Chapter Text
The floorboards creak under Laura’s boots as she steps into the dimly lit coffee shop. She pulls the door closed behind her, the string of bells jangling to announce her arrival, and removes her scarf and jacket to hang on the coat rack leaning precariously next to her. Dozens of other jackets, scarves, bags, and items hang from its arms, the frame sagging under the weight. She’s baffled that the old rack is still standing – a single metal bar with wiry branches extending in all directions, tangling one around the other like something from a Dr. Seuss book or a Lemony Snicket story, built over a decade ago at least. But then, she knows it’s special; this whole place is.
“Laura,” her dad waves to her from the counter, the kiss of winter still on his rosy cheeks that lets her know he’s only been waiting a few minutes. “Honey, go grab our booth. I’m ordering.”
Laura makes her way toward the back of the small coffee shop to their booth, smiling at and greeting familiar faces along the way. She and her dad have been coming here for a year now, almost every single Friday. It technically started even a decade before that, when she and her mother would come for Sunday breakfast every week, but then she passed away a few months ago and Laura’s dad picked up the torch and adjusted their weekly visit to Friday’s before his overnight shift. It’s a comforting reminder of her mom, one of only a few that stings less each week, unlike the pile of her shirts in the hamper downstairs, her perfumes still on her dresser, and the other painful, haunting reminders.
She scoots all the way into the booth, dropping her backpack next to her, and instinctively brushes her fingers along the windowsill over the ridges that she carved with a fork tine when she was eight, her fingertip tracing the lines of the small “LH” over and over as she waits for her dad to join her.
“Here you go,” he beams as he sets a mug of hot chocolate down in front of her, a to-go coffee in his other hand.
“Thanks, dad,” she smiles.
The pair settles into their weekly routine quickly: he asks about her classes and she rambles on about the heightened censorship on campus following her investigation and subsequent reports on the raining mushrooms that wreaked havoc last semester, his booming laughter ringing out like music to set the scene.
After an hour or so, her dad’s phone rings and he’s summoned in early for his shift. He places a kiss to the top of Laura’s head as she wraps her arms around his waist to hug him goodbye.
“See you tomorrow, pumpkin,” he calls over his shoulder toward her, waving to the barista as he heads out the door.
Laura closes her eyes and sighs, a heavy exhale releasing the tension in her neck, shoulders, back, hips, legs, and everywhere else it had accumulated.
She twists to the side, unzipping her backpack to retrieve her notebook and the papers she’d begun reading this morning. With that, her Friday night routine continues: homework, hot chocolate, and anxiously waiting for Carmilla.
Carmilla.
A cheeky grin spreads across Laura's face as she thinks of the woman, the near-stranger really, she spends her Friday nights waiting for nowadays. It started innocently enough.
(Three Weeks Prior)
Laura's eyelids droop as she re-reads the same sentence for the fifth or fifteenth time in a row; she'd lost count. Closing her eyes fully, she reaches her arms above her head, tangling them together and leaning far left, then far right stretching her back, sore from being hunched over in the small booth for so long.
She scoots out of the booth, grabbing her wallet - a plastic tardis with a maroon fez clasp - off of the table on her way.
"Hey Laura," the barista, Betty, greets her. "Another hot chocolate?"
Laura smiles bashfully and nods; it's her third hot chocolate of the night and she knows her dad would have something to say about her sugar intake if he were here, but she's got a paper due at midnight and, she thinks, what he doesn't know won't hurt him.
"Coming right up," Betty smiles as she moves to make the drink. Laura leans against the counter, her eyes scanning the coffee shop. It's well past 8 o'clock by now, later than she's typically here on a Friday night, so the tables are filled with as many new faces as familiar. A few college students are clustered around a small table in the back leaning over a scrabble board. Several couples are spread out across the couches, a hand on a thigh here, an arm over a shoulder there. And the small stage in the back is lit with twinkling lights, framing the windows that look out into the night.
Through the window Laura can see two figures, a man and a woman, talking animatedly with each other. The smaller of the two nudges the other, pushing their shoulders together, as she opens the door and heads inside.
Laura's breath hitches at the sight of her alone. Dark hair frames a pale face, sunglasses resting on cheekbones that could cut glass and a jawline that could do worse. Her petite frame is covered by leather pants, a flannel tied around her waste, and a leather jacket over top of what looks like a plain black shirt underneath. Her combat boots plod gracefully across the floor as she makes her way toward Laura. It's only when she's reached the counter, her proximity overwhelming all of Laura's sense, that she realizes she's still staring. At her chest. Very obviously.
Laura's face reddens as she catches herself in the act, her eyes averting their stare to her feet as she counts the small tiles of the mosaic underfoot.
"Laura!" Betty calls from behind the counter.
Laura quickly shuffles toward the end of the counter where her mug is waiting for her, smiling and thanking Betty as she makes her way back to her booth. She risks a glance back toward the counter as she gets settled to see the woman smirking at her, her sunglasses now propped up to her hairline pulling her raven locks back with it. She winks before returning her attention to Betty and Laura takes a steadying breath and a large gulp of her hot chocolate that burns the tip of her tongue before trying to focus on her work.
It's not long until Laura's attention drifts away from the page in front of her. Her eyes scan the shop but she doesn't see the woman any longer, which is odd because she doesn't remember her leaving either. Just then, she hears the tap of fingers on a microphone, the electric thump echoing around her. She looks toward the stage where, of course, she finds her.
She's sitting on a small stool, an acoustic guitar settled on her lap, the strap black with white constellations on it hanging loosely over her shoulders and around her neck. She's already looking at Laura when their eyes finally meet.
"Hello," she says into the microphone addressing the room, though Laura can't help but feel singled out entirely. "Thank you all for sticking around when you heard I'd be back this week."
There are a few muffled laughs from the couches around her as Laura's jaw seems to drop lower and lower.
"Anyway, it's nice to see some of you again, and nicer still to see some new faces." She winks at Laura, a shy smile curling her lips. "But, you're not here to listen to me talk, are you? So, without further ado, I'm Carmilla and I'm here to play a bunch of covers. This first one's for Laura."
Laura's jaw nearly touches the floor as Carmilla's eyes drop down to her guitar, her fingers beginning to strum chord after chord. She thinks it may have actually come unhinged because she did say 'for Laura,' right? Laura has enough sense to quickly shut her mouth and look back to where she finds Carmilla's eyes searching for hers. When they connect, she begins to sing.
I've just seen a face,
I can't forget the time or place
Where we just met
She's just the girl for me,
and I want all the world to see we've met,
mmm-mmm-mmm-m'mm-mm
A toothy grin spreads across Laura's face, one pulling at the corner of Carmilla's lips as well. She continues singing.
Had it been another day
I might have looked the other way
And I'd have never been aware
But as it is I'll dream of her
Tonight, di-di-di-di'n'di
Falling, yes I am falling
And she keeps calling
Me back again
Carmilla's raspy voice hums softly as she moves from verse to chorus again. Laura taps her fingers on the table, her attention completely absorbed by the woman performing for her - because, yeah, this is definitely for her. Carmilla's eyes haven't strayed from her since she first started.
When the song ends, a light applause breaks out around the room. Laura has the sense - just barely - to join them, clapping her own hands as Carmilla ducks her head in a bow, leaning down to pick up the water bottle resting against the stool and taking a sip.
"Thank you," she mumbles bashfully into the mic. "I hope that you're all enjoying your Friday night." She pauses as a few of the college students hoot and holler from a booth next to Laura. "Well," she laughs, "it sounds like a few more than others."
Laura feels her smile growing as Carmilla playfully teases the group of guys next to her for a bit longer, finally bringing her fingers back to the guitar to play a few more songs.
She tries to concentrate on the homework in front of her, tries to remember the paper due at midnight that still needs some major revisions, but it's hopeless. She's helpless. Carmilla is singing and smiling at her and she knows she's a goner long before it's almost ten o'clock and Carmilla announces it's her last song of the night.
She smiles shyly as the crowd vocalizes their disappointment. Laura feels it as well, sagging into the booth a bit deeper with the knowledge that this performance is nearly finished.
"Ah, I know, I know," Carmilla acquiesces, "but you'll see me next week. Same place, same time. I'll still be Carmilla. Thank you." Her eyes find Laura's as she finishes speaking, seemingly inviting her: same time, same place. Laura makes a mental note, not like she could ever forget.
(Present)
Laura's leg bounces up and down as she grows more and more impatient with every passing minute. It's past 8:30 and Carmilla's never this late. Laura's gaze is hard as it's focused on the door, her body tensing in anticipation every time it opens only to be overwhelmed by the disappointing entrance of everyone but Carmilla.
It's 8:47 when she finally bursts into the shop, her guitar case slung haphazardly over her shoulder and onto her back. She rushes to the stage, waving to Betty as she does so, dropping her things and settling in quickly enough.
A quick glance around the room shows Laura that no one else is nearly as fazed by the tardiness of their performer. Some shift their position to better face the stage, but she's very clearly the only one in the room tuned into Carmilla's disheveled appearance, her heavy breathing, the furrow creasing her brow and forehead.
"Uh, hey," Carmilla mumbles into the mic as she plops onto the stool, gently easing her guitar strap around her neck and onto her body, her fingers immediately beginning to pluck and tune the instrument. "Sorry I'm a bit late."
Laura watches Carmilla begin to relax as she tunes each string of the guitar, strumming a final chord that brings a shy smile to her face as she finishes.
"Well," she drawls quietly, her eyes skimming the room until they land on the familiar face of the brunette, huddled in the same booth as always, a pile of papers spread across the table that Carmilla has never actually seen her address or use in any way but as a place setting for the chocolate chip cookies that also litter the table, "here we go again."
The soft chords of Carmilla's guitar, her raspy voice low and cocooning, engulf Laura in its embrace. She's comforted by Carmilla's performance week after week, and she knows she should probably be concerned or at least question the stranger's ability to make her feel, well, anything, but she enjoys it too much.
Carmilla continues song after song, stopping only once to take a long sip of water, her usual banter noticeably absent. Laura's concern grows the longer Carmilla plays, taking note of the tension in her shoulders visible even beneath the guitar strap and the way her voice seems to catch on certain songs. When Carmilla announces it's her last song of the evening, the only thing she's said since she began, Laura's mind is set.
"Hey Betty," Laura greets the barista as she saunters over to the counter.
"Hey, Laura. Another hot chocolate coming your way!"
"Actually," she interjects quickly, "Can I get one of whatever Carmilla usually orders?"
Betty's eyebrows dart up in surprise before a smug smirk splays her lips.
"Ah - Carmilla, you say?" she teases.
"Oh, shush," Laura mumbles. "It's just, she looks like she's having a really bad night and since she came in late she didn't get to order a drink like she usually does before she starts playing, and she's only taken one sip of her water since she started so she's probably thirsty, and I know you know what she likes so that's a better shot than assuming she likes sugary drinks because I might scream sweet but Miss Hottie-McLeather-Pants over there probably wants something else and -"
"And, one black coffee it is," Betty interrupts, setting the cup down on the counter in front of Laura. As she reaches into her wallet, Betty places a hand on hers to stop her.
"On me, Miss Crushes-on-Hottie-McLeather-Pants."
Laura's face reddens, but she doesn't stop to correct Betty or defend herself, just smiles and walks swiftly toward the stage where Carmilla is packing her guitar into its case, her brow furrowed and a small frown on her lips.
"Hey," Laura practically squeals when she reaches the brunette, quickly clearing her throat to try to steady her voice.
Carmilla looks up, her eyes softening when they meet Laura's, the wrinkle in her brow still creased but not as defined.
"Hey, cupcake."
"I, uh," Laura stumbles over the words, suddenly all too aware of the pounding of her heart in her ears. "Here." She extends the mug toward Carmilla, whose eyebrow cocks toward her hairline.
She eyes the mug curiously before her gaze finds Laura again.
"It's a coffee - black. I asked Betty. You just," Laura stops, trying to gently and subtly admit what she'd done without admitting to what she'd done, which is buy a drink for a total stranger who appears to be having a bad night, with whom she feels connected, who's the only person lately who can make her mind slow down long enough to - yeah, how to admit that without admitting that. "You look like you could use one."
Oh gosh, Hollis, Laura thinks, can you be any more insulting? Fix this!
"Not, uh, not that you look like you could use one as in you look bad," she adds, "because you definitely, definitely look great. I mean - wow."
Laura's eyes drop to really take in Carmilla's outfit for the first time that night: skintight black jeans with tears across the thighs that reveal soft ivory skin, a black sleeveless shirt with moon phases on it, and her signature leather jacket. Yeah, wow is right. Laura's eyes continue to drag over Carmilla's body, her breath coming in shorter spurts as her body heats.
When she finally looks back to Carmilla's face, she notices she is smirking at her now, a teasing glint in her eyes.
"Wow, huh?" she jokes, and Laura blushes in response. "Well, thank you, cupcake. I could use this more than you know. Tonight's been shit."
Carmilla takes the mug, their fingers brushing and Laura shivers at the sensation, Carmilla's fingertips so cold against hers and the warm drink in her hand, and she takes a long sip. Laura's eyes drop to Carmilla's lips, eyeing the reddened flesh now wet and coffee stained.
"If you, uh, if you want to, you know, talk about it or, uh." Oh, crap on a stick. This is just painful, Laura whines as she tries to find her words - or any words, really, at this rate.
"I don't," Carmilla quickly states, her voice colder than Laura's ever heard it, stopping her rambling thoughts in their tracks.
"Right, right. Of course," Laura corrects. "Duh. I mean, I'm a stranger. You're a stranger. Oh god, I'm sorry for even asking. I'm just going to go, like, hide for a few years or something now, so, goodnight and goodbye."
Carmilla's smirk softens as Laura continues to apologize profusely and turn around. She chuckles and grabs her wrist, stopping her from walking away beyond the two steps she'd managed to take and twists her back around.
"Wait," she tells more than she asks, pausing afterward to take a breath. "Just because I don't want to talk, doesn't mean we can't spend time together, if the amended offer stands?"
Carmilla's eyes are hopeful - hell, where is this even coming from, she wonders.
"Oh," Laura's surprise poorly guised as she responds. "Okay. Um, sure."
"Good," Carmilla agrees softly.
The two spend a moment lost in each other's eyes, the sounds and sights of the coffee shop around them unnoticed as if the world had stopped turning and the only moment that remained existed in the air between them.
"So," Laura finally offers, her hand extended to Carmilla who is still on the ground, kneeling over her half-closed guitar case, mug in the other. Carmilla eyes it and then fits her hand into Laura's, closing her guitar case and grabbing it by the handle as she rises.
"So," she mimics, another moment of heavy silence following.
"Not that I don't mind this," Laura finally manages to say, gesturing to their still intertwined hands, their bodies closer together now than before as if they've gravitated like magnets without even realizing, "but we should probably take our staring contest elsewhere." She looks around the room self-consciously, but no one seems to have noticed their exchange. Well, except for Betty - of course - who's wagging her eyebrows at Laura and giving her a thumbs up.
"Kind of forward, cupcake, don't you think?" Carmilla teases.
"What!" Laura shouts, embarrassed by the assumption. "I didn't mean, you know," she can't even say the words, "I just meant we shouldn't stand in the middle of the coffee shop with no purpose for the rest of the night. Ugh," she groans.
"I'm only messing with you, cutie." Carmilla moves her hand up and down Laura's forearm, resettling it on her hip as she leans closer, her mouth against Laura's ear. "Though I can't say I'd be opposed to what you thought either."
Laura's face heats as she blushes, the tips of her ears radiating.
"Okay, lady killer," she jokes, trying her hardest to break the tension lingering between them, "where would you suggest I take a girl I've just met who doesn't want to talk but wants to spend time with me?"
Carmilla's eyes darken slightly, hardly noticeable if not for the fact that Laura has already lost herself in them again. She brings her hand to her chin, her thumb and index finger playfully scratching her chin in concentration; her eyebrow raised.
"Is she hot?" Carmilla pokes.
"Very," Laura mumbles, mustering any ounce of confidence that may be hiding within her.
"And are you interested?"
"Maybe," Laura croaks, her words catching in her throat as Carmilla squeezes her hip gently as she responds.
"Well," she finally continues after a pregnant pause, "if I were you, I'd probably suggest the bar around the corner."
"Hmm," Laura pretends to ponder, biting her lip. "You know, I was just thinking, how about we go to that bar around the corner?"
Her teeth tug on the skin of her lip as it is pulled into a sheepish smile. Carmilla smirks smugly in reply, "I thought you'd never ask."