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She learns the word from Dan, of course, after hearing the term ‘phan’ for the first time. It’s 2013, and they are all in Dan and Phil’s hotel room at Vidcon.
Once explained, she asks: “oh, so like people might ship me and Zoe? What would that be, Louella?”
Zoe giggles, then scrunches up her nose a bit – “I doubt anyone ships us, Chummy.”
“Why ever not? I’m offended,” Louise responds.
Dan offers, ‘”well I mean you aren’t as sexually ambiguous, and nor do you have a slew of flirting publicised online, like Phil and I do…’
“Outrageous, who’s to say I’ve never kissed a girl? Who’s to say we’ve never kissed each other?”
Phil lifts an eyebrow at this, looking away from his phone, “have you? Kissed?”
“Well, no. I’m married,” Louise says.
This for some reason sends them all into a delirious jetlagged fit of eye streaming laughter. Louise doesn’t think about it for quite a while, and definitely not about the way Zoe scrunched her nose up, as if she may think it objectionable – or about why that matters to her either way.
Then there’s 2015, and the dark days, and what feels like crawling through a sort of sludge at times. There’s Zoe though, always Zoe and long Skype calls and hanging out in the others house all day doing not much. Then one evening on Zoe’s sofa, Louise’s eyes still puffy from crying, as Zoe rubs her feet – Zoe smacks her calf lightly and asks, “shall I run you a bath?”
Which is how they end up with Zoe still in the room, as Louise is about to disrobe, as she lights a final candle. Louise could almost cry again with how cute she is – trying not to linger too long on the back of her neck, and the wispy hairs there.
“We are such couple goals. Totally shippable,” Louise says, as if to dislodge the lump in her own throat.
Zoe turns her, her smile is so bright and it stirs up something reckless that makes Louise suggest Zoe should get in the bath with her
Zoe furrows her eyebrow for only a second, before shrugging – they have a conversation about swimwear (Zoe has none that will fit Louise), and instead they agree on undressing with their backs to one another, and Louise barks at Zoe to shut her eyes, whilst she hides under the bubbles – Louise doing the same, though she senses Zoe is less concerned about Louise seeing her naked. Both promise not to get a toe in one another’s orifices.
It’s kind of uncomfortable – and their attempt at modesty begins to fade away, as Louise flings bubbles at Zoe, causing Zoe’s pink nipples to poke through the water – the skin of her chest pink from the heat. Louise wriggles a bit, considering it too long, trying to ignore the feeling in-between her thighs. She grabs the phone on the side of the bath, giggling evilly as she raises it.
“Are you taking my bloody picture?” Zoe yells aghast.
There there’s that YouTube party, where everyone keeps going on about Zoe, and this random American Vlogger dude, and Louise isn’t sure why she even cares - Zoe isn’t going to leave Brighton to go halfway across the world to marry this guy; they met a few days ago. It gets to her though, as another person comments on how cute they look together across the room, in the same way these things have been getting to her for a while now – about how she doesn’t know what she’ll do without Zoe – how she wants Zoe to stay single for as long as possible.
It’s much later and they’re drunk, no correction, Louise is drunk – they are both sprawled across Zoe’s hotel bed.
‘You didn’t go back with that guy then, eh?’ Louis says.
‘No! I don’t even like that guy, let alone do I want to fuck him! People are so heteronormative, I have more chemistry with you for god sake.”
Louise doesn’t bother to mention, that she doesn’t know what heteronormative means, just lets out a deep and contented hum. Zoe turns to look at Louise meaningfully, but Louise keeps her eyes shut, cause she’s terrified about what any of this means.
She splutters out a laugh instead, “Yeah and still no one ships us? Honestly, I’ve scoured the Internet. Still, after all these years.”
The weight of the bed shifts, and Louise opens her eyes to see Zoe sitting up, the straps of her dress temptingly hanging of her narrow shoulders – she looks uncertain.
“Louise, you – I think I’m going mad. Like sometimes I think you’re giving me – but then you joke about it.”
Louise sits up to regard her properly in the low yellowy light.
“I – I’m never joking about us. Zoe, I’m just bloody scared.”
They sit in silence then; shoulders slumped, not daring to make a move. Louise feels 80% more sober.
“Hey,” Zoe says, all soft and low, it sends shivers down Louise’s spine – she lightly bumps her bare shoulder against Louise’s, signaling for her to looks up – she does, and finds herself staring straight into Zoe’s eyes.
Zoe leans forwards, and Louise gathers all of her courage, to move that inch forward, until their lips touch.