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Homura didn’t know if she could ever get used to this - waking up in the dim light of the morning, dawn filtering through half-closed shades, in a hoodie that did not belong to her, curled up next to a body that was not hers.
Madoka was warm, her face snuggled into Homura’s chest. She was clinging to her like Homura was a favored teddy bear. Not that Homura minded - she’d waited months and months, timeline after timeline, for this. For things to finally go right.
She’d never made her wish. Mami Tomoe had failed, and even though Madoka insisted on meeting her for tea sometimes, her influence had dropped to the point where Homura rarely saw her around Madoka’s house. Now that Madoka was safe from the life of a magical girl, Homura had to say her feelings towards Mami weren’t as homicidal as before; they both shared a love of honey buns, which Madoka often used to bridge relations between them. They could both agree that Madoka was important to them.
(Them along with Sayaka, Kyoko, Hitomi, and practically the entire population of Japan.)
A small, sleepy noise from Madoka drew Homura out of her thoughts. She looked down to see the girl blink up at her, smiling as best she could while trying to wake up her facial muscles. Her hair, still as pink as ever, pooled over her shoulder and underneath her; Homura lazily reached for a strand and wound it around her finger.
“Mmm, good morning, Homura-chan,” Madoka mumbled, her eyes falling shut yet again. “Did you have nice dreams?”
Homura pushed Madoka’s hair out of her eyes. She was always so disheveled when she woke up. “Did you?”
Madoka smiled even wider and began to recount her dream without prompting, spinning a tale of fields and flowers and babbling brooks. As she spoke, Homura let her eyes wander over her girlfriend - could she call her girlfriend yet? It had been a few months of this, falling asleep next to each other and holding hands and going on ice cream dates and watching Sailor Moon at the Kaname residence, but was it really official? Homura was tentative to put a label on something so wonderful - categorizing something, naming it, automatically compromised the quality. Whatever it was with Madoka, it was enough for her as her maybe-girlfriend enthusiastically described a white rabbit she’d followed through the forest in her dream.
“Homura-chan?”
“Hmm?”
Madoka pulled herself out of Homura’s arms and she reached for her (don’t go, you’re so warm), but the smaller girl was too quick. She pushed her fingertips together as she explained that she wasn’t upset with Homura at all, she shouldn’t frown, because her mother had just announced that breakfast was ready, and they shouldn’t be late, because it was Madoka’s favorite.
It turned out to be Homura’s favorite, too, not just because it was delicious, but because Madoka smiled so big when she took her bowl, taking large, unrestrained bites accompanied by the cutest noises Homura had ever heard anyone make while shoveling their mouth full of food at seven in the morning. She’d ended up giving Madoka half of hers just to watch her smile more.
After breakfast, Madoka wanted to meet up with the others in the park, and Homura couldn’t say no. A few hours later, she almost wished she had. Loud noises and crowds of people definitely weren’t her thing. She always found herself on high alert, reaching for Madoka at the slightest sign of a disruption, which Kyoko found an endless amount of humor in.
“She ain’t gonna die, stupid,” Kyoko snorted as she leaned against a park bench. “The balloon guy won’t kill her that easy.”
Homura rolled her eyes and said nothing, because Kyoko was her friend now and she loved her very much, but she still wanted to drown her in a public toilet sometimes. Oh, well. Her parents had always reminded her that one didn’t always get what one wanted, and maybe it was for the best sometimes.
“Be nice to Homura,” Mami said quietly from her seat underneath a nearby tree. A sweet of some sort was clutched in her perfectly manicured hands, her legs crossed daintily and her very essence exuding tranquility. Homura narrowed her eyes, because she remembered few timelines where Mami stuck up for her, even concerning loudmouthed friends, but smiled and accepted it. Things were different this time. Maybe they could be like they were the first time around, eating cake and having sleepovers in Mami’s room and reading each other’s palms to see when they’d get married. (Mami had declared she was never getting married, no matter what her palm said, and Sayaka and Kyoko had shared long looks before saying that they didn’t need theirs read. Madoka had insisted on reading Homura’s, though.)
Sayaka shrugged and tossed Kyoko an apple from her bag. “Just a joke, Mami, she didn’t mean anything by it,” she said. “Homura is pretty protective of Madoka. I think it’s cute, though, that you two care about each other so much.”
Small hands wrapped around Homura’s bicep as Madoka gave her arm a hug. “I think it’s really sweet too, Homura-chan!” she gushed into her sleeve. Homura flushed pink and looked away.
“Aw, true love,” snickered Kyoko. Sayaka laughed as well, and Homura could see a glint of amusement in Mami’s eye.
For the first time over the course of their outing, Madoka’s face was dusted pink as well. “I wouldn’t say true love!” she squeaked. “I mean, yeah, I like Homura-chan a lot, she’s my girlfriend, but true love takes time!”
Homura froze.
“You said girlfriend,” she mumbled, all of her usual cool demeanor gone in an instant.
Girlfriend.
Madoka Kaname called me her girlfriend.
“Yeah, um, was that bad?” Madoka bit her lip in worry and looked up at Homura. She was quick to dispel that thought, though, shaking her head rapidly and assuring her that, no, no, they were girlfriends, she would love to be girlfriends, that would be swell. The other girls stifled their laughter in their hands and tried to think of a time they’d ever seen Homura this flustered. It seemed to be a particular talent of Madoka’s.
Another talent of Madoka’s, Homura thought, was kissing. They hadn’t done it very much - once or twice, quick pecks each time, but as Madoka leaned in, smiling, Homura wouldn’t have moved away for the world. Their lips connected and Kyoko and Sayaka hollered and then it was over (why was it over) and Madoka was beaming up at her.
“I’m glad you want to make it official, Homura-chan,” she said.
Homura nodded dumbly and laced her fingers through Madoka’s.
They stayed connected as the girls continued their walk through the park, throwing things to the ducks and seeing who could skip rocks the farthest.
They stayed connected as the girls settled down into the comfortable chairs in Mami’s apartment, Sayaka holding Kyoko close to her chest on the couch.
They stayed connected as Mami begrudgingly let Sayaka read her palm while Kyoko used the distraction to put on a movie they all later agreed was objectively terrible.
They stayed connected until the next morning, when Homura woke up once again with Madoka (her girlfriend) in her arms with the dawn filtering through the shades of her room.