Archive of Our Own

“Of course I am,” Lottie says, wrapping both arms around her friend and making a pillow out of her chest. “It’s my duty after all. I consider my friendship with you a full-time job.”

“And what do I owe you?” Hannah asks. Truthfully she’s being cheeky, but she masks it flawlessly with a puzzled tone and expression.

“Hm?”

“If this is your job, you must be getting paid,” Hannah says. “How much?”

Hannah moves to get out of bed, reaching for her purse that contains an imaginary fair salary. 

Lottie frowns and pulls Hannah back into bed. “Lots of cuddles,” she says sternly. Hannah bursts into giggles. “And, funniest thing about this job - you owe me nothing. I pay you.”

Hannah shakes her head. “No, honestly, Lottie, I don’t - “

“All of this bloody candy,” Lottie says, reaching for one of her many buckets of goodies and dumping it on Hannah’s lap. Hannah squeals. 

“These are your riches, my Lady,” Hannah laughs. “How can I rob your majesty of her riches?”

Every year since the pair had met as children, Hannah had known Lottie to win every costume competition and lookalike contest held at their school. The Queen of Halloween always managed to take her costume to the next level, always finding a prop of some kind to really sell the look - which, this year, was Elphaba. In the same sense that some grew more popular as teens for their looks, it seemed Lottie was extraordinarily skilled in the opposite - she was admired for the way she very much did not look. She reaped (and, usually, so did Hannah) the well-deserved benefits of her efforts and skills annually on her favorite day of the year: Halloween.

“Not my majesty,” Lottie deadpans. “Yours.”

Hannah raises her eyebrows. “Oh, mine?” She licks her lips, suddenly parched. “Well, I have to take better care of my belongings, don’t I?”

And that’s when Lottie freezes, in front of her best friend in the gorgeous and comfortable bedroom she had visited several times before. Suddenly, she feels a bizarre concoction of comfort and irregular alarm all at once. Hannah takes a tuft of Lottie’s blonde hair between her fingers and pushes it out of Lottie’s face. Her blue eyes search over the canvas of Lottie’s face, running their route from Lottie’s pigmented green forehead, to her perfectly sculpted eyebrows, along the perfect lines drawn around her eyes, down her cheeks… finally coming to rest on Lottie’s plump, parted lips.

“I - uh, I clean,” Hannah chokes out, reaching for a makeup wipe that rests on her bedside table. “I have to keep my things clean, don’t I?”

Lottie shifts in her seat and clears her throat. “You, uh - huh?” She gives Hannah a fazed look, at a loss for questions after her own little journey down from Hannah’s map of freckles to Hannah’s lips.

Hannah moves closer to Lottie, giving her a reassuring smile, makeup wipe in hand. “For a sleepover, you’re insanely overdressed,” she says. “I’m not sharing a room with Elphaba, you know. How do I know you won’t put a spell on me?”

Despite herself, Hannah still isn’t so sure she’s not already under Lottie’s spell. Something about her…

Lottie nods and scoots closer to Hannah to let her clean her face, closing even more space between them. 

Hannah is soft, slow and tender. She takes her time removing the face paint. Little does Lottie know, she’s both excited and terrified to be this close to her, and she doesn’t want to get away before she figures out which. And little does Hannah know, Lottie’s thinking the same. In fact, the witch might finally have had the pleasure of being bewitched herself - something about Hannah calls out to her like a siren. It starts to feel ridiculous and even wrong that Hannah’s lips are alone right now.

Lottie shuts her eyes to give Hannah the go to wipe off her eye makeup. Hannah is gentle - very easy on the eyes. Lottie cracks a smile and says so, “You’re easy on the eyes.”

“Am I?” Hannah says, relieved Lottie’s eyes are shut to hide the blush on her face. “I’m easy on the heart too, if you give me a chance.”

Lottie laughs. “Don’t tempt me.”

Hannah drops her hand from Lottie’s eyes and gives her an innocent smile. “Who, me?”

“Get cleaning, ginge,” Lottie replies, shutting her eyes again once she realized they were drawn to Hannah’s lips. She couldn’t risk Hannah noticing. 

But then again, Lottie thinks, braver now, what’s the worst that could come from that? 

Her mind shrieks at her to keep her head. Keep her cool. But she finds, oddly enough, that she really doesn’t want to. Hannah’s hand glides over every bump and crevice, with grace and care. Chills run up Lottie’s arms and she shivers in place, startling Hannah’s hand off of her face.

“Did I hurt you?” Hannah asks.

“You could never,” Lottie assures her, guiding Hannah back to her face by inching her best friend’s elbow toward herself. She finds that Hannah’s hand is not the only thing moving closer to her face. Lottie glances down at Hannah’s lips and her eyes don’t move from there except once, to check - and to successfully find - that Hannah’s eyes were on her own lips. “Actually, you might’ve.”

Hannah snaps out of her daze, her breath heavy. “What?”

“Right here,” Lottie says, bringing a manicured finger to her lips. “Yeah, right here. You could make it up to me.”

By now they’re as close as they can be without actually doing the deed. Hannah’s lips are certainly not as lonely as they had been, but Lottie’s are twice as shaky.

“And how could I ever?” Hannah asks, impressing Lottie each second she holds herself back from closing the space.

“Kiss it better,” Lottie says softly. The pair collide as soon as the last letter leaves Lottie’s lips. Hands are in hair now, lips are on lips now. It’s wonderful. It’s overdue. It’s bliss.

...and short-lived, it seems. The moment is killed by the sound of plastic wrappers crumpling between them. 

“Ah, fuck.” Lottie sighs as they both sit back down, faces flushed. “I can’t believe we’ve been blue-balled by leftover candy.”