though they didn't on hers. They still didn't, but you don't check that email anymore.

Cutting your ties seemed like the best option. 

You try your best to ignore the fact that she might be hurting, too.

  Nan is helping you carry your final art project into the school after your lunch together when for the first time in years, someone besides Misty or a teacher comes up to you.

"Cordelia! Cordelia, wait up!" the voice surprises you, but it isn't unfamiliar. Dark swathes of hair come into view and you spy Hank Foxx striding confidently over to meet you. Hank, who had been your childhood friend until he had finally struck puberty and gained body mass and became a popular athlete and had abandoned you entirely. 

"What is it, Hank?" your sharp tone doesn't deter him in the slightest, which in turn irks you completely. Nan raises a questioning brow, but you shake your head. 

"So, you know how I was dating Kaylee right?" he doesn't pause to let you comment that you did not, in fact, know that. "Well, we kinda broke up, and prom is coming up, and I wondered if maybe you'd want to go with me?"

You stare at him briefly dumbfounded before words find their way to your lips.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Hank? Why the hell would I want to go to prom with you of all people?"

"Hey! I mean, I am one of the best athletes in the school, first of all. And I don't mean like that anyways, I mean. Like, as friends, or something."

"We are not friends."

"C'mon, Goode! We used to be!"

"Emphasis on the 'used to' part!"

"Look, Cordelia, I already paid so much fucking money for this ticket. Everyone else already has a date or they aren't nearly pretty enough for anyone to want to go with them. You may be a quiet nerd, but you're a hot, quiet nerd."

"Wow. I am charmed. What a way to ask a girl to prom. How about, don't count on it."

"Cordelia." Nan interjects, ignoring Hank's bewildered look upon realizing that you are not alone. She whispers the next part in your ear. "I know you're not friends with this guy, but it's prom, right? Like, won't you regret it, or something, ten years from now that you didn't have this capstone high school bullshit to look back upon? He's paying for the ticket, you can just go and say you went. And then we can sneak into the botanical gardens and drink and talk, like we always do. And you can tell me about all the embarrassing shit that happened and it'll be fun. You should, Cordelia." You scrunch your nose at the shorter girl and she waggles her eyebrows at you. 

Briefly, your mind flits to wondering about whom Misty will be going with. Bitterness seeps under your skin before you reign your thoughts back in, shaking her from your thoughts. 

"You can drink, like you always do, I'll sit and have tea like an old lady with my meds." you whisper back, smirking just a little. Nan laughs out loud at that.

What will her dress look like? I bet her date is cute. Really cute. I bet he's really cute. Goddammit, Cordelia, stop.

"Hey!" you both turn to Hank who is even more confused than before. "What are you talking about?"

"I-I'll... go. With you. To prom. I guess." 

"You will?" despite his persistence, Hank is still surprised which makes you grin wryly at him. 

"Yeah. Pick me up at mine and call, okay? You remember the address?"

"How could I forget the Goode estate? Will Fiona be bellowing from the front porch?" You smack him a little rougher than is playful on the chest.

"Don't talk about my mother like that. Only I can do that." 

"Text me with what colour you're wearing." Hank pulls on the phone that's sticking out of your pocket and you yelp in surprise. 

"Don't do that!" He laughs, plugging his number into your phone. 

"Don't forget to text as soon as possible. I need to get you a corsage. We need to look good together." Rolling your eyes, you snatch your phone back and slide it into the back pocket of your jean shorts. You and Nan start moving through the doorway and he moves to hold it for you. 

"Why, is Kaylee gonna be there?" At the hurt look in his eyes, you stop. 

"Yeah. With the guy she cheated on me with. So."

"Oh, shit. Hank, I'm sorry." he shrugs with false nonchalance and guilt pangs in your chest. "I'm sorry. I'll see you next week?"

"Yeah. See ya, Goode." 

"Dammit. This is why I don't have any friends!!" Nan's laughter rings against your ears. "I'm a jerk."

"No, you're not. Consider it payback for that shitty prom proposal. Besides, he still wants to go to prom with you. You're going to prom, Cordelia!" 

A small smile forms at the corners of your mouth. Prom. What a weird idea. You truly never thought you were going to be at your high school prom. Panic floods through your system and you hate yourself a little bit for being such a stereotypical teenaged girl about all of this.

"Fuck, Nan! Prom is in a week and I don't even know what I'm going to wear!"

"I'll tell you what you're going to wear, Cordelia Goode. You're going to wear a dress that's going to blow everyone's mind. Including maybe a certain pretty girl that you haven't spoken about for weeks?"

"How do you always do that?"

"Sixth sense, remember? We're going to find you a dress that will have Misty Day falling all over you." 

The idea makes you blush, but you shake your head in disagreement. 

"She'll have a date, Nan. A boy-date." 

When you attempt to open your eyes, they are bleary and the light is far too bright. You haven't a clue as to what time it is or even what day it is. The last thing you remember feeling is the slickness of a box of pills sliding down your throat. Before that, you remember your argument with Misty and anger fills your blood again, but you're too tired for it to fully manifest. A part of your brain reminds you that your immediate thought when you abandoned the idea of school for the day was the fact that Fiona hadn't been home in a few days, so you figured you could pick up some pills from the drugstore and let yourself wallow in a fucked up, blitzed out haze. Yes, a box of Robitussin seemed like a great idea then and you hate yourself for it, with the heavy headache raging through your skull. 

A sour smell permeates through your groggy head and you cringe. Vomit. That's what that is. You vaguely remember vomiting into the waste bin in your room, but... the feeling, the feeling of vomiting which you absolutely loathe... you can't remember it. Your brain screams out the taste of expensive whiskey and bile, but your tongue just doesn't know. 

When you finally open your eyes fully, you see gauze and bandages swathed all over your arms and suddenly you are very very awake. Because you never bandage your cuts and you are fucking wrapped up like you went to the ER or something. Did you go to the ER? No. No you haven't left the house, so what the fuck?

Shifting in your bed, you turn to the other side, only to see Fiona staring out the window, expressionless.

Oh, fuck. Oh, fucking absolutely not, fuck. No. Nope. Just... really? Of all things? Fuck.

Then it all comes back to you, like being hit by a freaking truck. 

-x-

Fiona walks into the house to find you sprawled on the living room floor, completely out of your head. There's a bit of residue on your shirt collar from when you got sick on yourself but you can't even be bothered, not right now. Screaming, so much screaming, but you can't make any of it out in the haze of your brain. You offer your precious mother a dopey smile to match her outrage. She slaps you across the face, the sting almost completely mellowed out. You laugh. You laugh. Fiona is grabbing your shoulders, shaking you violently. To your, what, surprise? No, you don't feel anything. But look at that. There's fear in her eyes, fear mixed in with all that anger. Suddenly she's grasping at your arms and you see bruising red lines criss-crossing your arms, still tender, but nothing registers, no pain. No pain. You love this feeling. You could live for this beautiful, stupid apathy. You had abstained from drinking for so long in protest against your mother, but god! had you made a stupid choice because this is excellent. No wonder Fiona drinks so much! Fuck everything else! The drinks, the drugs, this is all you've been seeking for the last several years in your life. You should've known better and taken a lesson from your deranged mother eons ago.

You come briefly to again, realizing that Fiona has been talking to you, and there are fucking tears in her eyes, astounding. She is holding your hands and repeating the words, "Why, why, why, Delia? Why would you do this. Cordelia. Fuck! You stupid stupid girl. What the fuck were you thinking? What are you on? Tell me. Can you fucking answer me when I ask you questions, Cordelia?" You laugh again and you can tell she wants to hit you again. You don't care. Who fucking cares.

-x-

"You're awake."

"Yes. Hello, mother." Silence. Fiona doesn't look at you, doesn't even remotely turn your way and you feel absolutely sick to your stomach. The smell lingering in the room isn't helping by any means. 

"How long."

"How long what?"

"Pill popping, drinking, cutting? How fucking long, Cordelia. What are you trying to do, hm? One-up your mother?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake. You would absolutely make this about you, wouldn't you? Did you ever once consider that perhaps this has nothing to do with you?"

"Oh, really? Nothing to do with me. What else have you got, Delia. Who else do you have." Laughter comes like a bark from your lips. 

"Please. I don't have anyone. Especially not you." 

Fiona turns with angry fire in her eyes, the green-hazel colour lighting up like leaves turning in fall. 

"How dare you."

You have nothing to say to her, so you merely scoff and attempt to roll your eyes. You feel dehydrated like a shriveled flower. She looks away from you again and the room falls silent. No words are spoken for a long time, or what feels like a long time. It could be five minutes, it could be thirty. When Fiona speaks again, she sounds distant. 

"I'm taking you to a psychiatrist." Laughter, again, surprised. 

"You really don't have to do that."

"I think I do, Cordelia. I-I... don't know how I didn't see it before. But something isn't right with you. Depression, or something. And we're going to do something about it. I will not have my only daughter be some mentally-ill freak."

"Oh, fuck you! Why don't you see a fucking psychiatrist? Which of us is really crazy, huh? You have no idea. No fucking idea what I go through. You are drunk, every fucking day, constantly. And you know what? I get it, mother. I really get it now. Nothing feels better than feeling nothing, right? Numb the pain right out of you until you don't know who you are anymore. Truth is, dear mother, I want to be more like you. Because fuck whatever I was doing before this. Mother knows best in some regards after all, hm? I'm not going to a fucking psychiatrist."

"YES. YOU. ARE. You are seventeen and you are still under my care, goddammit! I am taking you and we are stopping this right now. I don't want to hear another word from you unless it's, 'When's my appointment?' Got it?"

"Fuck you."

"Tomorrow, little Delia. It's tomorrow, at three." And with that, your mother leaves the room, heels sinking into the carpet. 

Yes, you keep thinking about her hand twisted in your hair, her body so, so close to yours. The feel of Misty's hipbones beneath your fingertips, you might have accidentally left bruises you were holding on to her so tightly. Your mind conjures that intoxicating scent of spice and sweetness that overwhelms you every time she's near you. You literally can't think of anything else but her and her bright eyes and her soft lips and these thoughts ring in your head along with your alarm as the sun rises and winks through the curtains.

A soft sigh leaves your lips as you push yourself up and off the bed, staring forlornly at your phone's screen and its lack of notifications. You're not sure what to make of Misty's silence, and so you leave the phone on the bed and start grabbing clothes out of your closet. When you finish changing, you hear the cell chime and dart over to the device, fumbling with it in your shaking hands. 

All her text reads is 'good morning'. No capitalization, no punctuation. You don't really have enough friends to understand what this means, so you try for casual; you'll let her decide whatever path you two end up going down. 

'Good morning. How are you?'

'I'm fine... hey, can we talk today?'

'Yes, of course. I'm sorry, by the way, for yelling at you yesterday... I didn't mean it.'

'What did you think was gonna come from it? Did you think I was just gonna walk away, abandon you?'

'... can we talk about this in person?'

'Yea, of course we can. Lunch?'

'See you then. Meet at my car.'

'You got it.'

Lunch can't come soon enough.

-x-

Misty is already there when you head towards your car after your class ends. She's leaning lightly against the door, not paying attention, and you watch her, just for a moment, from a distance. The wind tousles her curls and the fringe on her shawl and she is breathtaking. As you move closer, she catches the movement and the way her eyes light up makes your heart stutter. Unexpectedly, she pulls on your shoulders and draws you into a tight embrace without saying a word. You instinctually tuck yourself against her, nose pressed lightly to the smooth skin of her neck. Misty inhales deeply and doesn't let you go, her fingers tracing painfully slowly down and then back up your spine. 

When she finally releases you, you blurt out the words, "I was afraid you would realize I'm really not worth your time. I meant that yesterday. And, yeah... I thought you would end up ditching me, when you caught on to the fact. I mean, why would you stick around, really?" By the time you finish rambling, you're looking down at your Mary Janes, too embarrassed to meet her eye. This time, when her fingers come to rest beneath your chin, she doesn't move them away, but instead cups the side of your face with her palm. It takes everything in you to not nuzzle against her open hand. 

"Delia, I promise I won't ever, ever abandon you. I will always be your friend, as long as you want me with you. You've become real important to me, I hope you know that. I think y'do." Her words make you smile, and you move your hand up to rest against hers. The corners of her lips turn up as well before they suddenly fall and a furrow appears at the edges of her brows. "I did want to talk to you, though, about, y'know. The other thing." The trepidation in Misty's voice makes you drop your hand from hers. She can't even say the words... 

"What is it?" the words sound tight and strained coming from your mouth, and you realize it's because you're holding your breath. The feeling of dread hits you before she starts talking again and you feel nauseated. You shake off her hand as she begins to speak again.

"I-I don't know... I don't know what came over me. I just care about you so much, y'know? But the, kiss, it was an accident. I, we were both so riled up, right? I hope you'll forgive me. And this doesn't mean I don't care, I just, I didn't mean to do that."

Her clear blue eyes try and seek yours out, but you can't look at her face right now. You feel a combination of confusion and disbelief and desperation twist in the very bottom of your soul, and you hate yourself for caring so deeply about her. The fact that you haven't had any food today makes its presence known and you can't help the grimace that crosses your features. All you want to do right now is go home and pick at the scabs that you've let heal for once and let the pain bleed right out of you. 

"I-I... can't believe you."

"Delia..." Misty reaches out and tries to grasp your arm at the crook of your elbow and you pull roughly away from her.

"No! Don't touch me."

"Cordelia --"

Before your name is fully out of her mouth, you're inside your car and you've locked the doors. She shuffles to the side because she can see your hand pushing the car into reverse and you skid sloppily out of your parking space and speed off. 

You don't bother to catch her sad, conflicted reflection in the mirror.

You can't even think straight right now.

Each beat in your chest makes your head hurt and your words stammer. 

"I think it'd be best, Misty, if you went back to your own house for the rest of this project. Of course, we'll still be splitting all the care and we can work together at the library to finish the paper and presentation. But... yeah."

"I... where is this coming from, Cordelia? Did I do somethin' wrong?"

You don't know what to say here and so you bite down sharply upon your tongue. What can you say, after all? I heard you when I accidentally eavesdropped today and your friends hate me, so you must feel the same? What are you even doing here in the first place? Every thought sounds harsh and bitter inside your head but you can't help but think them anyways. Even about sweet, loving Misty; you just don't know what to make of her. This is the most popular girl in your school, the girl who's probably going to prom with the most popular boy in school. Every boy, for that matter, is pining after her. She has the epitome of a high school clique surrounding her. So, really, what the fuck is she doing with you? What does she even want? 

The questions shatter like breaking glass, pounding the inside of your skull, making your ringing headache from crying that much worse. 

The excuse comes pathetically from your lips. "I just think it'd be best. I don't think our current set-up is, uh, appropriate."

"I don't understand, I just --"

"Misty, I need space! Okay? I need you to leave!" she looks startled when you yell your final words out. You feel the same way, the aggression in your voice surprising you, as well. 

It is in this moment that you realize how jealous you are of the people in Misty's life. The gorgeous, popular girls who are her friends. Girls who are nothing like you. The handsome, athletic boys who will undoubtedly get her attention. All these people you will never be. You realize you're insanely jealous and you want to have her all to yourself and this is terrifying and you cannot help but think that now you really need to push her away. You can't be jealous when you never would have had her in the first place. She's too good for you and she knows it. You're not even sure what exactly you mean by all of that, all you know is you need Misty to get out of your room, immediately.

As you come to this conclusion, Misty has shifted slightly towards you, the baby no longer in her arms, plastic carrier on the ground by the door. While at first she had looked hurt, now she honestly just looks kind of pissed. A small part of you whispers about how attractive she looks with anger and frustration fueling the fires in her eyes. A much larger part of you finally mentally clicks and you have no choice but to accept the fact that, despite telling yourself repeatedly not to do so, you've gone and developed a massive crush on Misty Day. Well, fuck. 

What you were not expecting was for her to get up in your face, crowding your personal space in a way she never had before. 

"Cordelia, I wouldn't mind as much if I actually believed you wanted space from me. But I don't believe you! We were doing great, why are you lashin' out at me now? It's been weeks, Delia! Don't try to act like these two weeks haven't happened, because I can't just erase this time and neither can you. I know we connected, Cordelia. Don't push me away. I deserve better than this, don't I?! Please, I'm sorry for whatever I did, but just don't do this without telling me what I did because that's just not fair and you know it isn't." by the end of her rant, she's more plaintive than angry and she's still so, so close to you that you don't know what to do. Except panic, a lot, and lash out more as you move away from her and back yourself essentially into the corner of your room.

"You want to know what you did? Do you really? You pitied me, Misty. You saw I was... I was broken, or fucked up, or whatever you saw in me, and you pitied me. But I don't fucking need your pity, okay? I heard you with your friends, your real friends, the people you've spent the last two years with? You know? Not just the last two weeks with. They were right. Why are you even bothering? I'm doing this because I'm not worth it, and you're wasting your goddamn time. So just get out and go back to hanging out with your friends. You can go back to them now, okay, and talk about prom and boys and all that good shit. I'm not gonna off myself, I swear, I'll be fine. So just go."

Laughter spills from her lips, bitter disbelief staining the sound as she shakes her head at you. 

"God, how can you be so fuckin' blind?" 

You feel your brows furrow in confusion before all of a sudden she's right in front of you again and her body is pressing yours against the bedroom wall, her lips insisting at yours roughly. This is definitely not what you were expecting and you almost can't react you're so fucking surprised. But then she bites harshly at your lower lip and the spark of pain spurs you into a response, kissing her back, hard, with your hands reaching out to grab at her hips. One of her hands finds its way into your hair, her other hand and her forearm pressed to the wall alongside your head. There isn't even air between you anymore. It's as though your lips and your tongue have a mind of their own because you've certainly never kissed anybody before, but your tongue darts out to run across her lower lip and she's trembling with an emotion you can't place, and then your tongue meets hers and she lets out a noise that is utterly unholy before she tears herself away from you. 

Misty's eyes are wide as they meet yours and she realizes what she's done. The look on her face tells you that this was not something she had been planning either, that she's surprised herself, that her body acted almost upon its own will. 

And with that, she turns away from you quickly, dashing out of your room then the house without saying a word. 

 I can be the biggest asshole sometimes, fuck. 

You try to call her, more than once (read: six times) times, and she's clearly ignoring your call. The distance between you currently is the most you've been apart for days; she'd even been sleeping at your house so that you could alternate between who would wake up (even though you normally were the only one to wake up, it was her idea and that was what counted, right?). You disappointed yourself because your brain has already gotten comfortable and happy with the idea of having Misty Day in your in your every day life. She just fits like she belongs right by your side. Making you laugh, singing Stevie like the lyrics are the air she breathes. And, sometimes, she gives you this look and you don't know what it means, all you know is it makes you feel warmth spilling like a hot drink on a cold day through your body. 

You feel like shit now.

And immediately grab your sleeping fake baby and situate it in the front seat of your car as you drive to her home. When you get there, you carry the baby to the door and ring the doorbell. 

Her mother answers. Normally, she's full of smiles when she sees you at the shelter and especially in the last week, but right now, she looks pissed, so, so pissed. You feel even worse.

She eyes you carefully and lifts a brow, crossing her arms in front of her. "Can I help you?"

Shit. "Hi, Mrs. Day... Is Misty home?"

"No." You both know she's lying, but you're not sure what to do now.

"Oh, okay, um, well, could you tell her something for me?"

"My daughter came home in tears, Cordelia. What did you say to her?"

"I didn't mean to, I swear, god, I'm so sorry, I just was stressed out and overwhelmed and I --"

"Mama, it's okay. I can take care of myself." Misty is standing on the stairs, looking radiant as ever, aside from her slightly puffy eyes and the visible tear streaks across both her cheeks. Your heart constricts more violently than you thought possible at the sight and you want to grab her and hold her and beg for her forgiveness. 

Penelope Day stares at you, uncertainly, you can tell she wants to stay, wants to how and why sweet, quiet Cordelia Goode has made her precious, resilient daughter cry. Instead, she relents, and slips by Misty, squeezing her arm gently before heading back towards the kitchen. 

"Misty..."

"Delia," she says your nickname and you immediately know she's already forgiven you. Even though she shouldn't. Even though you were horrible to the only person who has been nice to you in years. "look, don't even worry about it, I shouldn't have asked you why you had to volunteer instead of taking care of this stupid baby. I know going to the shelter makes you feel better when you're stressed and you deserve that amount of comfort. I'm sorry, I-I know I'm not the best with bein' on time and I forget about when to do things, and I sleep like a dead gator... but I'm tryin', I just thought you knew that."

"I do know that. Please don't apologize, I'm the one who was wrong." you look down at your feet, feeling ashamed and disappointed in yourself. "I was being unfair, making you take care of the baby when I'm at work and when I need to decompress a little. You've really been so good about it all; I'm just trying to work through my shit, too, and I took it all out on you. I'm so, so sorry. I hate that I made you cry..." 

You feel her fingers tilt your chin up and her eyes meet yours and she's smiling a little, the brightness back in her eyes. 

"Look at that, we worked through our first fight as parents. This oughta go in the journal." she giggles a little, still holding your face before she notices and drops her hand. You blush and smile easily in return. "Put down the damn baby and let me hug you so we can both just move on." These words make you freeze a little bit -- you can't even think of the last time you've been touched affectionately, in any way. When was the last time your mother hugged you? Or any friend to speak of? "Hey, you gonna put the baby down?" Misty teases gently, nervously now. "Or, I mean, we don't have to hug, of course, if you don't wanna..." 

The number of times you've thought about her arms around you is legitimately embarrassing to you and you try to brush the thought from your mind. 

"I..." 

"It's okay, Delia, really, we don't have to hug." she's flustered now, her right hand reaching up to scratch at the crown of her head. 

"I, no, I--" you place the baby on the carpet just inside the doorway (it's a fake baby, who cares, you remind yourself patiently) and stand a bit awkwardly.

She hesitates briefly, before shifting closer to you. Her arms wrap a bit awkwardly around your shoulders, tense, but when Misty tugs you closer, it only feels natural to slip your arms around her narrow waist and draw your fingertips in patterns across the back of her intricate blouse. Your movements make her relax and she presses her cheek against your hair and your face ends up nuzzled between her neck and shoulder. 

When she speaks, her breath ruffles the hairs on the top of your head, "Is it weird if I say I missed you during the last, like, five hours? I think I got attached to you too quick." Her words are a playful drawl, but the sentiment is there and it's real. 

You merely cling to her tighter, it feels comfortable to be exactly where you are. You don't want to think that you fit together just right, because that's ridiculous and you can't be that attached yet. Misty makes absolutely no move to let go of you, so you stand pressed together, without saying a word.

"... I missed you, too."