#spsecretsanta

By the time you reach the dining room, you can finally breathe normally again. You still feel wrong, messed up, twisted, but that is only because the dream amplifies the feelings of what you already are. Keeping a safe distance from the moonlight threatening to stream into the room from behind the bay window’s curtains, you slump into a chair in the darkest corner before beginning to write as you always do.

You don’t know how long you sit there, the tip of your pen scratching messily across the page. It comes naturally to you now, familiar with it as you are. The dream plays over and over in your head and even though you had escaped the room it suffocated you in, you can’t escape your own mind. Your own demons. How they chase you down the halls of your heart.

“What are you doing awake at this hour?”

Your heart jumps in your chest and you spin in your chair to find her dark eyes darker still in the shadows of the dining room. Maybe she had heard you. Was it the creaky staircase or had your soul been calling her name?

She takes in the haggard expression on your face and the desperate way your fingers cling to the corner of your journal, creasing the pages where your fingertips dig in. You didn’t think her tone could get softer until it does, sinking into your heart to make a home there. “What is it, sweetheart?”

You are not used to her kindness, even now. Tears jump in your eyes but you can’t remember how to speak. She eases into the room, gliding across the floor in her bare feet. An angel in a nightgown. Her fingers brush against your cheek, featherlight as if afraid she will break you if she presses too hard. “Can I see?” she asks, stroking away a tear that has broken free.

You look down at the pages, the remnants of your soul lay bare across parchment paper and smeared ink. You are ashamed of it, of the pieces of you not whole, but you can’t say no. Not to Cordelia. While your mind races with images you can’t forget, your soul screams out her name.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you manage to nod. It is timid but Cordelia passes her thumb over your cheekbone again and you settle into place a little more steady than before, She eases the journal out from beneath your fingers, gentle as if holding your very heart in her hands. You miss the feel of her against your skin.

Long, slender fingers pass over the pages, the sloppy slanted letters written in a panic night after night, smeared and smudged where your hand had passed over them before they had been fully dried. One after the other, she turns them and you think it is never ending to see them again, nearly identical over and over. They all say the same thing because they are all the same dream.

Cordelia’s breath tumbles from her mouth, shaky, desperate, not unlike the timid heart that beats like a hummingbird’s wings in your ribcage. “Sweetheart-”

Your watery smile is fake but it is all you know. “I think I’m broken,” you say.

The journal lands with a thud against the dining room table. “No,” she breathes and before you can blink, she has wrapped you up in her arms, fingers cupping the back of your head to keep your nose buried in her neck. She smells like the greenhouse, like flowers, like the life that has sprouted from the earth has been brought forth by the very hands holding you gently now.

You didn’t know what a relief it would be to be seen until she saw you. Tears fall from the corners of your eyes, dripping down your nose and landing on the bare skin of her collarbone. A piece of you melding into a piece of her. You cling to her on instinct, fingers curling into her robe to keep her close, to keep her heartbeat singing in your ears.

Her cheek presses into the side of your head, lips brushing your ear. You shiver in spite of yourself. “You are so whole,” she whispers. “There is nothing wrong with you.”

You take in a shaky breath and will the sobs dissipate because you know they will hurt when they finally purge themselves from your throat, sharp and deadly as they pull themselves free. You can feel them building there now. “You promise?” you whisper and it is as broken as you feel.

Cordelia brushes her hands down each side of your face, her palms warm and her rings cold against your skin. She pulls you back to look at her, her beautiful face appearing like a watercolour painting behind the tears you can’t seem to stop. You feel out of control, spiraling, twisting. The noises in your head are only a reminder of the things your mind can’t forget. You don’t know how long you’ve been so lost. “Look at me, baby,” she coaxes, pulling you out of the dark corner you’d started to tuck yourself back into. You don’t deserve the light. You are not holy. “I promise,” she swears, thumbs stroking down your face, your cheeks, your jaw, the dip in your chin. She lingers there, and you breathe in her life as if it will revive your own.

Your voice cracks. “How do I make it stop?”

“You trust me,” Cordelia says simply, as if it is that easy to be baptised.

Looking into her eyes, you can’t find a single reason not to. Your soul had sighed her name, lovingly, lamently, easily because it is the only name you have ever known. “Cordelia-”

“Shh,” she soothes, tilting your chin up. Her head ducks, blonde hair brushing against your face when she leans down. Your foreheads touch and your eyes close on instinct, giving into her all and letting her cradle you. “I’ve got you, darling.” You know that, can feel it as surely as you can feel your heart beating in your chest. It aches to be closer to her, to become part of her, to know what it feels like to be perfect and so very whole. You wonder if she is the remedy. If she is the cure to being broken.

Your lips meet, a slow and steady brush of your mouths and you think this is the most patient you have ever been in your life. She is as steady as summer rain, warm and soft and gentle. You want to tilt your head back and breathe her in and feel the drops hit your face. For a moment, you think they are. That Cordelia’s rain has deemed you worthy of redemption and is baptising you anew, but they are only your own tears flowing freely. But Cordelia does not find them disgraceful, does not turn up her nose and wish you would hide them away. Instead, she pulls you closer and kisses you for longer so that you might bloom beneath her mouth. You forget that your own broken pieces are not whole as she holds you together beneath her hands. The images in your mind grow distant.

It’s not until you both pull away to breathe that you notice the moonlight shining through the previously closed curtains.

It hits your skin and doesn’t burn.

Wilhemina had never been one to see the magic in Christmas. The hordes of screaming children and last minute shoppers. The gaudy decorations and the incessant carols that appeared earlier and earlier each year. The mountains of presents used to buy another year's affection from friends and family. The epitome of commercialism. 

And so Wilhemina never decorated. She avoided Christmas festivities like the plague and refused to tolerate even the first few notes of a festive tune. And she never exchanged gifts. Not that she had anyone to exchange them with. Not until now, not until Cordelia.

But as she stood at the base of Robichaux's grand staircase, quietly watching as Cordelia patiently sat by the fireplace untangling seemingly endless strings of Christmas lights, her opposition to Christmas lay long forgotten. Any occassion which bought this soft, contented smile to her girlfriend's face as she sat bare faced and cross-legged in front of the glowing embers was worth celebrating. 

As with many things since they had begun dating, Cordelia breathed life into Christmas, allowing Wilhemina to see joy and beauty in places she could never have imagined. Silly, trivial things like how Cordelia would automatically prepare two cups of tea now instead of one, would press a soft kiss to her cheek in passing simply because she felt like it, would unconsciously snuggle closer to her in her sleep, would sleepily mumble "I love you" as her last words every night and as her first again the following morning. These things should have infuriated her, should have made her recoil in disdain and disgust like they had for years, decades, past. But not anymore. Not since Cordelia.

No matter what Cordelia seemed to glow, filling everything she touched with beauty and light and hope. And now as stood mesmerised by her Delia once more she couldn't help wonder whether the supreme hadn't filled her with those things too. That maybe the tender blossoming light beginning to take root within her chest, allowing her to open herself up to the good and kind and sweet in the world around her, wasn't Cordelia's doing too. 

For as long as Wilhemina could remember Christmas had been a time of cruel sterility and forced conversation. Her parents' vast house would be decorated professionally, lest even one bauble be out of place. She would be stuffed into an oppressive Christmas outfit that would have been picked out by her mother (or at least by the sales assistant she had asked in the fancy boutique where she had purchased it) that would itch and scratch and never fit properly. She would sit idly as her father and grandfather discussed the state of the world and her grandmother once again rued her unfortunate hair colour (clearly the result of her mother's poor pedigree). Nothing good ever came out of Christmas. Not until Cordelia.

But now as the smell of freshly baked cinnamon cookies mingled with the smoke of the fire and the hint of pine from the as yet undressed Christmas tree Wilhemina allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, this year would be different. Maybe this year would be worth celebrating.

As if the universe meant to reassure her, to quietly whisper "Yes, it's ok. You can trust this" in that very moment Cordelia turned to face her, warm contentment giving way to outright joy as she recognised Wilhemina.

"So what do you think?" Cordelia queried as she dusted herself off and crossed the room to join her girlfriend.

"Beautiful" Wilhemina whispered reverently, pushing a stray strand of hair from her girlfriend's face as she gently leaned in to the proffered kiss.

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't go that far honey, I've barely started."

"I was talking about you" 

Cordelia could feel the blush dance across her cheeks, unable to stop herself from biting her lip and ducking her head. "When did you become such a sweet talker?" She quipped.

"Since I started spending so much time with you" Wilhemina whispered.

For a moment they just stood there, savouring a rare moment of peace in a house bustling with dozens of young witches. Cordelia allowed her head to drop to Wilhemina's shoulder as her arm rested gently around her girlfriend's waist, always wary of unintentionally hurting her.

"Would you like to help me decorate the tree honey?" Cordelia ventured, knowing that Christmas was a potentially fraught subject with Wilhemina.

"I wouldn't know where to start" Wilhemina whispered, "I've never decorated a tree before."

"I hadn't either until I came here" Cordelia offered. "My mother wasn't ever really one for Christmas, or any other annual event that marked the passage of time, if she was even in the country. I spent my first Christmas here just Myrtle and I, all the other girls had family to go back to. I remember her teaching me how to properly space out all the ornaments for maximum effect. I may not have appreciated her taste in ornaments, but I treasured that day."

Cordelia slowly made her way back across the room towards a large box of ornaments placed beneath the tree. After a few moments rumaging she produced a round object carefully wrapped in tissue paper. As she unwrapped it a Christmas bauble adorned in all colours of jewels and crystals appeared, glistening in the firelight. "This was one of her favorites" Cordelia murmured, "I always hated it but now it lets me feel like she is still here for Christmas, at least in some small way."

"She would be so proud of you" Wilhemina murmured, moving to join her girlfriend in front of the tree. "I know I am"

"I'd like to think so" Cordelia offered a somewhat watery smile. "Would you like to help me put it up?"

Wilhemina was noticeably hesitant but the warmth in Cordelia's gaze gave her confidence, reaching out to cup her girlfriend's hands in her own. "Together?" she ventured. 

“How dare you?” amber eyes were filling with tears as she screamed at the puppeteer on stage, “How dare you force these children to watch this show? What kind of place is this? How dare you? HOW DARE YOU?” standing up, her thin body was vibrating with rage and terror.

You were taken aback by her sudden outburst, how she had violently stood up and was now trembling right in front of you. The puppet show, even though clearly having been designed for children and not for grown woman such as you and Mildred, had been sweet and you had found it to be quite enjoyable.

Looking at Mildred, you were not sure anymore and started to wonder if you had maybe missed a hidden message, a twist in the plot or a homophobic slur.

Mildred was standing next to you, her body still vibrating with anger. You slowly stood up, your hand finding her clammy one. You tried to meet her gaze while you softly whispered her name, but her eyes were still focused on the stage. You let your thumb run over her cold palm, trying to ease her back into reality. Whatever she had seen, it must have shaken her to the darkest depths of her soul.

Finally, she looked at you. When your eyes met hers, you could feel your heart shatter into a million little pieces. Her beautiful hazel eyes, which usually were full of life, twinkling mischievously, were filled with unshed tears. Mildred looked terrified, panicked and scared.

You gently let one of your arms encircle her waist, not only to offer her a little piece of comfort, but also wanting to guide her out of the auditorium to save her from the piercing stares of the people around you.

However, Mildred wouldn’t let you. Mildred, who would always seek you out when in distress, would always crave your warmth, your touch, just took a few steps back from you – distancing herself physically and emotionally. She did not want to be near you, didn’t want to be saved by you. Instead of pulling into you as she always did, she pulled herself away, running out of the theatre.

A baby started to cry.

Still in shock by your girlfriend’s distress, all you could do was mumble a quiet apology as you too let your feet carry you out of the crowded room.

Your face was hit by the cold wind as you threw open the doors to make your way back to her. You did not find her right away. As you looked around for her, you asked yourself if the trees had always had a slight bend to them or if they had been scarred by the relentless force of the winds who blew unapologetically across the coastline of Lucia.

Monterey County, California, was a beautiful place. Especially here, in Lucia. If a painter had wanted to capture nature’s beauty you were sure he would have come here. He would have noticed how the teal colored water crashed violently against the rocks, which had been painted in various shades of grey over time. How the trees seemed to dance along to the songs the birds sung. How the sun peaked through the thickness of the leaves dressing their crowns, illuminating the coastline in a warm glow. A painter would probably also have noticed the lone squirrel a little further ahead, which desperately tried to find the last nuts and seeds before running away from the dark days into the safety of hibernation.

When you finally found Mildred, you could not help but notice how hauntingly beautiful she was. She sat on a little stone wall, the hat she had been wearing having been placed next to her. A few lone strands of her red hair had freed themselves from the confines of her low bun. Her gaze focused on the seemingly endless pool of water in front of her, looking into the faraway distance, the raging waves mirroring the turmoil in her head. Her red lipstick was still flawless, painting her beautiful lips in the color of love and death. The dark green slipover she wore had a dark spot right on the waistline and you wondered if she would like you to hand wash it for her since you knew she absolutely despised such menial tasks.

You came to a halt behind her, still a few feet away. Your eyes settled on the water in front of you. Mildred was still staring ahead. With the sun about to set, the water seemed to have been covered by a blanket made out of different colored threads of orange and red. The quacking of the seagulls appearing to protest against the nearing end of the day, willing the sun to stay up high in the sky just a little longer to chase the clouds away.

“I need you.” You barely heard her. You had thought she hadn’t even noticed your presence, still captured by the dark thoughts running through her head. A few steps and you were next to her, sitting down on the cold stone. A cold hand grabbed yours fiercely and you looked at the beautiful woman next to you. The look in her eyes would haunt you forever.

Have you ever looked deeply into brown eyes? The specs of darker and brighter tones, how they seem to be deeper than the deepest hole, how they are able to look right into your soul, how they grab your heart by the strings, pulling it out of you and keeping it warm in their gentle hands? Hers were swimming with tears.

You could feel your own eyes water, her pain seeping right into you, invading every fiber of your being, eating away at your skin, piercing through your muscles and drilling holes into your bones to spread through your body from there.

A single tear cascaded down her face. You let your hand capture her cheek while you let your thumb run over the soft skin under her eye. She held your gaze, willing you to help her, to make her pain go away, to chase away the demons gnawing at her soul. Your lips placed a kiss on her forehead on their own accord. You had never seen anyone look so sad, so small, so lost and still so painfully beautiful.

Mildred let her head sink to your shoulder as you let one hand encircle her waist, gently keeping her close to you. You could feel the tension in her body, could practically feel how she fought against the demons in her head, how she tried to chase away whatever memories the little puppet show had triggered.

She tried to come back to you, tried to come back to the present – to this moment, sitting on a little wall made out of stone on the coast of Lucia – with you.

You could feel her breath on your neck, could feel how she tried to get more air into her lungs, trying everything in her power to prevent herself from breaking down in your arms. You let your hands roam from her hip to the small of her back, rubbing small circles on her lower back, let your lips ghost over which ever part of her beautiful face you could reach without loosing your grip on her. You knew that she would not let herself sink down to the ground of the ocean until you were back at your shared motel room. Her safe haven.

“Can we go back to the motel, Millie?” your voice was barely above a whisper, afraid to speak to loudly, afraid to disrupt her fragile soul, afraid to hurt her bruised heart. You felt her nod against your shoulder as she took a shaky breath, wiping her eyes discreetly.

It took her a few minutes to actually move, to stand up on wobbly feet and to reach out her hand to you. Your fingers intertwined with hers and you gently took the key out of her coat pocket while you opened the passenger door for her to get into the car.

The drive back to the motel was mostly silent except for the quiet music coming from the radio. You looked at Mildred from time to time, but she just kept staring out the window, counting the trees you were passing to ground herself to reality, desperately trying to chase away the memories in her head.

You let out a breath you had not realized you had been holding as the small motel on the coastline came into view. Mildred looked at you for a second before she started playing with the rings on her fingers. You knew she hated to be vulnerable, knew she thought of herself as a burden, knew she wasn’t easy to handle sometimes. You immediately felt bad and reached for her hand so you could place a kiss in her palm. “I am just worried about you, Millie. You did nothing wrong.” a desperate attempt to stop your girlfriend from spiraling down a whole different path. She just nodded and looked out the window once again.

Before you were able to open the door for her she had already rushed outside, throwing up violently next to the car into a field of wild flowers. You ran to her, but she waved you off. She was back to it. Back to hiding, running, pretending.

You turned around, giving her some privacy and trying to compose yourself. This wasn’t the time for discussions about her pulling away from you, not the time to ask her about her family, not the time to grill her about anything. She had to come to you. She had to speak. She had to open up. All you could do was wait and hold out your hand for her to reach out for.

She walked past you, right to the door, but realizing the key was in your hands. She nervously played with the arms of the dark green shirt she had underneath her slipover. You could not remember a time where she had looked so much unlike herself as of right now – and your heart ached for her.

As soon as you had opened the door, Mildred walked right into the bathroom. She closed the door and you could hear the key being turned. She had never locked the door before.

The running water of the shower reminded you of rain. And rain reminded you of the first kiss you had with Mildred.

“Why do you keep running away? Why don’t you just stand still for a minute? Millie!” you had been tired and over it. It was always the same. Mildred would seek you out in the middle of the night and you would talk, you would laugh, you would cry. She always left in the morning without saying a word. You had told her. Last night. You had finally told her that you had feelings for her, that you wanted to try, wanted to try despite what could happen. You didn’t care anymore. Didn’t care what society thought about two women falling in love. You wanted her. Only her. Only she mattered, she was your everything, your reason for being on this earth, for being alive. She was the first flower to bloom during spring, the warm sun of summer, the most colorful leave during autumn and the prettiest snowflake falling from the sky once winter came around.

“We can’t! I can’t!” her voice was shrill, panicked even. You couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she looked. You were standing in the parking lot of the motel, a few feet away from each other. Your fight had started in the car because you had wanted her to stay the night with you, had wanted her to acknowledge what you had said last night, had wanted her to deal with her feelings which you knew she harbored for you. “Then we are over, Mildred. I can not do this anymore!” you had screamed and she had cried.

The rain was loud, thunder was roaring somewhere far away, lightning illuminating the otherwise dark sky irregularly. As you turned away, determined to walk straight to your room without ever turning around, you felt her grab your hand. You turned around, furious and enraged at her behavior.

Then she kissed you. And you kissed her back.

A loud bang disrupted your thoughts. You ran to the bathroom, trying to open the door. “Millie? Millie are you alright?” you knew you sounded desperate but you did not care. Only she mattered. Nothing had changed over the months you had been with her. “Open the door, Millie.. please..” you hoped she could not hear the tears in your voice.

A click. The door opened, revealing Mildred clad in a towel, her wet hair hanging loosely over her shoulders, eyes red rimmed. “I am sorry.” a whisper. You looked past her and saw a broken vase on the floor. You gently gripped her upper arms while you looked her up and down “Did you hurt yourself?” the worry in your voice was evident but disappeared as soon as she shook her head.

Your eyes searched hers, silently asking for permission to finally put your arms around her, to share her pain and take some of the weight of her shoulders. Seconds felt like hours, but finally she took a step towards you.

You took her hand into yours and guided her towards the small bed in the other room. Quickly you threw the covers aside, motioning for her to sit to which she complied. You handed her her favorite pajamas. “Why don’t you put on your pajamas while I hop in the shower quickly?” You gave her a smile.

When you returned with your hair still damp, you found her laying in bed with the covers up to her chin, facing you. She lifted the blanket, willing you to join her.

“Will you tell me what happened today at the puppet show, Millie?” You laid down next to her as you posed your question. Mildred scooted closer to you, silently asking to be held.

You knew she felt embarrassed and humiliated for having acted the way she did. She hid her face in the small space between your jaw and your shoulder as you opened your arms for her to rest in. “Don’t leave.” The tears were evident in her voice.

You cried with her. As she recited every gruesome detail of her past — the foster care system which completely and utterly failed her, the families which tormented, violated and degraded her, her brother who kept her close to himself by making her gentle soul feel guilty for having saved her own life.

Mildred told you what she had seen. How she had seen her whole life story on that stage in the small auditorium. She had been reminded of every single painful moment in her life, feeling like arrows piercing through her heart, making her bleed out on the floor while she was being stepped on.

Mildred told you what they had made her do. How she had to let herself be violated by her own brother — the only person she had left.

Mildred told you what he did. How he murdered them without remorse. She told you how she ran away and felt the guilt in every fiber of her being ever since.

You held on tightly to her trembling frame as she cried in your arms, as she let the grief and pain wash over her, letting it out at last. You placed kisses on her face wherever you could reach, trying to wash the tears away. You held on as strongly as you could – as if your embrace was the only thing preventing her from breaking apart. You could feel her fingernails digging into your skin and you welcomed the pain which somehow made you feel closer to her.

You didn’t notice your own tears cascading down your cheeks, your only focus being your girlfriend who was crying in your arms. You felt her pain, her anguish. Your voice was quiet as you placed a kiss underneath her earlobe “I am here, Millie. I will never leave you. I will always be here. I love you. So much. With all my heart. I will protect you. You are safe with me, Millie.” repeating the same words over and over again, engraving them into her brain, desperately trying to replace the words of terror she recited to herself over and over again.

You had no idea how much time had passed. How long she had been crying. How long you had been crying. Her erratic breathing had slowed down, the river of tears dried out, only a few lone ones escaping her reddened eyes. You had loosened your grip a little bit, but still kept her close to you. One hand had travelled to the back of her head, gently massaging her scalp while working through the knots in her hair. You could feel her cuddling up to you, less desperate than earlier. Now it was gentle, quiet.

“I love you, too.” her voice was hoarse and raspy, but the words she had uttered sounded like music in your ears. Your lips found hers in a tender kiss while you cupped her cheek, your eyes never leaving hers. “I am always here for you, Millie. Never forget that. You are not alone anymore.”

In this moment, Millie realized what love was supposed to be like. How being loved by someone was supposed to feel. How loving someone was supposed to feel. All her life she had believe love was about manipulation, violation and pain.

And then you came along. With your dazzling smile, your silly laugh, your vibrant eyes and your kind heart – showing her that love is about whispered secrets under the blankets, comforting hugs in times of despair, stolen kisses at work, sleepless nights without clothing, love letters in her lunch box, a warm meal prepared for her after a stressful day and Sunday mornings with coffee in bed while you read poetry to her

And she realized that

When Sally’s younger self accepted a fortune teller's invitation for an experience with her, she expected nothing. Even in her teenage years, everyone in the town where she lived knew that the thing Sally wanted the most was to be a singer in the future, and even looking at the thought-provoking and incredibly flashy sign shining in shades of purple and gold, the phrase “I can tell you the greatest truth about you deeper desire”, the blonde one had some suspicious guesses about what she would hear.  

Perhaps some absurd about an authorial song that would be heard on a world scale, or about a featuring with some world-renowned artists  — just raw ideas that would momentarily cheer up her small, young, and a little pessimistic heart  — but nothing was even close to what she received.  

You will only find the love you want and wait for  — intense, lifelong, and reciprocal  — when you stop believing in its existence.  

The blonde girl in the printed coat remembers cursing the lady before leaving the place without paying her, but the fortune teller did not seem to care and did not try to stop the teenager from escaping, and perhaps that made Sally's perception of the situation even vaguer.  

She remembers thinking while she was going home with some friends, that maybe the city was too small and that was why the enigmatic woman had discovered about her recent breakup. She loved the bastard but after discovering that the boy who lived in her heart without worries was cheating her with a girl from the local religious choir, even with tears in her eyes, it was over.  

The thought made sense at the time.  

A teenager looking for love.  

But time passed and she became an adult woman looking for love.  

Sally doesn't know why she was graced by such a specific memory now, with Y/N's arms around her waist and her head lying in Billie's collarbone, who even just about to fall asleep, was still pressing her against Sally’s naked one.  

It was a particularly pleasant and absolutely surprising arrangement.  

In a particularly exhausting show, in which she also expected nothing from, Sally saw the two women in the audience. They seemed in love, always exchanging honest touches and sweet smiles, but even in all that passionate aura, the two pairs of eyes were always fixed on Sally.  

The concert contracts offered to Sally was starting to grow significantly, as much as the price she received for each performance, as well as the size of the places that hired her, so she was rarely in the same stage two weeks in a row.  

And something in her heart was happy about it.  

Her social media were doing well with likes as followers growing each day, her covers had a nice number of views on digital platforms. And, more importantly, she finally stopped performing only in depressing bars  — in addition to getting an audience that really paid attention to what comes out of her lips or the harmonies of her guitar  — and this was very good, much more than she believed she could achieve in her early teenage days, but still, something inside Sally would like to see that couple again.  

But in the following week, regardless of which bar the musician was playing in, they were there. And in the next one too. And the next one.  

Only in the fifth week did one of them bought her a drink.  

Y/N.  

Her expression was sweet and bright, and every time she flicked her eyelashes, something inside Sally lit up. She looked a little uncertain, but still took a spare napkin and, taking a pen out of her bag, started writing on the paper.  

The musician took advantage of the moment, traveling her own gaze at the pleasant woman beside her and silently wishing to use her fingers to make sure her hair is as soft as it looked, and if she smelled as good up close as it looks from a distance.  

But something was wrong, especially because Y/N was alone. And even without planning to do so, Sally's focus was distracted with everything around her, looking for the owner of the blond hair who always accompanied the one beside her, and a forced breath escaped through her nose angrily and accidentally when she noticed that her search as unsuccessful since the blonde was not there. However, when a subtle introduction of herself jumped out of Y/N's tongue, and a sweet smile was directed at her... that was enough for Sally to smile back at her as she started a pleasant conversation.  

Within minutes, when their cocktail party was almost over, Y/N made it clear what she intended by sharing a bar counter with the blonde musician, and Sally felt intoxicated. She always knew it was impossible for anyone not to feel intoxicated by a beautiful woman, especially when the words that slipped from her lips were so inviting, but that sounded like it was coming from another planet.  

“You performed very well on stage. A true artist. No one in the audience could take their eyes off you.”, Y/N's voice was happy and loud because a new musician was performing on the stage. She was trying hard not to have her sentence drowned out by his voice, and Sally could only smile and get in her game.  

"Interesting. Especially for someone who has heard me sing so many times.”, even with the dark, bluish light painting the entire surface of the entire bar, Sally was pretty sure she saw Y/N's cheeks flush.  

“Oh... So... You saw us?”  

No verbal response was made by the musician, she just shook her head positively before taking another sip of her own drink, patiently waiting for what Y/N would say next.  

“I like to hear talented people.”, The phrase escapes her lips like nothing, and how genuine her voice sounds makes Sally's shoulders a little less tense, “And Billie believes that you have a beautiful face and talented hands. I told her that we only saw you play the guitar so we couldn't jump to conclusions.”  

“I don’t know her, but I think Billie is quite a perception person, and I already like her.”, at the moment the words slip through Sally's tongue, she knew that she said something good because Y/N was smiling at her like if she was some huge and shiny toy she just won in some tough game at an amusement park.  

"Billie and I would like to get to know you better... But if you are not interested in our arrangement, just know that we will continue to watch you because... you have so much talent, not because we are stalkers."  

"Thank you... So, if Billie is also so interested as you said, why she is not here drinking with us?", Sally's voice sounded like all of her flirtations ones, answering the compliment with a sweet voice and asking the question with a dripping malicious amid curiosity, as she looked at the napkin Y / N had given her.  

Two names and two phone numbers, but the blonde one just wanted to make sure it wasn't some kind of joke.  

Some lost bet.  

Some stolen kiss and a sinful night while the partner isn't looking.  

"She's smoking outside, but believe me... Billie will be here in just a moment."  

And, as if she knew she had been mentioned, the blonde one in question appears at the front door and walks towards the two women at the counter as if she owns the place. If the look wasn't enough to show Sally that Y/N wasn't kidding, the blonde woman's lack of subtlety in sliding her right hand over Sally's shoulder before sitting next to Y/N would show Sally that yes, she was interested too.  

Billie Dean.  

With her formal clothes and her sagacious desire for a television program. She was not like Y/N, stepping on eggs and sighing deeply before starting a conversation with a stranger she found attractive. Billie was quite the opposite. She knew exactly what she wanted and, when Sally accepted the invite to go on an actual date with the couple, the musician found that everything reflected in those brown eyes was pure malice, even if she was immersed in unexpected grace.  

Unexpected.  

And almost unexpectedly, Sally fell in love with the two women.  

Unexpected loves were what ruled the life of the woman in printed clothes, but all with an expiration date. Her last love disappointment - with a tall and clear-eyed man that she forced herself for months to forget her name - was enough for the musician to stop believing in something good and permanent showing up.

So she let it go and forced herself to learn how to just take advantage of the incredible people who were going through her life for the time they here in her life.  

But since Sally first laid eyes on that couple, while her fingers echoed the melody of her songs in a bar she had long since gone to, they have not stopped to surprise her.  

Y/N and her apartment in pastel colors, which was the first place belonging to the couple that Sally met, almost 6 months ago. The apartment that nowadays was always full of Sally's grocery shopping. It happened in the second month when the three women went to the musician's house in search of a bottled sauce that was missing at Y/N's house for dinner, and when they stopped in a red traffic light, the suggestion flew between Billie Dean's lips automatically.  

"You could just take things you like to eat at Y/N's apartment... So we would make sure that nothing you like is missing."  

When the silence became thick inside the car, the medium lost the focus of her cell phone, focusing her eyes on Sally and Y/N, who was driving the car, to explain her thoughts, and so she received two heads producing affirmative nods and smiling before returning to the usual silence. After all, it is more practical for everyone to leave their groceries at the home of the person who cooked the most in the arrangement.  

Two months later, Sally simply thought that bringing any groceries back to her home when she rarely spent any time there was senseless.  

And that was new.  

Different. Amazing. And new.  

Because of all the things Sally didn't expect, the one at the top of the list was being silently presented with a new place to call home. Or rather, two new places.  

Whenever Sally imagined a place that would be like her second home, her mind automatically painted the image of a studio. Large, with a few instruments, a matte wallpaper, and shiny pictures hanging on the walls. Everything in addition to a table full of paper with letters being finished.  

But the present proved to be more and more surprising every day, mainly because the musician knows that she probably has more clothes in Billie Dean's house than in her own wardrobe. She also knows that her guitar and unfinished rhymes rest in the western part of Billie's office, next to the window.  

It was good. New. Passionate.  

But it probably has an expiration date. And for the first time, Sally believes she's okay with that.  

She doesn't know why she thinks about it, and especially at that moment where the two women who live in her mind are lying and almost asleep in her arms, but still, she does.  

Because she loves the simple and unique moments when she receives more affection and adoration than she imagined in a lifetime. Like when Y/N caress her hair absently after work while when she is laying down in her lap, looking for words that rhyme with the verses Sally writes. Or when Billie arrives tired of the recording studio, feeling that her energies are almost consumed and still gives her the most beautiful of all smiles when she readily accepts the musician's arms in a hug.  

But her bubble of memories bursts when Billie starts to move, and then Sally needs to move away and consequently move away Y/N so that the older blonde can get up. And she does, but not before giving them an explanation.  

"I forgot something, I bought it for you."  

You.  

It's a dangerous word, especially in their arrangement, which is why Sally remains silent as she watches Billie stagger towards the bag she used today. She is naked, with the marks of the dark lipstick that Sally's kisses painted on her legs, but the medium doesn't mind and absently rummages in her purse before, after just a few seconds, grabs a relatively large and thin velvet box in her hand, and goes back to the mattress.  

Y/N is still rubbing her face, trying to dissipate the sleep that had almost taken the best of her, just to try to give Billie all of her attention, and the image is lovely even amid the marks of Sally's lipstick staining her neck. But the musician continues lying down, enjoying the view of Billie's body in front of her without even moving a muscle, until the medium opens the box and the contents of it are seen.  

It is a set of jewels.  

A pair of earrings and two more pieces that Sally can't quite see what they are because she doesn't catch her eye on the box. And the musician only knows that the first ones are earrings because Billie gently moves Y/N's hair out of the way before placing the jewelry gently on her ears.  

It is beautiful, in gold and with only a small and delicate emerald.  

A part of Sally is enchanted by Y/N's sweet smile while she thanks for the gift - which she now wears proudly - with a subtle kiss, but another part of her being almost forgotten would like the two to do it privately.  

Because Sally knows that this happens - those sweet, domestic moments full of gentle kisses and loving touches that are shared only between the two woman - but since the arrangement between the three started seven months ago, the musician has never seen one of these moments and, a part of her just look away.  

But fast enough, Billie has two fingers on Sally's chin, gently lifting her face until her brown eyes focus. But this intense exchange of looks quickly comes to an end, because the medium smiles and moves away, bringing the musician's line of sight into a necklace.  

"I know you like your dark chokers, especially the one with the silver pendant that Y/N bought you." Billie's voice is sweet and smiling as she opens the necklace clasp.  

Sally remains silent almost without blinking, like a deer caught by a car's headlights while trying to cross a highway, but everything becomes softer and easier to understand when S/N takes her hand and squeezes it while Billie continues to talk.  

"So I looked for a set that had a necklace with a long, loose chain, even with a small stone because honestly, the rings with larger emerald stones were just dreadful...", at that moment the medium closed her eyes and for just one second she has a disgusted expression on her face as if the small mention of the jewels she didn’t like was something powerful enough to make her sick, but then her eyes open and her cheeks are painted a light pink before she continues, in a more whispery voice, "So you can use the necklace and your choker together."  

Sally feels her body move in automatic as she sits on the bed and lets the medium put the necklace around her neck, and then Billie's lips are on hers in the sweetest way the musician has ever felt and for a second she feels tears starting to form in her eyes. But Sally doesn't spill them, she just smiles. And then she feels Billie smiling against her lips too before the medium moves away and finally puts a delicate ring with a small emerald on her own ring finger.  

They don't say anything. There are no thank you, or questions about any motivation. Just incessant smiles as the three of them lie back between the covers in silence.