Chapter Text
The morning after the kiss, Ethel woke slowly, her consciousness drifting up from dreams that had been soft and warm and full of things she was still afraid to name. She lay still for a moment, her eyes closed, her breathing even, trying to hold onto the fading images of the night. There had been starlight. There had been confessions. There had been Mildred's lips against hers, soft and desperate and real.
She opened her eyes and saw that she was in her own bed, not Mildred's, not wrapped around each other as she had half hoped, half feared. She remembered then. She had stayed up until Mildred finally fell asleep, until her breathing evened out and her grip on Ethel's hand loosened. Then she had climbed into her own bed, giving Mildred space, giving herself space, trying to process what had happened before the morning came and reality crashed in.
But morning had come anyway.
Ethel sat up, her movements careful, and she felt the sharp pain in her arms from the little cuts of yesterday. They stung, a reminder of her weakness, her desperation, her need to punish herself for losing control. She looked at her forearms, at the thin red lines that were already healing but still tender, and she felt shame rise in her chest like bile.
Why was she doing this? This was going to be too much. Why could it never be enough? Why did she always have to ruin everything, why did she always have to be broken, why did she always have to need someone so desperately it terrified her?
"Ethel, why can't it ever be enough," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible, her hands trembling as she pulled her sleeves down to hide the evidence of her shame.
Before her thoughts could spiral further, before the darkness could creep in and consume her, Mildred stirred.
"Morning," Mildred said, her voice happy and sleepy and warm, her eyes still closed, her hair spread across the pillow like a chestnut fan.
Ethel froze. She just stared, her heart hammering against her ribs, her breath catching in her throat. She did not know what to say. She did not know how to act. She did not know if last night had been real or if she had imagined the whole thing in some fever dream of desperate longing.
Mildred opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the morning light, and she saw Ethel sitting there, staring at her, completely silent. Mildred's smile faltered. She looked unsure, vulnerable, her eyes widening with a fear that Ethel recognized immediately.
Did Ethel regret yesterday?
The question hung in the air, unspoken but deafening. Mildred sat up, pulling the blanket to her chest, her face pale, her lips trembling. She was preparing for rejection, bracing herself for the coldness to return, for the walls to go back up, for Ethel to pretend that nothing had happened.
But then Ethel started to blush.
It started at her neck, a soft pink that crept up her throat and spread across her cheeks, turning her face red in a way that was completely involuntary, completely revealing, completely undeniable. She could not hide it. She could not control it. She could only sit there, burning with embarrassment and hope and terror, staring at Mildred like she was the only thing in the world.
Mildred saw it. She saw the blush, the shy eyes, the way Ethel's hands twisted together in her lap. And she grinned. A huge, delighted, relieved grin that split her face and made her eyes crinkle at the corners.
She climbed out of bed, messy and sleepy and beautiful, her hair tangled, her nightshirt wrinkled, her feet bare on the cold stone floor. She walked right up to Ethel, not stopping until they were inches apart, until Ethel could smell her shampoo, until she could feel the warmth radiating from her skin.
"Hi," Mildred whispered, her voice soft and teasing.
"Hi," Ethel whispered back, her voice barely there.
Mildred reached out and hugged her. She wrapped her arms around Ethel's waist, burying her face in Ethel's shoulder, holding her tight. The pressure of the hug stung Ethel's fresh cuts, a sharp pain that made her gasp slightly, but she bit through it, she endured it, because Mildred felt so warm in her cold morning, so soft, so real, so here.
Ethel's arms came up slowly, hesitantly, and wrapped around Mildred's back. She held her, breathing in her scent, feeling her heart hammer against her own chest, wondering how she had survived seventeen years without this.
"You look terrible," Ethel said, her voice rough with emotion, her lips brushing against Mildred's hair. "Your hair is a mess. Your shirt is inside out. You have pillow marks on your cheek."
Mildred pulled back just enough to look up at her, her eyes sparkling with mischief and sleepiness and something else, something warm and intimate that made Ethel's stomach flip. "And you look perfect, as always," Mildred said, her voice teasing, flirty, completely unlike the careful, hesitant way she usually spoke to Ethel. "But I bet you are not even wearing matching socks."
"I am not," Ethel admitted, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I do not care about socks."
"You should," Mildred said, her voice dropping lower, becoming something soft and intimate. "Socks are important. They keep you warm. Like hugs. Like kisses. Like..."
She trailed off, her eyes dropping to Ethel's lips, her face flushing pink. The memory of last night hung between them, heavy and charged and terrifying.
Mildred stepped back suddenly. She looked at Ethel, really looked at her, and it was like a realization hit her like a physical blow. Her eyes widened, her mouth opened, and she let out a high pitched squeal that made Ethel jump.
"Oh my goodness," Mildred shouted, her voice cracking with excitement. She grabbed Ethel's hands, her fingers intertwining with Ethel's, and she started jumping up and down, swinging their arms back and forth like they were children on a playground. "Oh my goodness. Oh my goodness. Ethel. Ethel. We kissed. We actually kissed. Last night. You kissed me. I kissed you. We kissed. It happened. It really happened."
She was spinning now, swinging their joined hands in wide arcs, her face glowing with joy, her voice rising higher and higher with each word. The momentum was too much, her enthusiasm too wild, and she stumbled, pulling Ethel with her. They almost went down, both of them tipping backward, Ethel catching herself against the bedpost while Mildred crashed into her chest, laughing breathlessly.
"Careful," Ethel gasped, her arms wrapping around Mildred to steady her, her heart hammering from the near fall.
"Sorry," Mildred giggled, not letting go of Ethel's hands, still bouncing. "I just... I can't believe it. I thought I dreamed it. I thought I imagined the whole thing. But you are here and you are blushing and you are holding my hands and it was real. It was real. You like me. I like you. Ethel Hallow and Mildred Hubble."
Ethel stared at her, her heart hammering, her face burning, completely overwhelmed by the display of emotion. But she was calm now, or calmer, the shock wearing off, replaced by something warm and amused and impossibly fond. It was such a Mildred thing to do, this uninhibited, uncontrolled, pure joy. It was messy and loud and chaotic and everything Ethel was not, everything Ethel had been taught to suppress, everything Ethel needed.
And she loved it. She loved it so much she could barely breathe.
"I am pretty sure it happened," Ethel said, her voice shaking with laughter, a small smile playing at her lips.
Mildred stopped bouncing. She looked at Ethel, her eyes narrowing playfully, her grin turning mischievous. "Pretty sure?" she said, her voice mock offended. "Pretty sure is not enough, Ethel Hallow. I need you to be absolutely, completely, one hundred percent sure."
And then she kissed her.
It was quick and messy and uncoordinated, their noses bumping, their teeth clicking slightly, their lips pressing together for just a moment before pulling apart. It was nothing like the slow, desperate kisses of last night.
"Now are you sure?" Mildred asked, her face red, her eyes bright, her hands still gripping Ethel's.
Ethel laughed, actually laughed, a sound that bubbled up from her chest and filled the room. "Yes," she whispered, her forehead resting against Mildred's. "I am sure. I am completely, absolutely, one hundred percent sure."
"It is cold," Mildred said suddenly, shivering, her breath visible in the morning air. She looked around, her eyes landing on the windowsill. "Why is the window open?"
Ethel's heart stopped. She looked at the windowsill, at the gap where she had thrown the blade out last night, at the evidence of her weakness that she had forgotten to close in her panic and her desperation to hide.
"Oh no," Ethel thought, her stomach dropping. "She forgot to close it yesterday when Mildred came in. The blade is out there. If Mildred looks, if she finds it, if she realizes..."
But Mildred did not question it. She just shivered, rubbing her arms, and turned back to Ethel with a smile. "I should get dressed," she said. "Before I freeze."
Ethel nodded, her throat tight, her relief making her dizzy.
Mildred grabbed her clothes and went to the small mirror, braiding her hair with quick, practiced movements that were slightly crooked but endearing. Ethel sat on Mildred's bed, watching her, memorizing her, her heart full to bursting.
When Mildred finished, she sat down next to Ethel, close enough that their thighs touched, close enough that Ethel could feel her warmth. Mildred took Ethel's hand in hers, playing with her fingers, tracing the lines on her palm, taking deep breaths that Ethel could hear.
"So," Ethel said, her voice shy, hesitant, completely unlike the normally confident Ethel Hallow who commanded every room she entered. "Do you... want to go to breakfast together?"
The question hung in the air, vulnerable and terrifying. It was a statement of intent, a declaration that things were different now, that they were something more than enemies, more than roommates, more than friends.
Mildred's smile faltered. She thought about her fight with Maud and Enid last night, about the cruel things she had said, about the way she had pushed them away.
The last thing she wanted to think about right now was food.
"I will come after," Mildred said carefully, her voice gentle but firm. She took a deep breath, finishing her sentence with effort. "I need to talk to Maud and Enid first. About... about last night. About what I said. I need to fix it."
Ethel nodded, her face carefully neutral, but Mildred saw the flash of disappointment in her eyes, the way her shoulders dropped slightly. "Of course," Ethel said. "That is important. You should fix that."
"I should go," Mildred said, standing up, her hand slipping from Ethel's.
"Right," Ethel said, standing too, her voice tight. "Yes."
Mildred walked toward the door, her hand on the handle, ready to leave, to face her friends, to face the mess she had made. But then she felt a hand on her wrist, pulling her back, gentle but insistent.
She turned around.
Ethel was standing there, her eyes dark and intense, her lips slightly parted. She was looking at Mildred's lips, Mildred realized, her gaze dropping there again and again like she could not help herself, like she was starving and Mildred was the only thing that could satisfy her.
"Could we... talk about yesterday?" Ethel asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "After class? Just... talk. About what this means. About what we are. About... everything."
Mildred looked at her, at the vulnerability in her eyes, at the way her hand trembled where it held Mildred's wrist. She nodded, her throat tight. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, I would like that."
Ethel let go of her wrist, her fingers trailing down Mildred's hand, lingering there for just a moment before pulling away. "Good," she said. "Good."
Mildred opened the door and walked out, her heart hammering, her face burning, her whole body trembling with a mixture of fear and excitement and anxiety that made her feel like she was flying and falling at the same time.
She stood outside the door for a long moment, taking deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart, trying to process that this was real, that Ethel Hallow liked her, that they had kissed, that everything had changed. She felt nauseous with hunger and nerves, her stomach twisting, her hands shaking.
Inside the room, Ethel stood looking into the mirror, her hands gripping the edge of the dresser, her knuckles white. She took deep breaths, trying to calm the nervousness and excitement that warred in her chest. She looked at her reflection, at the girl who had kissed Mildred Hubble last night, who had confessed her feelings, who had been held and comforted and wanted.
She did not recognize herself. She did not know how to be this girl. How to be someone. The girl who smiled without forcing it, who reached out without being pushed, who let herself be soft. But she wanted to learn. She wanted to learn so badly it hurt.