#jeansaria

there’s blood dripping down her shoulders, off her hips. she can feel it slide down her legs. the sticky substance is undoubtedly matted into her hair, and probably will be for days to come. A drop rolls off her chin. rosaria can see it on her hands. it’s beneath her, too, coating the soft fabric of a couch she’s come to know very well.

jean’s really going to hate her for this.

    the smell makes her sick. she can taste the metal in the air. if her stomach could turn any more, it most definitely would. it’s a miracle she’s not puking her guts up currently. 

it doesn’t exactly help that there’s a gaping hole in her abdomen, and throwing up would prove to be rather difficult.

it especially doesn’t help that rosaria hates throwing up and would rather bleed to death any day than so much as spit up a trickle of bile.

all in all, she’s relatively screwed.

    if she can just make it a little longer, jean will be here. she’ll fix her up and then they’ll go back to ignoring each other. maybe she’ll get lucky and her stomach will settle down soon. maybe she’ll get lucky and jean won’t forget she exists.

then again, rosaria’s never been an optimist.

    the nauseating stench of blood still fills the room. she feels ready to puke at any moment. the sensation makes her skin crawl. the pain really doesn’t do much for her either, seeing as that makes her feel sick too. it makes her wish jean were here. she’s not afraid of vomit or eye contact or any of the things rosaria finds absolutely terrifying. 

she’s always been there for her, no matter what. it’s hard not to wish for her presence.

    “i don’t necessarily enjoy seeing you this way.” jean’s voice cuts through her rising nausea and anxiety. Her eyes snap open, meeting the sharp gaze of the acting grandmaster. 

rosaria grins. “you have a very comfortable couch.” jean snorts, but there’s a trace of aggression. she’s mad, of course, like she always is when rosaria comes to her half dead. she really can’t blame her lover for being so upset; it must be rather frustrating. but all she can think of is that now she’s not alone.

    for someone who’s spent her life in relative solitude, rosaria loathes the absence of others. people keep her grounded. they remind her that, as much as she feels it, she’s not completely isolated. and jean made her comfortable with the presence of someone.

it’s honestly too bad that their relationship barely exists.

    they chose to keep the whole affair a secret. it was easier that way, to preserve jean’s reputation and to keep rosaria away from any more judgment than necessary. but jean’s reputation is more pride than anything, and rosaria’s always going to be criticized for something. 

    “so what’d you do this time?” jean’s wrapping a towel around her hand, using the other one to gingerly lift rosaria’s bloodstained shirt out of the way. she sucks in a breath, tensing. she hates the pressure part. it almost always makes her throw up. “i just had some intel on someone, and we had a nice duel.” 

she snorts. “how cryptic of you.” the fabric’s pressed against her stomach, hard. pain blooms in her torso, and it takes every ounce of restraint she has not to writhe away from the touch. 

    “nice duel, huh? how’d you end up with this then?” it’s hard to focus on jean’s voice through the agonizing throbbing that’s taken over her abdomen, but she manages to make it out.

“he got to my blindside before i got to his.” she practically has to grit the words out, but keeps her tone neutral. it’s said rather nonchalantly, as if collapsing in her girlfriend’s office with a sizeable stab wound is normal. which it is, really.

jean sighs, pushing down a little harder. rosaria’s a little too nauseous to truly notice the intensifying pain. “how many times have i told you to pin up your bangs before you go out for the night? you wouldn’t have this issue if they were out of the way.”

    “i didn’t think about it.” she swallows, praying that venti is actually capable of something and he’ll spare her from choking up her intestines, at least for tonight.

jean rolls her eyes. “you never think about it. you know, we wouldn’t have this problem if you used just the slightest bit of rationality.”

“i’m sorry.” the words are the faintest whisper, all rosaria can say without spitting a wave of bile onto her lover’s floor. Her eyes flutter closed, and she realizes how horrendously tired she is. it’s silent after that, save for a soft breath from jean.

    gentle hands pull her away from the desecrated couch beneath her, shifting her to lean on the armrest. cool fingers brush tangled bangs behind her ear, and she’s finally able to open her eyes. “don’t fall asleep just yet. i have to wrap this thing.” jean’s voice is soft as she envelops her in warm, damp bandages. rosaria’s eyes drift to the window. it’ll be morning soon, and she’ll have to leave. although how she’s going to achieve that is beyond her, she knows she can’t stay here. someone could walk in, and their little secret would be ruined. so, as always, they’ll forget the other exists by noon. they’ll go about living their separate lives that don’t include each other until she gets hurt again and then the cycle will start all over again. 

    sometimes- just occasionally- she’ll let her guard down on purpose. sometimes, she’ll allow herself to be injured in ways someone like her is much too agile to get. sometimes, she’ll crawl the extra two miles to jean’s office instead of collapsing in the much closer shelter of her apartment. sometimes, she almost kills herself with antics like these.

all for a few more moments with the woman she loves. 

if she’s not fatally injured, rosaria barely exists to jean. the only times they ever see each other is on nights like these, when things go south on one of her missions. 

other than that, they mean nothing to the other. it always stings a bit.

    “alright, you can get some sleep now. but i swear to barbatos, if you rip these bandages i’m murdering you.” jean presses a kiss to her temple. she smiles. 

“challenge accepted.” she’s thrown the bloody towel, but it misses horribly. She sighs, closing her eyes. maybe she’ll be able to rest a little now that the scent of blood isn’t as strong.

rosaria looks to her lover again. she’ll have to leave soon. she’d really rather not.

    but, of course, she has to. “wake me up when it’s time to go, okay?” there’s no way she’ll be able to make it out the door like this. rosaria hopes that, maybe just for today, she could stay. that maybe this will be different than all their other meetings. 

if only for today.

    jean sighs. “you’re not getting home like that.” 

“so what do you suggest?” maybe, if only for a day. 

it’s silent for a moment. “you’re right. i’ll wake you up in a few.”

    it was childish of her to think things would change.

besides, she’ll get hurt again. she’ll see jean again. she’ll start the cycle again.

she always does.

———

author’s note:

holy sheep i never thought i’d finish this! it was a lot of fun, but ending it was haaaaard. i was so sadly unmotivated and confuzzled. still, i persevered for my favorite lesbians and i think it paid off! it’s pretty long, too, so i’m proud of myself there. finally some decent trucking whump too, super accurate and everything. and ngl i had so much fun with this, so that’s what matters.

hope you enjoyed this meltdown, and all my other mental breakdowns to come. :)

oneshot word count: 1,242

total word count: 1,397

characters excluding spaces: 6,443

total characters: 7,871