not a flat, but a sharp *

                  during their mute period, saint had discovered asmr. naturally silent, and comfortable with silence, they found the soft, comforting noises to be extremely relaxing. in an attempt to increase interest in the art restoration world, they thought to combine their two loves into one. with the help of their business partner, saint filmed a small series of asmr art restoration videos. they had developed a slight following, although the artist hadn’t been able to update recently. naturally, they had never expected to be recognized. aside from their hands and arms, their screen time was limited. hearing someone call them by name and reference the videos in the same sentence caused saint to choke on their drink, almost spitting it out all over themselves. 

                 “u-uh…yeah, yeah, that’s m-me. are you…are you a fan?” they choked, trying to remember how to breathe. this woman was stunning, and she recognized them, and recognized their hands. 

“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry-” Hyacinth is still unable to keep a pinch of laughter from spilling over her lips when the artist practically choked on their drink. The pianist thinks it’s best to muffle any more laughter by pressing her lips together, waiting until the reaction is done, before nodding eagerly -- a typical fan’s reaction, a bit embarrassing but who is there to judge her?

“I did subscribe to your channel,” she replies, her smile never leaving her face as she claims a stool next to the artist. “Not much of a painter, but your videos have such a calming feel to them, I can’t help but download them... to listen to them as I try to sleep.” Her eyes narrow after placing an order, something to occupy herself with. “I hope that’s not too much?”

“Hyacinth?”

She utters the name with such trepidation it almost comes out like a whine. Was this a mistake? A coincidental error? An elaborate set up that was being filmed for amusement? For a moment, Cybelle halfheartedly expected a cameraman to spring out of the closet, declare ‘cut!’, and dissolve the scene.

That didn’t happen.

Suddenly regretting arriving early so she’d have the chance to settle in, Cybelle’s relaxed seated position upun the bedspread was forced into an upright rigid state the moment she’d locked eyes on Hyacinth’s achingly familiar face. The one she’d been avoiding like no other, successfully, for weeks now. Overwhelmed by that uncharacteristic spike of nerves that the other woman always managed to bring to the surface, Cybelle could feel her cheeks flush with frustration, no doubt coloring her pale cheeks with a very noticeable tinge of pink. Please be wrong, please be wrong. “It says, uhm, it’s—” Taking a shaky breath, Cybelle wet her lips as she fumbled with the paper in her possession, “Five… yours?”

The look of mutual horror on Cybelle’s face is enough to convince Hyacinth that is truly the most horrible idea this show could have ever come up with. She glances down at her paper slowly, as if doing so would change the number written on it -- the same number that Cybelle just uttered -- and like a balloon deflating under the heat of the sun, Hyacinth lets out a sigh and plopped down on the chair nearest to her. 

“Five,” she replies quietly, pressing her lips together before biting on one to ground herself. “Awkward, isn’t it?” Her cheeks warm up at this, and immediately, she reprimands herself for even mentioning or hinting at whatever is obviously looming over their heads. Perhaps keeping her mouth shut is the best way to go, and doing whatever they are meant to do in this room will get them out as soon as possible.

She clears her throat and folds the paper back into her pocket. “Did they... did they tell you anything? Give you instructions? I’m afraid I’m a little lost.” She points at the paper in Cybelle’s hand and forces another smile on her lips. “They just made me pick one and told me to come here and... well, here we are.”

Summer’s night had been eventful, to say the least. She had started the new year at a party some of the locals had thrown. They had celebrated the new year, and most of them had gotten drunk. Summer herself had gotten a little tipsy, but not nearly drunk enough not to find her way back to the hotel once everyone had decided to go home. Once she was back at the hotel, she found a spot where she was able to peacefully watch the fireworks. Minutes went by when she suddenly felt another presence next to her. She turned her head towards the woman who’d spoken to her and grinned when she realised it was one of her friends. “Hey! The view is amazing here, don’t you think?“ she pointed at the fireworks to prove her point. “Honestly so far I’ve been loving this place, the little shops here make the best aesthetic,“ she said. “I’m glad to finally catch you around though, I’ve missed you!“

“It is!” Hyacinth glances at the night sky and finds only a few stars visible -- the downside of having too much artificial light on the ground -- but sky is still clear, the moon is out, and, needless to say, it’s the perfect time be out and about, what with every establishments firing out all their light shows for their audience. Hyacinth can only really sigh as she leans against Summer’s frame, allowing the familiarity of an old friend to wash over the initial awkwardness of a first meeting after so long. “I’ve missed you as well, dear,” she smiles as she turns to Summer, head slowly lowering down to rest on the blonde’s shoulder. “What have you been up to since the last time we saw each other, hm?”

↳ INSTAGRAM: FRANCHESKAS POSTED A NEW PHOTO!

@francheskas:  She boasts of being the best gamer on her consoles but winds up losing in a traditional game. 🤷‍♀️ @sydneecrossing

Hyacinth gapes at the woman sitting on the soft bed, drags her gaze back to the strip of paper in her hand, and then back up at the woman sharing the room with her again.  It’s been a month, more or less, of existing in the same island and the same show while trying their very best not to be in the same room or the same prompts. Why now? Why like this?

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@hyacinthbrown:  Is it really a crime to want Halloween to come sooner? P.S. Faux fur.

lavender had dropped her robe the second that she got into the fenced off pool section, “you always talk about your mother when there’s a hot, naked woman in front of you?” the blonde teased in a whisper as she pressed her bare front against the brunette, “don’t think, baby, just do.” she paused, letting her hands wander down hyacinth’s body, “now come on, you want me to finger you under the water? go down on you? i’m excellent at holding my breath. that’ll help you relax.” 

It wasn’t easy to pretend to posses any sense of genuine cool in Hyacinth’s proximity. The longer Cybelle stood at attention, gaze fixed upon familiar features, focus occasionally darting from her eyes to her mouth ( perhaps the distant ocean waves were loud, justifying the need to lipread now and then — perhaps something else ), the more chance she had to notice and make observations. Hyacinth had always been beautiful, but something about the way the light kisses her skin is especially radiant. Cybelle feels inclined to relax slightly, appealed by how openly communicative Hyacinth was being. A jaded fragment of her wanted nothing more than to furiously resist it, exclusively suspicious of the motive behind it or a secondary shoe that would soon drop that wasn’t so pleasant. Shaking her head ever so slightly, hoping to remove the train of thought etch-a-sketch style, she knew it more sensible to be fair and uninhibited by a history that had begun and concluded too long ago to really be relevant anymore. Already unsure whether their relation to each other qualified as falling under ‘acquaintances’ or ‘strangers’, the way in which Hyacinth so readily accepted her invitation had Cybelle tentatively pondering the value of a third option. Could they be… friends? Hyacinth’s willingness to be candid about the inner workings of her life was certainly refreshing to receive. Unsurprisingly, she was just as desirable and busy as Cybelle had discreetly expected. Good for her. She pursed her lips, reflecting on the recent layout of her own calendar. She’d grown from ensuring she never had longer than a minute to herself, to keeping her book closed rather tightly; permitting only what she wanted. From being drastically selective in her availability, to haphazardly dropping appointments as it suited her; somehow the right rotation of people had stayed within her loop. She could afford to let the whims of impulse carry forth her day-to-day, untethered. On the other hand, it made the stability of her social and professional horizons utterly unpredictable. “Alright,” the smallest of smiles finally upturns half of Cybelle’s mouth in a lopsided show of softness, “We can work with that.” Averting her gaze to the sand with trained composure, her heels dig into the ground as she dutifully represses tending to the flickering embers of a too vulnerable something, lurking stubbornly just beneath the surface. 

It was disarming how innocuous and utterly adorable Hyacinth could be without trying. As much as Cybelle truly wanted to start afresh and prohibit herself from drawing any comparisons of Hyacinth’s before to this after, she could feel endearing recollections of the other woman trickling back into the forefront of her mind. Unfortunately, just as easily, could she vividly recount the singular instance which cut her off from ever witnessing more. The small victory of being able to ‘catch up’ on a brand new square, in a place she’d attached no memories of Hyacinth too, was bittersweet in its necessity at all.  All yours. Cybelle wills her mind not to latch onto the particular turn of phrase, as thrilling as it sounds to her ears. Like music. She knows it’s devoid of the very loaded quality it was once associated with; yet the words warmly wash over her all the same, and, along with it, the realization she was second most reluctant to admit. Quite simply, as plainly and as innocently as one could — Cybelle had missed her. At the end of the day, getting any portion of extra time would be well worth the concurrent tinge of discomfort the prospect also summoned. Although it was, on the contrary, at the sight of her smile — that smile — temporarily rather difficult to feel much of anything worrisome at all. Relief persistently blossoming in her chest, it suddenly dawns on her how rapidly her heart has been beating. Whether it was fear or nervousness, or an unmentionable ( far worse ) other, she couldn’t tell. Choosing to focus on a safer alternative, she considers her next plan of action. “I was, uhm, just going to go change and then grab some food. So… we could do that together, if you want? Or just coffee, if you’ve eaten already. Whatever works.” As if undermining her resolve to be flexible, she can feel her stomach lurch with hunger at the mere idea of food. Subtly pressing her arms more firmly against herself, she jerks her chin towards the hotel’s central building, “I could meet you inside at that little café in say… half an hour, maybe?”

“I could meet you inside at that little café in say… half an hour, maybe?”

A combination of relief and anxiety washes over her. Half an hour. It seems to be plenty of time to prepare herself, but also not. Half an hour is thirty minutes from now; in thirty minutes, on a normal day, Hyacinth can achieve a lot of things, do more than a handful of chores needed to be done for the day -- but now, thirty minutes doesn’t feel long enough… or short enough?

Swallowing the growing lump in her throat, Hyacinth feels a smile twitching at the corners of her lips afterwards, and the all too eager response -- Of course. I’ll meet you there. I’ll… get you your usual… as I wait. -- slips from her mouth before she can even think to say so.

So, she watches her go, and as she’s left behind standing by the seashore, she gazes down at her paling hands and starts squeezing each of her fingers to bring back the warmth they lost while talking to Cybelle after almost a decade of never even crossing paths. She pinches on the clammy flesh of her palms, watches as it goes white and then goes back to having its natural, pinkish shade -- and it’s repetitive and useless at this point, actually, because she knows her hands have regained their blood circulation, and time is never going to stop for her so she should go back to her room, rinse off any remnants of the sea on her skin, and being presentable enough for her meeting with Cybelle in… less than half an hour.

But ever the skeptical person she is, she walks back to the hotel in slow steps, as if her brain is telling her to slow down, to not get ahead of herself because it all just seems… too good to be true, even the rational part of her knows that to be factual. Breaking up with someone because of mutual reasons is something that can result to a friendship down the line… but breaking up with someone the way Hyacinth did with Cybelle?

This catching up and seemingly mending wounds and scars without so much as exchanging hurtful words meant to be said from the past -- it seems incomplete, unwarranted. Like Hyacinth doesn’t deserve it, and maybe she doesn’t.

But Cybelle is offering an end to an era of pain and uncertainty, isn’t she?

It’s the same question that finally drives her into walking faster. In no more than fifteen minutes, she’s back in her room, washing up quickly and wearing an attire that expresses nothing but comfort in a situation that may or may not go to well, and then back to the cafe Cybelle had referenced to a while ago.

Ten minutes more, she thinks to herself as she glances down at the screen of her phone, watching the time go by after ordering coffee for herself as well as Cybelle. From then on, it’s a repetitive cycle of sipping her coffee, checking the time, and subtly checking her surroundings for any sign of Cybelle --

Anxious, as always, for the brunette’s presence.

--