Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

days 10-11 (the final days)

They leave Jillian’s at about nine in the morning. She sees them off with a kind smile and a firm handshake, a Come visit whenever you’d like to top it all off. 

Ava slides into the driver’s seat despite Mary’s grievances about it (Ava insisting that since she’s been doing the majority of the driving up until now, she finish it, too; an argument that Lilith snorts at her for, but no one ends up arguing about it) Beatrice even gets the passenger seat, for old time’s sake, if nothing else. 

It’s strange. Everyone is the same—Lilith giving Ava grief for her music choices—country, again, despite Ava being clearly outvoted in that regard—Camila asking about Mary’s neighborhood—but there’s a tension that hovers in the air. Beatrice hates it, hates the idea of done and over, hates that things must always change in the end. 

Camila’s mother is already outside when Ava pulls up to the house, only a few short hours later. They don’t plan to stay for very long. Camila’s mother is kind, though a tad high-strung, and it’s instantly clear that having four other people over for a significant amount of time would only give her unnecessary stress. So it’s only after a short introduction when Beatrice says goodbye. 

It still feels too soon. Beatrice hadn’t even wanted to see Lilith—preferably for the next few years—but now it’s hard to think about leaving her behind. 

Mary and Ava have kindly left them alone, crowding around Camila instead, and Lilith is already watching her as Beatrice tries to figure out what to say. She’s never felt much of a need to talk to Lilith before this trip; they’ve rarely used words, but she feels as if they’d help in this moment. 

“Let me know if you need anything,” is what Beatrice decides to start with. “I—don’t have much, but—” she cuts herself off, because there’s no reason to say it aloud. Lilith knows. 

“Yes,” Lilith replies, because she knows but that doesn’t mean she’s not going to be a shit about it. “Because we’re both in incredibly good financial positions right now.” She snorts, lifting her chin. “I appreciate the sentiment.”

Beatrice says, “I’ll do the best I can.” It comes out less teasing than she’d meant it to, and she releases a short sigh. Something tugs low in her stomach. “I’m glad to have come across you.”

Nodding jerkily, Lilith’s eyes flicker away from Beatrice’s own, like she can’t possibly be vulnerable and be perceived doing it. Still, Beatrice appreciates the effort. “Yes,” she says, the picture of elegance. “It was nice to see you outside of… those kinds of environments for once.”

Beatrice agrees. She’s known Lilith for so long, yet it almost seems like she’d never really known her until now. On the other hand, Beatrice also can’t believe she was ever scared of her. In plenty of ways, Lilith’s exactly the same as she’s always been. “Have a good break, Lilith,” she says in reply, and it’s only a half-joke. Ironically, this may have been the best break of her life. 

Finally meeting her gaze, Lilith makes a sound that almost sounds like a laugh. “I’d say see you at school, but…”

“I would hope not.”

“Exactly.” 

Beatrice doesn’t hug her. It wouldn’t feel right, and she’s sure Lilith would agree. Instead she settles for an affectionate nod—one Lilith returns without hesitation—and then says, “Goodbye, Lilith.”

“Goodbye, Beatrice,” Lilith says, face softening just so. “I—hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

I think I already have, Beatrice thinks, and though she doesn’t say it aloud, she has a creeping feeling that Lilith already knows anyway. I just have to do something about it. 

Lilith’s not quite smiling but she’s close. When Beatrice finally starts to back away, Camila’s already waiting for her with a bright look on her face. Beatrice thinks again—surely not for the last time—how glad she is that Lilith has someone like this. 

“It’s been so good to know you,” Camila is saying before Beatrice even fully approaches. Her eyes are wide and soft, just the hint of tears prickling at the corners. Beatrice is glad she’s not crying outright. “You know, I can’t believe it took us the strangest luck in the world to meet.”

“Yes, well.” Beatrice falters. “It was probably a good thing she didn’t introduce you to me until now.”

Camila’s face only softens further. “Nah. You would’ve been a great friend at school,” she insists, even though Beatrice isn’t sure at all. “Thank you for being a great friend here.” 

It’s getting hard to swallow. Beatrice smiles down at her, allowing the emotion to show in her expression. “Take care of her, Camila.”

Camila sidesteps her affectionate shoulder-pat in favor of a long hug, squeezing her so tightly that all of Beatrice’s breath rushes violently from her chest. “I will. You figure yourself out, okay?”

Then she pulls back, takes in Beatrice’s wide eyes with her usual kind smile. 

“Thanks,” Beatrice says, suddenly finding herself blinking back tears. “I’m glad to have known you.”

She doesn’t say anything else, and that’s when Camila steps back, when Beatrice realizes that Mary and Ava are both waiting for her by the car. Lilith is standing next to the driveway, and as Camila goes to join her, Beatrice finally manages to pull herself away and heads back towards Mary’s side. 

No one speaks as they pile back into Ava’s car. 

Camila waves at them until they turn the corner, and Beatrice sits back, swallowing thickly. She’s nervous, suddenly, which is ridiculous, but the silence in the car seems to echo her own feelings pretty well. 

It takes a few moments, but eventually Ava takes in a deep breath. She says, “One more stop.”

Beatrice can’t read her tone. 

/ / 

The trip to Mary’s own home is done mostly in the quiet, with Ava messing with the radio every once in a while and asking for directions when she needs them. It goes far too fast for Beatrice’s own liking— one more stop —ringing in her ears, and time passes in the blink of an eye. 

“So… you’re not down Jefford’s Street?” Ava asks eventually, frowning down at her phone. It’s back to replacing Beatrice’s map reading, for some reason, and it’s just as unreliable as it used to be. 

“No,” Mary insists. “Jefford’s Street is just the only thing that’ll show up on the online map. I’m on Jestord’s Street, a half a block down the road from Jefford’s. Obviously.”

Ava shakes her head, and Beatrice doesn’t blame her. “Obviously.” 

Mary texts her wife fairly consistent updates on when they’ll arrive, and so by the time Ava pulls into their driveway—from Jestord’s Street, not Jefford’s—the woman they’ve all heard so much about is waiting on the steps for them. 

Shannon’s eyes are tired-looking but kind, and Beatrice likes her instantly. Mary kisses her fiercely on the mouth as soon as she’s able, dropping her backpack on the ground without a single look in favor of winding her fingers through Shannon’s hair. Faltering, Beatrice averts her eyes and studies the architecture of the left corner of their house, only turning back towards them when Shannon pipes up for the first time.

“So these are your friends, yes?” Shannon’s voice is playful—kind, too. Her face is carved and worn, smile lines easily noticeable under her eyes. 

“Yeah, they’re here too, I guess,” Mary says with a twinkle in her eye. “They’ve been very excited to meet you.”

True to form, Ava’s not even a little embarrassed by the implication. She bounces forward—genuinely bounces —and holds out her hand for Shannon to shake, Beatrice only a step behind her. “Hi! I’ve heard so much about you!”

“You must be Ava,” Shannon guesses, much to Ava’s clear delight. “And Beatrice, yes? It’s great to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you,” she says, sending Mary a glance that’s simultaneously full of exasperation and such a tender love that it has Beatrice averting her eyes for the second time in just as many minutes. “The lasagna’s already in the oven, so it shouldn’t be too long before it’s ready to eat.”

Mary’s home is smaller than Ava’s—which really doesn’t mean anything, considering Ava’s mother is a millionaire—but Beatrice likes it just as instantly as she takes to Shannon herself; the one-story house is cozy-looking, with flowers sprouting near the front steps and a single tree, already beginning to go red with color. It’s beautiful. 

The first thing that greets them inside is a cat. It’s a sleek black color, and it watches them with suspicious eyes—that is, at least, until the very moment it lays its gaze on Mary. Beatrice has never seen a cat smile before, but this one seems to manage. It’s winding its way through Mary’s legs without a second’s hesitation, purring loudly as she grins down at it. 

“Princess!” Mary sets her backpack down and gets to her knees in order to greet her pet properly. In response the cat just purrs louder, arching into her touch.

Predictably, Ava loses her shit. “You didn’t tell us you had a cat!” 

“We have a cat,” Mary says. She doesn’t look up from where she’s stroking the cat—long scratches over its stretching spine, shorter strokes across the backs of its ears—and Ava takes a quick seat next to her. Beatrice follows, if only to avoid being the odd one out. 

The cat’s pretty cute, she supposes. 

What she’s not expecting is for Princess to abandon Mary in order to come towards her. Curious, at first, and then probing further as she sniffs at Beatrice’s hand, allowing her to reach out and stroke. 

Beatrice says, a little startled, “Oh.”

Animals have never been ones to like her very much before. She can probably count on one hand the amount of them she’s pet one properly, but Princess doesn’t seem to mind her clear inexperience in the slightest. Instead of pulling away, the cat actually nuzzles closer, giving Beatrice a better angle to scratch at her ears. 

“Of course she likes you,” Shannon says long-sufferingly, hands on her hips as she gazes down at them. “The wretched creature has been badgering me for the past two weeks. Please, by all means, take her off my hands.” 

“Wretched creature.” Mary shakes her head in response. Beatrice senses this is an old argument, one borne of familiarity and something else she doesn’t think she’s ever seen before. She can’t exactly put her finger on whatever it is, but it's certainly not something her own parents share. “Poor baby was just lonely. Both of you were, huh?” 

“I plead the fifth,” Shannon says. 

Ava is clearly ignoring everything anyone is saying, and Beatrice watches as she shimmies closer to the cat, still lounging on Beatrice’s lap, and beckons her forward. 

“Princess,” Ava croons, “come here, baby!” Her face is alight with joy as she tries to call the cat over, and Beatrice’s heart skips a beat. She has to tear her eyes away before it gets to be too much. 

Hilariously, Princess doesn’t seem to care about Ava in the slightest, instead ignoring her completely in favor of nuzzling further into Beatrice’s stomach. Mary snickers quietly off to the side as Beatrice continues patting the cat gently on the head, unsure exactly what to do with her. 

“Oh, come on,” Ava cries, though there’s still a smile on her face. “That’s not fair…”

By the time they’re able to pull themselves away from Princess’ greeting, Shannon is ushering them all further inside. She and Mary head into the kitchen to check on the food and Beatrice follows a few steps after them, careful not to step on any stray paws as she walks. 

Immediately there’s a difference. 

There’s something about the way Mary and Shannon orbit around each other in this small space, the ease in which they interact with each other—Mary swatting at Shannon’s arm, Shannon ducking away from the attack like she’s had practice despite their recent time apart—and Beatrice finds herself stock-still, frozen in place as the cold feeling spreads from her heart through her entire body.

Something deep within her aches, and she has to look away for a moment, lest her eyes betray her and turn to Ava without her permission. 

They eat the dinner that Shannon had kindly prepared for them— She’s the better cook, she’d said right before, but I’m not awful at it —and then after, Beatrice volunteers to wash the dishes, shooting down Ava’s offer to help. 

“I thought you were going to keep trying to make Princess like you.”

Ava’s eyes light up at the reminder. “If you’re sure!” She doesn’t sound very upset about not washing the dishes anymore; Ava had spent nearly the entire meal trying to slip bits and pieces to the cat, who had completely avoided her at all costs. Because of it, Ava’s not stopped pouting all night. “You guys have got cat treats or something, right?” 

“We do,” Mary says, getting to her feet to rummage around in one of the nearby closets, presumably looking for that exact thing. “But you cannot give her very many, you understand?”

“Sure,” Ava says. “Just, like, four or five if that’s what it takes.”

“No—”

Beatrice starts to gather up the plates as she listens, balancing them carefully and setting the silverware on the uppermost one. They’re still debating by the time she heads into the kitchen, Shannon watching it fondly from her chair, and Beatrice can’t help but roll her eyes as she goes. 

Mary and Shannon’s kitchen is much like the rest of their house: small, but pleasantly cozy and full of little details that only serve to make it feel that much more lived-in. A dish towel with some hockey team’s logo printed on it here, a half-open book resting on one of the counters there. Beatrice thinks it’s nice. Nothing like the house she’d grown up in, but maybe that’s the company, too. 

“So, what’s the plan, exactly?”

Beatrice freezes where she’s standing, back to the doorway as she faces the sink. Mary’s snuck up on her, having entered the kitchen with complete silence. 

“I’m not sure,” she says finally, because there’s no point in playing dumb. She doesn’t turn around. 

“Haven’t figured out what you’re going to do? You?” There’s no bite in Mary’s voice, just friendly teasing. “And here I thought you planned everything months in advance.”

“Yes, well—” Beatrice bites back her first comment—I’ve never felt like this before—for the less vulnerable option, skin prickling at the mere thought of voicing that aloud. “I think I know what I’m going to do. I just don’t know how to ask.”

Mary visibly softens. She comes closer to stand next to Beatrice, grabs the first plate Beatrice had rinsed to start drying it. Hesitantly, Beatrice goes back to washing. Mary doesn’t seem like she’s going to let this one go, and Beatrice resigns herself to the concept of conversation. 

“What are you planning to ask in the first place?” Mary’s tone is unreadable. 

“I’m not. Well, I haven’t planned, really. That’s the problem.”

A short laugh; not cruel, Beatrice doesn’t think, but like her answer had caught Mary somewhat off guard. “Okay,” she says, “fair, but sometimes you just have to take that next step on your own. If you want to stay, ask to stay.” She takes the next plate Beatrice offers her, dries it without even glancing in her direction. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ll get the answer you want.”

Beatrice does, too. Ava’s not subtle, and Beatrice is sure that she very much enjoys Beatrice’s own company. Ava would probably love nothing more than for Beatrice to stay near her, to be able to grab lunch with her every once in a while, to be able to meet up at a whim. Beatrice would like that, too. 

It’s the craving more that trips her up.

Because Beatrice has had fleeting crushes before. She’s always pushed them down, sure, but they’ve existed, and she’s more than willing to admit it nowadays. This is different. The way she feels about Ava is something that tingles up her spine and spreads throughout her entire body, sending her fingertips sparking with delicious heat. She doesn’t know how to handle it, doesn’t know how to ask, doesn’t know how to even consider the concept. 

She doesn’t know how to tell Mary any of that, either. 

In the end, Beatrice ends up settling on, “What if I push too far?”

What if I ask for too much? she thinks. What if I take too much of her for granted? How could I ever live with myself? She swallows those down. It’s too much. 

Mary hums thoughtfully. “That’s a valid fear, sure. But, I mean, sometimes that’s just going to happen, you know? Sometimes you’re going to be hurt and you’re going to hurt others, too, even the people you care most about. You just have to trust that the bond between you is strong enough to withstand all that. It’s scary, but that’s life.” Then, before Beatrice can even respond, she adds, “You’ve been rinsing that cup for the last five minutes, by the way.” 

“Oh.” It’s the last one, and she hadn’t even noticed. Beatrice turns off the water and hands the—sufficiently rinsed—cup over. “Sorry.”

“It’s all good.” Mary finishes drying and stretches to place it in the cupboard above her head, turning back to Beatrice with a sly arch of her eyebrows. “So… what’s the plan?”

Beatrice shakes her head in response. “There still isn’t one.”

Mary shrugs. “Okay, let me rephrase.” She leans closer, daring Beatrice not to look away. “What do you want?”

For a moment, neither of them speak. 

What does she want? Beatrice has hardly ever let herself want anything at all. She’d had so much growing up, belongings making up for other parts of her life, and she’s never really considered the idea of wanting, not seriously. She wanted to make her parents proud. She wanted to be a good person, someone deserving of respect. She wanted to feel comfortable in her own skin. What she wants now…

Well, it’s easy, is the thing. She wants—

“Ava,” she says, and then flushes hot. 

Mary smiles, crooked, and doesn’t look surprised in the slightest. “Yeah,” she says. “I thought so.” She holds up a finger when Beatrice opens her mouth. “I don’t need to know the specifics—please, spare me, actually. Just know that it’s okay to want her.” 

Beatrice swallows thickly, finally looking away. Her ears are burning again. “It’s terrifying,” she confesses in a whisper; a shiver runs down her spine even just voicing anything close to her fears. “I hate it.”

“It’s scary. Yeah,” Mary says. “But you don’t hate it. Plus, she’s worth it, isn’t she? She’d never want to hurt you.” 

Of course not. Beatrice knows that’s true as easily as she knows that grass is green, that clouds belong in the sky. Ava’s one of the kindest people she’s ever met, and even if she weren’t, Beatrice is fully aware that she means something to her. She believes that if she told Ava everything, no matter what, she wouldn’t be weirded out by it. 

Beatrice has spent so much of her life being a coward. For Ava, she can be brave. She takes a deep breath. “Yeah,” she murmurs finally. “She’s worth it. I know that.”

“I know you do,” Mary replies, just as quiet. “Just remember it, okay?”

“Thanks. I know that, too.” Beatrice exhales quietly. “You’ve—been very kind to me.” 

It’s the least of what she could say. She wishes she could say more, but the words stick in her throat. She’s never been good at voicing what she’s feeling. 

“Hey. You’ve got my number. So does Ava,” Mary says. She opens her arms, but there’s no expectation in her eyes. Beatrice doesn’t have to come closer, and the choice in her action is the reason why she does, stepping into Mary’s space and accepting the hug. 

“Thanks, Mary,” she says again. 

When they come back into the dining room, if Ava or Shannon notice that they’ve been gone for a while, neither of them mention it. Ava’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, Shannon standing beside her, and Princess is sniffing suspiciously at Ava’s closed fist. 

As Beatrice watches, Ava opens her palm—slowly, gently—and the entire room seems to hold its breath. It takes a second, but Princess comes close enough to take the treat out of Ava’s hand. Then, as she chews, she allows Ava to stroke her ears. A beat. Ava’s eyes are about the widest Beatrice has ever seen. 

Then Princess lays down next to her, close enough so that she’s still brushing against Ava’s leg. Ava gasps quietly. 

“There you go,” Mary says, quiet. “I told you, she’s a sweetie.”

Shannon snorts from somewhere off in the distance, but Beatrice isn’t paying attention to her in the slightest. Her eyes feel glued to Ava, like she could never possibly look away again. Ava’s face as she gazes down at Princess, fingers gently stroking the fuzzy back, is indescribably soft. There’s something about it that tears all air out of Beatrice’s chest, like this is the exact moment poets and artists dream of capturing one day. 

Suddenly Ava looks up and meets Beatrice’s gaze. She’s giving away far too much, but she can’t even bring herself to care. She looks back at her as Ava’s features go slack with surprise when she notices that Beatrice is already looking. 

That doesn’t stay for long. It only takes another second before Ava’s smiling again, and up at her this time; wide and giddy with Princess sitting happily in her lap, and there’s no force in the entire world that could stop Beatrice from smiling back. 

/ / 

When it comes time for bed, Mary offers them a single spare room for the night. She doesn’t even let Beatrice consider the couch, delivers a succinct The cat likes to lay there during the night, you’ll frighten her and wake the whole house up and it’s not like Beatrice was seriously thinking about it anyway. 

If things go wrong tomorrow, this may be the last time she sleeps alongside Ava. Even if things go right it could still be some time before it happens again. Beatrice has gotten used to it by now. 

Ava’s quiet as she slides under the covers, choosing to lay on her back, and Beatrice leaves her be. Ava’s probably thinking a few of the same things she is—it will be strange, leaving Mary behind; it’s already strange to have left Lilith and Camila—and Beatrice doesn’t have anything she could say to make it feel less so. 

But she’s always slept well next to Ava, and so it doesn’t take her very long before her eyes are growing heavy, muscles softening as she relaxes further. The bedsheets Mary had provided them with are somewhat scratchy, but even they can’t pull her back from the brink. 

Beatrice dreams. 

This one is even more violent than usual, as if making up for the fact that she hadn’t had one the night before. It’s full of blood; in her mouth, crusting under her fingernails, getting sticky in her hair. She dreams of blood, but it’s somehow comforting. 

She’s the one bleeding, at least. 

Everything goes gold, stays that way. The blood melts away to nothingness, and the light comes so close that Beatrice can feel the warmth of it on her face. A flash of a face—Ava’s, of course, as always—and then she remembers nothing else. 

When Beatrice wakes up at around her usual time, she’s fully prepared to swing herself out of bed and see if she can’t start coffee for the whole house. This does not happen, because as she opens her eyes, she discovers that Ava’s wrapped her entire body around her own, tangling their legs together and curling her chest into Beatrice’s back. 

No wonder the warmth had bled into her dream. Beatrice has never been more comfortable in her life. This is new. Beatrice has gone to sleep holding Ava before, but not just because; she had a good reason for it, and she’s not ever been the one to be held. It's different. 

It’s also not at all bad. 

Beatrice doesn’t get up. Instead, she allows herself to sink further back into the gentle warmth of Ava and falls back asleep. 

/ / 

It hurts to leave Mary, maybe even worse than it had to leave Lilith and Camila. 

Even saying goodbye to Shannon makes a part of Beatrice’s chest feel heavy. She’s been so kind—Beatrice can absolutely understand why Mary’s so clearly infatuated with her—and Beatrice is doubly glad she was able to meet her. Shannon even gives her an affectionate pat before she heads over to say goodbye to Mary, Ava off to the side being thoroughly distracted by Princess. 

“Don’t be a stranger, okay, kid?” Mary says. “We won’t be going anywhere, and neither should you, got it?”

“I know,” Beatrice replies, ducking her head. “I know.” She straightens up, meets Mary’s gaze with a sad smile. “Goodbye, Mary.”

Mary’s expression echoes her own. She says, “Goodbye, Beatrice,” and this time when she opens her arms, Beatrice doesn’t hesitate. Mary’s hug is long and warm, and Beatrice finds herself sinking into her embrace unlike anyone else’s. 

“You okay?” Ava asks. She’s fixing her car’s mirrors, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth as she squints out the window. Still, she drops her shoulders and meets Beatrice’s gaze once she’s done, tilting her head like a curious cat.

She’s got one of her hats on, the one with the cartoon sunglasses printed on the front. So I can think of you when I wear it, she’d said, days—and what feels like decades—ago in that dumb collectibles shop, and Beatrice’s heart aches when she realizes. 

Beatrice looks at Ava and it’s that, the evidence that Ava has also been changed—even just slightly, in any small way—that makes something in her stomach twist. Not unpleasantly, really; it’s overwhelming, the thought of it, but it’s also not a feeling Beatrice thinks she hates in the slightest. 

“Yeah,” Beatrice says. “I think I am.” 

/ / 

Despite herself, Beatrice still doesn’t ask. 

She could. She has plenty of time—nothing but time—uninterrupted time, just Beatrice and Ava and the road in front of them; it would be so easy, even though she still doesn’t have a plan, even though she’s still afraid of the answer. 

Beatrice almost asks, and it happens multiple times as they go; she opens her mouth, freezes in place. She gets a single syllable out, changes the subject entirely. She doesn’t know how to ask, and it’s killing her. Ava must know, too, if the way she’s been shooting her weird looks is anything to go off of. Beatrice isn’t acting like herself. 

And she’s not the only one.

The first sign: usually Ava drives about three or four miles per hour over the speed limit. 

Unless she’s on a weird road, that is, or she’s fighting with the map on her phone. She’s always in a sort-of rush, but that doesn’t seem to be at all the case for today—and she is in fact driving three or four miles under the speed limit—which Beatrice isn’t sure about at all. 

She doesn't point it out because she probably shouldn’t know this about Ava in the first place—shouldn’t be paying that much attention, shouldn’t be so attentive—but it’s there. It’s cooler today than it has been for a while; Beatrice supposes that’s got something to do with the ocean breeze, something that she’s never experienced herself before. Either way it’s nice outside, and Ava has the windows rolled down. 

She doesn’t think it’s ever been awkward between them, is the thing. Even in the beginning, Ava as a complete stranger had set her at ease—at least, as close to it as Beatrice could have ever gotten at the time. She doesn’t think she would have accepted anyone else’s offer of a ride that first day, and they’ve been sharing a bed more often than not over the past two weeks. Despite all that, it’s never been tense. 

Until now. 

And Beatrice hates it. 

She doesn’t know how to fix things, either. She thinks Ava’s uncomfortable for the same reason Beatrice is, that maybe Ava’s just uncertain about the uncertainty of next, but Beatrice can’t be entirely sure, and if she’s wrong… it could ruin everything. 

“Need to stop?” Ava asks when she sees a sign for the rest stop. Beatrice declines, but Ava asks about the same thing only five minutes later, this time spotting a billboard for another tourist trop. “Want to go? Since you’ve only got the two souvenirs.”

The light-up bracelet and the wolf-shaped mug that Ava had bought her from the zoo, still wrapped carefully in its packing paper. Beatrice would never have gotten either of those items if it weren’t for her, and she’s the reason they’re so precious.

She can’t imagine getting anything more valuable. 

“I think I’ve got all I need,” she says eventually. 

It’s the wrong thing to say: Ava’s face falls, and she says, “Oh. Okay,” she goes on, but her voice is lower than it’d been just a moment ago. “That’s fair.” 

She goes silent, then, and Beatrice wonders how exactly she’d read that so badly. Ava’s fidgeting now, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. She looks like she’s chewing on the inside of her cheek, too. She’s always been a twitchy person, but not like this. Beatrice doesn’t understand what’s got her so—

Ava sneaks a glance over, so fast that Beatrice hardly even notices it, but when she manages to catch her gaze, just for a split second. Ava’s eyes are full of a tired apprehension, and that is something Beatrice understands. 

…Oh.

Ava’s upset because she doesn’t want this to be over. 

She still hasn’t asked Beatrice what her plan is, after. She hasn’t even alluded to the idea of it, has tiptoed around the concept of Beatrice leaving just as carefully as Beatrice herself has avoided it. Ava wants to do more things with her, wants to do more before the inevitable. Wants it just as much as Beatrice herself does, maybe, if the way she’s been pushing is anything to go by.

Beatrice’s throat feels thick. 

There’s nothing more she’d like to do than go on one last adventure with Ava, and luck is clearly on her side today, because the thought has only just crossed her mind when she sees the upcoming sign for a carnival. 

Round and large, hanging over the road like the hot-air balloon that it’s based off of; the sign says, Just around the corner! Cheap prices! Good food! Rides all day!

Ava spots it too, but she doesn't say anything. Beatrice watches her watch the sign until they’ve passed it, sees the way Ava’s shoulders slump like she’d bitten something back. Beatrice has messed up. 

So in the end, it’s Beatrice’s turn to make an offer. “Would you—want to go to that?” 

Going still, Ava glances over, meets Beatrice’s gaze with wide eyes. 

She could be wrong. Maybe Ava doesn’t want to do anything more, was just offering to be nice; worse, maybe she was offering because she knows Beatrice is dragging her feet. Worst-case scenario, Beatrice supposes she could always jump out of the car. It may be worth it. 

“I would pay,” Beatrice blurts, panicking. “I just thought—it’d be a shame to not do one last thing, right?” She shuts her mouth, swallowing harshly. If she’s misread this, she’ll never live it down. 

By the time she’s finally summoned the courage to look over, Ava’s already smiling at her. 

/ / 

It’s busy. 

Beatrice hadn’t even realized it was a weekend until now—time has become strange on this trip, with nothing demanding her attention besides moving from place to place—but she’s clearly the only one who hadn’t been aware, because the crowds are almost ridiculous. 

There’s people everywhere, from families toting around their five children to pairs speedwalking across the area. It’s near-overwhelming; the sounds are loud and constant, and though it truly hadn’t been that hot in the car it’s far warmer here, down underneath nothing but the sun and with so many bodies packed into one area.

Despite all that, Ava doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest by the crush, and Beatrice tries not to be either. They don’t do anything to start, instead deciding to walk around and see what’s being offered. It’s a lot. 

From end to end there’s roller coasters that make Beatrice’s stomach twist to even look at. Placed strategically on the sides of the walkway, there’s at least a dozen different food stands, the smells of which all combine into one inescapable aroma of fried food. Games ranging from Hit the bell, win a prize! to Can you guess the number of jellybeans in this jar? and everything in between choke the area, clogging every available space that isn’t currently being used for people to walk on. 

Beatrice is sure they’re all rigged considerably. 

Ava grabs her hand halfway through, presumably so they aren’t separated, and suddenly the staggering attack on her senses is narrowed to just that one simple touch. Beatrice tries to remember how to breathe. 

She can’t help but watch Ava as they walk. Beatrice has seen her in so many ways in the last two weeks, but this one still feels new; she’s even more light on her feet than she’d been during the hike, smiling wider than when they’d gone to the zoo. Her hand squeezes Beatrice’s every few seconds, like she has to constantly keep reminding herself that she’s here. 

Ava keeps looking at her, too; Beatrice can feel her eyes whenever her own gaze is drawn up ahead. She’s not sure what to make of that. She wonders what it is exactly that Ava sees. 

“So what do you want to do first?” Beatrice asks, once they’ve gone from one end to the other. “It’s up to you.” She wouldn’t have the first idea, but she’s sure Ava’s already decided the exact order in which they’ll partake in things. 

Ava’s response is instant. “Will you buy me cotton candy?”

Beatrice looks down at her. That hadn’t been what she expected, but she also doesn’t think she’d be able to deny her a single thing, not when Ava’s looking up at her like this; an easy smile curls on her lips, charmingly crooked. 

“Yeah,” Beatrice says, and Ava’s grin softens, like she can almost tell how much Beatrice is affected, like it's something she enjoys. Somehow, this doesn’t seem so scary anymore. “What flavor would you like?”

Ava wants The classic kind, Bea, and so Beatrice buys her the pink one. She’s not sure at all what flavor it actually is—or if cotton candy is supposed to have flavors in the first place—but when Ava offers her a bite, fingers brushing against Beatrice’s own, she can’t taste anything but what she thinks stars themselves may taste like.

With the remnants of the cotton candy sizzling away on her tongue, Beatrice almost asks right then and there, almost says Can I stay, almost takes a step too close, almost reaches out to take Ava’s wrist between her hands, just to feel her again. 

She doesn’t. The moment passes without fanfare and Ava bounces off with her half-eaten cotton candy clutched between sticky fingers and Beatrice goes to follow her; she sucks a breath between her teeth and holds it. 

The rides are next. Ava definitely likes the roller coasters more than Beatrice does herself, but she doesn’t dislike them, and she likes the way Ava smiles when they stumble away, wind-spun and half-delirious with happiness. Ava makes them go on every single rollercoaster at least twice before she finally seems sated, and Beatrice never even considers saying no, never entertains the idea of waiting on the ground while Ava goes. She rides with her, every time, and she loves it.

Then they go looking for something to eat. 

There’s no such thing as proper food in this place, but Beatrice had resigned herself to that before she even set foot inside the park. The crowd has waned a tad as the afternoon dragged on, but it’s still nowhere near empty, and they’d spent more than an hour on the roller coasters alone. Beatrice keeps a watchful eye on the time, just in case. Though the thought of heading back so soon makes her stomach squirm, she’d rather they not be forced into driving through the night. 

“Should we be thinking of leaving soon?” Beatrice asks after they’ve finished eating. “I—I don’t want to,” she adds hurriedly, because Ava is looking at her with an unreadable expression. “I just don’t want us to regret this when we end up having to drive through the night to get back to your home.”

Ava tilts her head, leans back in her chair until it creaks worrisomely. “Eh,” she says, the picture of relaxation, “if it ends up getting too late, we can always find a hotel somewhere for the night. Nobody says we have to get back tonight rather than tomorrow. Unless,” she goes on, meeting Beatrice’s eyes head-on, “you want to go.” 

This feels somewhat like a test, though why Beatrice isn’t sure. Shifting uncomfortably, she says, “I don’t want to. Just—as long as you’re sure.” 

Ava smiles like she's passed. “I’m extremely sure,” she says, eyes crinkling at the corners. The wind had been merciless as they ate, and her hair seems to have taken the brunt of it; half of the half that’d been put up is sticking up in a strange way, and she keeps having to shake her head to get it out of her eyes. She’s so beautiful. 

“So… don’t worry about it,” Ava says simply. 

So Beatrice doesn’t worry about it. 

They return to the middle area of the park to try out the games. Beatrice is still positive they’re rigged, but she finds that she’s actually quite good at them, and it ticks Ava off to no avail. That is, of course, until she catches onto the fact that it’s fun when Beatrice wins and she starts to demand prizes. 

She often gets them.

By the time they’re done with the games, Ava’s ended up with a slew of random items. Plushies ranging in size from tiny clippable keychains to one massive, striped tiger stream out of Ava’s pockets; she’s got the tiger tucked securely under one arm, constantly adjusting so that nothing falls out of her pocket when she’s not looking. She refuses to let Beatrice help in holding them. 

This is the worst part: every time she receives a new one, she thanks with a hug; once, a kiss on the cheek that leaves Beatrice reeling. Every time, Ava’s eyes light up anew like it’s the first thing she’s received and not the fourth or fifth.

And every time, every time, Beatrice almost caves, has to choke down whatever’s about to come careening out of her mouth. She stops herself because she doesn’t want it to be a spur of the moment conversation, doesn’t want it to happen in front of a half-dozen strangers who are still waiting for their turn at whatever game they’re currently playing. Beatrice swallows it down, every time, and watches Ava as she bides her time. 

The problem: it’s starting to get late. The sun hasn’t yet begun to go down, but it’s only a matter of time, and Beatrice knows they really need to start heading back. But there’s one last thing they haven’t done—literally; the only thing—and it’d be a shame to miss out now. She can even see it from her spot standing a few paces away from the exit, and so can Ava. 

“Hmm,” Ava says lightly. “Do we want to wait in the insanely long line for the Ferris wheel?” 

Of course we do, Beatrice thinks, meaning it. Aloud, she says, “Well, it is the last thing left…” She trails off and bites back a smile as Ava meets her eyes, already mirroring her own pleased expression. 

“You’re right!” Ava declares. She sticks a finger into the air, as if this is the most important and serious thing she could ever say. “And it’d be silly to just leave the one thing, right?” 

She’s off for the line without another word, tugging Beatrice with her. Despite the large assortment of prizes they’re both carrying, Ava’s been sure to always take her hand again once they’re moving to another place. It’s not doing good things to Beatrice’s heart. 

Neither is the concept of this last ride. 

Beatrice isn’t stupid. She’s fully aware that most pairs of two who ride Ferris wheels tend to be romantic more often than not, is aware of the fact that Ferris wheels in general are widely regarded as a date idea. To make things worse, the sun has got to be only a few minutes away from setting. 

But Ava hadn’t hesitated and Beatrice won’t dare tell her no, not now. 

The line is just about as long as Beatrice had expected it to be, but it goes fast; in all, they’re never quite standing still, and Ava makes even the most mundane of activities exciting. She spends the time chattering about the similarities between this fair and the last one she’d gone to, right before she started her trip. Apparently that one’s rides hadn’t been nearly as fun, and though Beatrice has no reason to feel proud about that, she can’t deny it gives her a pleased little warmth to think that today’s been better for Ava, too.

When it finally comes their turn to ride, the sun is just beginning to set. The capsule that they’re directed to is large enough for four people, so it fits them and the small horde of plushies that Ava’s resolutely been carrying around quite comfortably. Ava decides to take her seat next to Beatrice rather than sit across from her, and Beatrice tries—and fails—not to read into that. 

For a moment, they just—sit. Beatrice finds that anything she could’ve said has been lost entirely, and Ava doesn’t seem eager to break the silence either. They sit and they breathe and Beatrice notices, idly, that her feet have begun to ache. She hadn’t even noticed. 

The ride continues to move, jerkily, and stops again and again as more guests get on and off. 

“This is way bumpier than I thought it’d be,” Ava says finally, effectively breaking the tension. Beatrice can’t hold back her laugh, though she tries to hide it as a cough, turning her head away. 

“It should get better soon,” she tells her, recovering quickly. Judging by the smug look on Ava’s face, she hadn’t fooled her. “Once they get all the seats filled up, the ride should start properly. I think we’re allowed four or five full rotations.” The only reason she knows this is because as a child she’d gone through a solid four-month phase of being obsessed with the way theme parks are built and directed, and she finds that most of that knowledge she’d consumed in such a short time has been retained well. She’s never told anyone that before. She’d tell Ava if she asked. 

“This is going to be gorgeous when we get to the top. Wait!” Ava starts rummaging through the pockets of her coat, startling Beatrice. “We should totally take a picture!” 

“Oh. Okay,” Beatrice says. Without another word Ava is sidling closer; her shoulder bumps against Beatrice and then she comes even closer, presses up so against her that their cheeks brush. Beatrice freezes in place and tries to keep her breaths steady—as steady as she can. 

After another moment of shifting, Ava slips her arm around Beatrice’s waist, pulling her impossibly nearer. “Put your arm around me,” she says; Beatrice does, almost on autopilot, and her fingers curl gently around Ava’s own hip. Ava tosses her a quick smile, holds her other hand up with the phone grasped tight. 

“Smile!” she orders. 

Despite the initial freeze, Beatrice doesn’t think she’s ever been in a happier position before. She smiles when Ava asks and doesn’t object when Ava takes more than one. She takes four, in fact, all from a slightly different angle than the last, and Beatrice lets it happen. 

Letting go is the worst part. But even Ava’s satisfied eventually, and she pulls away to send her favorite off to the newly-made group chat with the rest of their travel companions. Beatrice’s own phone—a new accessory that she hadn’t been able to talk Mary out of buying for her—vibrates. 

“Do you want to see?” Ava asks. 

Beatrice has already got it. “No,” she says. “I’m sure it looks great. I trust you.”

Ava looks as if she’s about to reply, but immediately there comes the sound of another notification. She looks back down at her phone to read it and can’t entirely hide the smile that forms because of it. This time, Beatrice’s interest is piqued. 

“What’d they say?”

“Eh, nothing,” Ava says flippantly, tucking her phone neatly back into her pocket. She seems to be actively fighting the smile even as it continues to grow, giving her face a particularly scrunched look to it. Beatrice is loathe to acknowledge that she’s no less attractive this way. “Mary’s just being stupid.” 

Beatrice could always go for her own phone, but she decides not to. Whatever it is, she’ll always be able to see it later, and she’s sure Ava’s being coy for a reason. Plus, she doesn’t really care what Mary thinks right now. It’s not what matters most. 

“They’re going to be upset that we ditched them before this,” Beatrice jokes. Her tongue feels too big for her mouth, limbs lanky and awkward, but she’ll take her own nervousness over the awkward tension they’d earlier endured any day. 

“They can suck it,” is Ava’s cheerful response. “Today’s just for us.”

Just for us. Beatrice likes the sound of that. 

The ride continues in silence as they begin to approach the top for the first time. Beatrice knows this won’t be the only time they see it, but knowing that does not take away from the beauty of the view.

…Either of them. 

The one ahead of her: the sun, the way it’s slowly begun to sink just over the sea, turning the ocean itself a warm shade of auburn. Beatrice has seen many sunsets in her years, but never one quite as beautiful as this. Whoever set the Ferris wheel up facing in this direction knew what they were doing. That’s the first view. 

The second is this: the one next to her; another sun, really, but far closer and somehow warmer. Ava staring into the distance, features slack. Ava with the actual sun sparking lights in her eyes, reflecting off her hair and giving her entire form an almost untouchable glow. 

With these two natural beauties in front of her, Beatrice almost doesn’t know where to look, and while it doesn’t make a conscious decision to stare, it does happen. 

It’s so much that Beatrice completely misses whatever Ava says next.

A beat. Then, “...Bea?” 

Resisting the urge to shake her head, Beatrice blinks herself out of it. “Sorry! I was just lost in thought,” she croaks, ears burning. “What was it?” 

By now their capsule is heading back down for another pass, though it’s not quite halfway. She must have been silent for longer than she thought. 

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Beatrice rushes to say. It’s the truth. “What did you say?” 

Ava gazes at her for a split second longer before she moves on, and Beatrice holds her breath the entire time. “I was just—” Ava lets out a small sigh. “You’re—welcome to stick around, by the way.” Now that she’s gotten Beatrice’s attention, she doesn’t seem to want to meet her gaze anymore, instead apparently content to stare back out into the summer sky. “Until you’ve figured something else out, I mean. You saw my house, it’s huge. There’s plenty of room for you, and Michael and Jillian already adore you.” 

Beatrice can’t read her tone. She sounds flat, almost, like she couldn’t care less, but Beatrice has never known Ava to not care about anything in her entire life. And her voice isn’t the only thing, either: her shoulders are tense, her hands fiddling—anxiously?—with themselves on the railing. Beatrice recognizes this behavior. 

Ava’s nervous. 

Beatrice makes her… nervous? 

This is the moment she’s been waiting for. Ava’s nervous for her answer, like Beatrice hasn’t been agonizing over the same thing for the past week at least. Ava’s already given her the answer, plain and simple. You’re welcome to stick around, she’d said. That’s Beatrice’s out, even if Ava’s unaware. 

But that doesn’t excuse the fact that Ava still deserves to be asked. 

“About that,” Beatrice begins. She hopes she doesn’t sound as anxious as she thinks she does. Ava’s head whips around to face her, expression unreadable. “I wanted to ask you…”

“What is it?” Ava’s voice is quiet. She’s hardly even blinking, staring into Beatrice’s eyes like there’s nowhere else on earth she could possibly look. This is the thing, too; somehow, despite all this, Ava still feels more safe than anyone else Beatrice has ever met. She’ll never understand how that works. 

So Beatrice takes one last breath and asks. “Yes, well. Exactly that,” she says; doesn’t dare look away. “I don’t have anywhere to go—you know that—but it’s also more than just that detail. I believe that I could figure something out, but—” here it comes. “I want to stay. That is—” beginning to spiral somewhat, panic dulls her tongue and makes her slightly stupid. “—if you’d have me.” 

She watches as Ava’s face visibly softens, spiraling brown shifting into something impossibly warmer, expression opening up until it’s all Beatrice can see. The sky is to her left, the mechanics of the Ferris Wheel to the right, but all she can look at is Ava. Ava, who she’s never seen smile wider than she is right now. 

“Bea,” Ava says, helplessly fond, “you’ve got to know you’re wanted.”

And—Beatrice does know. But it’s still hard to fathom that Ava cares even a fraction of how much Beatrice already cares about her. “I know. I just—” she shrugs self-consciously. Makes another decision. “When I was growing up, I had certain… rules to follow. My family is well-respected, and I couldn’t be allowed to do or be anything that would shine a bad light on them.” If Ava seems surprised by the change of subject, she doesn’t show it; if anything, the clear interest on her face only deepens. She stays quiet, and Beatrice goes on. “And I was good at keeping that up. I was always passable—at the very least—and it was simple.”

Ava says, gentle, “So what happened?”

“I was stupid,” Beatrice says, which is the truth. “I was a curious child and I asked too many stupid questions. My parents didn’t like the way I was thinking and they sent me off to a Catholic boarding school.” She exhales quietly. That had been horrible. The worst time of her life. Isolated completely, sent away so that she can’t even excel in front of her parents. It had been a very good punishment. 

She almost expects Ava to interject here, to ask questions or make some comment, but Ava doesn’t. She remains silent, watches Beatrice without a hint of judgment in her gaze. So Beatrice goes on. 

“University was supposed to be different. And it was—I enjoyed those semesters more than I ever enjoyed any others. Then my parents got wind that—” she takes a deep breath. “—that a girl had asked me out. I didn’t even like her. But that didn’t matter to them. I came home during the start of this break and I was confronted about it. I still don’t know how they found out.”

Ava says, quiet, “Then what?” 

It’s not pushy; she’s being gentle, and Beatrice appreciates her so much. “So I was given an ultimatum: either I fall in line and perform better to their standards, or I’m sent back off to another Catholic boarding school.” She pauses. Smiles. “I chose neither.”

“So cool,” Ava murmurs. She hasn’t looked away. 

“And I’m glad I did. I’ve never been happier with a decision,” Beatrice says, because it’s true. “Which is why I’d like to stick around. I’ve never felt freer than I do now.”

Ava’s smile softens. “Yeah,” she says. “Me neither.” She lets it sit, then, doesn’t probe any further, just lets everything Beatrice had just said settle and—

And Beatrice loves her. It’s ridiculous—she’s only known Ava for a little longer than a few weeks at a time, but she’s already—easily—wormed her way into Beatrice’s chest, so deeply that Beatrice isn’t sure she’ll ever be rid of her, nor would she want to. The truth, then, is this: Beatrice never had a chance in hell.

Please let this be forever, she thinks. Please.

“So,” Ava says eventually. “Would this stay be temporary, or…?” And it’s like she’s read her mind. When Beatrice doesn’t reply immediately, she backtracks with a short laugh, tosses Beatrice a relaxed glance. “If you don’t know, that’s cool, too. I’m just curious if you have a plan or not.” 

Beatrice doesn’t have an answer for that. She does, but it’s not one she thinks she’s prepared to give. She ends up saying, “You’re being awfully nosy now,” and prays it will bide her enough time. It doesn’t. 

“And you’re avoiding the question.”

Her tone is odd now, and Beatrice risks a glance over in an attempt to see what she’s thinking. It backfires: Ava’s already looking back at her with the same degree of intensity that she had earlier, except this time there’s a probing edge to it, though no less warm. Her eyebrows are furrowed, just the tiniest bit, which has the side-effect of producing what must be the cutest crinkle in anyone’s forehead ever. It’s unfair, is what it is; Beatrice can’t possibly tear her eyes away from her now. 

She says, in perhaps her worst lie yet, “No—I’m not.” 

That crinkle only deepens. Even more devastating: Ava’s lips have begun to curl upwards—not that Beatrice is looking, she just tends to notice these things—as if she’s figured something out. There’s only a slight difference, just the tiniest tilt of her head as she regards her, but it feels significant. 

“Bea,” Ava says; she’s looking more amused by the second, which is not at all a good thing. “I’m just asking. I’m not trying to like—trap you into anything.” 

She doesn’t believe that, either, not if the way her eyes are shining is anything to go off of. Beatrice replies, as casually as she can muster, “I know that. I just want to make sure you understand what you’re getting yourself into.”

Ava’s wiggling in her seat; she pauses, just for a moment, to raise her eyebrows challengingly, and then she’s back to fidgeting again; it’s likely unconscious. That doesn’t make it any less cute. “Believe me,” Ava says, “I know what I’m trying to get myself into.” Beatrice swallows, but Ava’s not done. Something sly enters her gaze, making Beatrice fight back a shiver. “Only thing, I’m not sure I’m on the same page with it.” 

A beat, in which Ava never once looks away. There’s a new tension radiating in every inch of her body, in the slight curl of her grin. They’re on the precipice of something, just like how they’d stood at the peak of a mountain. This fall seems much scarier. 

Beatrice exhales shakily. “You’re—going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

Ava scoots closer, a small smile melting onto her face. There’s something different to this one, a nervous tinge that Beatrice feels mirrored on her own. Still, when she speaks, her voice has not a single waver in it. “Yeah. I’m going to make you say it.” 

Which is fair. Beatrice has been dancing around it for so long, desperate to ask and terrified to follow through on what it might mean. “You’re right,” she says at last, and incredibly, ridiculously, her shoulders relax. “I don’t have a plan for the future. I just want…” Beatrice ducks her head, suddenly unable to meet Ava’s gaze. “It would be nice to stay with you as long as I can. It’s what I want,” she goes on, and swallows down the thought, still automatic, that says she shouldn’t be wanting anything in the first place. “I just want to stay with you.”
Then, when there’s no immediate response, Beatrice looks back up, meets Ava’s shining gaze with all the courage in the world. 

And Ava beams. She knew what Beatrice was going to say, of course, but her face lights up as if she’s still half-surprised. Despite knowing, she also seems to have trouble answering: her mouth opens and closes once, twice, three times, like Beatrice has somehow caught her off guard. 

In the end, Ava doesn’t respond in words. 

For a moment, Beatrice doesn’t quite understand what’s happening. This is what she knows: her eyes have closed without her knowledge, there’s something soft pressing up against her face, and there’s a hand cupping her jaw, another one coming to rest gently on her shoulder. For whatever reason it’s that; it’s the hands and not anything else that kick her brain into the realization.

Ava is kissing her. 

But it’s over as soon as she realizes, before she can do anything more than just stand there and take it, leaving Beatrice frozen in her seat. 

“I am so sorry!” Ava’s mouth is hanging open, probably in humiliation. Beatrice is sure she’s not much of a better sight. “I think I read that completely wrong, I— wow, I really just fucked up, huh?” She chuckles once; high-pitched, and not a sound that portrays anything even resembling laughter. “You just looked—well, nevermind, you probably don’t even want anything to do with me now, I’ve fucked it so badly—” She leans away, sharp, and Beatrice’s fingers itch to pull her back; Ava goes to rub the back of her neck. “Sorry. Fuck,” she says. “I just thought—” and then doesn’t finish her sentence. 

Ava’s spiraling, clearly, which is ridiculous because there’s nothing in the world that she should be sorry about right now, which is ridiculous because she’s done nothing but read everything perfectly; she’s spiraling, clearly, but she really doesn’t need to be. 

“Ava,” Beatrice says; for a moment, it’s all she can say, like Ava is the only word that can ever leave her lips. Ava’s mouth clamps shut with an audible click, no doubt winding up for another anxious spiel, but Beatrice has never felt more brave. All apprehension seems to have vacated her body, leaving behind nothing but a warmth and the surety of what she’s about to say. “You didn’t read it wrong.” 

Ava blinks, processes. “Oh,” she says. There’s the prettiest flush working its way up the back of her neck; Beatrice can see it creeping around her ears, turning the skin under her eyes a deeper color. “I—didn’t?”

Despite everything, she still sounds halfway disbelieving. Like Ava’s the one who doesn’t deserve her in this situation. Beatrice finds that she can’t completely hide her own excitement, and so she doesn’t even try. Ava’s eyes dart across her face, undoubtedly reading her smile. 

“You didn’t.”

“Oh.” 

Beatrice inhales deep, exhales as quietly as she can. There’s a roaring fire in her belly, and the way Ava’s looking at her now—something far too tender, eyes soft, face slack—is doing nothing to help contain it. “I didn’t think you—”

“What,” Ava says, “liked you?” Beatrice falls silent, and the smile that’s been missing from Ava’s face finally returns, glowing brighter than anything else around them. “I’m not very subtle about it.” 

She’s recovered from her own embarrassment far faster than Beatrice would have, but she can’t be jealous of that, not when Ava’s shifting closer again. She has a tiny dimple right underneath her left eye, which is something Beatrice has never noticed before. Now the idea is ridiculous. 

“I didn’t read it wrong,” Ava says. This time it’s not a question, but Beatrice answers anyway. 

“You didn’t.”

“So…” Ava scoots even closer. Their knees are brushing now, and it’s like every other part of the world that isn’t Ava is blocked out within a heartbeat. Beatrice can’t look away, can’t even fathom trying, not when Ava’s looking back at her. “It’s okay? If I try again?” 

There’s a lump in Beatrice’s throat; she thinks it may be her heart. It takes her a moment to respond, jaw working fruitlessly, but Ava is patient. Finally, she croaks, “Very okay.” 

Beatrice sees her coming this time around, though that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s ready for it. Ava’s lips, when she comes closer, are warm and gentle on hers; immediately Beatrice is addicted, and she can’t even stop her hands from moving, from coming up and coiling in Ava’s hair. Someone makes a noise—Beatrice isn’t sure who—and then Ava’s own hands are there, too, pressing lightly around her ears. Ava has never been so close, and yet it’s still almost not close enough. 

Everything else fades away, leaving behind nothing but Ava’s soft movement against her, Ava’s scent filling her nose, Ava’s hand moving down to grip the collar of Beatrice’s shirt. Her chest seems to expand until she’s sure it can’t grow any further—she’s so warm. 

When she kisses her, it feels like coming home.

/ / 

They end up taking another picture before their capsule has been taken to disembark the ride. Ava still ends up taking more than one of them, but this time it’s different. This time there’s one with Ava kissing her cheek, Beatrice’s smile turning bashful within seconds. This time there’s one that includes Beatrice summoning the courage to raise Ava’s hand to her lips, capturing Ava’s own shocked expression. This time, Beatrice works up the courage to kiss her properly for the last one. 

When Ava pulls away after snapping the photo, she doesn’t even look at it before she asks. “Can I send this one to them, too?”

Beatrice hardly looks at it either. If she did, she would’ve seen herself looking softer and happier than maybe ever before. She doesn’t care who knows; if anything, she’d like that. “Go for it,” she says, without hardly a second’s thought, and revels in the way Ava lights up. 

With a triumphant little grin, she sends the photo off without another word before turning back to Beatrice. Her mouth opens—

Almost immediately, Ava’s phone starts to ring. A beat, and then Beatrice’s starts to go off again. They chuckle in unison. With a swift movement, Ava turns her phone to silent. 

“They’re going to be extremely upset,” Beatrice says, though she doesn’t really care herself. It’s still worth saying, if only for the reward of Ava raising her eyebrow at her. The stern expression melts into a smile—smug, brimming with warmth that makes Beatrice’s own body react in turn—and she leans in closer, as if sharing a secret.

“Let them cry,” Ava says. Her face turns sly, eyes half-lidded as she gives a playful wink. “I’ve already got the better deal right now.” 

Beatrice can’t agree more. When Ava leans in this next time, fingers curling soft against the cup of her jaw, Beatrice meets her halfway.