Archive of Our Own

“I can’t believe you drove all the way out here.” Vereesa says, not letting Jaina reply or even enter the house before she’s dragged into a hug. “It’s been too long.”

It’s just a greeting, but it lingers, and she can feel Vereesa start to melt into her when she hugs back. It’s always comforting, holding her. Makes her forget, even for a second, about every other wild stress she has in her life. It lasts a second too long, maybe more, before Jaina makes herself pull away.

“Far too long.” She says. “Trying to get this gallery set up has me running dry. And even this is still technically business.”

For whatever reason, that drains most of the excitement out of her, makes Vereesa hunch in on herself and lean heavily on the doorframe. “You’d better come in, then.”

The house is old, old enough to be charming, if it had been taken care of. Old enough to creak and complain if it hadn’t. From the amount of wind sneaking in, it’s obvious to Jaina which one of those it is.

Vereesa leads her up the stairs, to a side room that looks like it was originally some kind of formal dining room. Without the furniture, however, all that remains is a large empty space, with a long window that looks out over high cliffs and the cold dark sea. And now, Jaina notices as she slips her reading glasses on and glances around, it is filled instead with worn easels and paint, and frames, all turned around to face the wall. A lot of frames, actually, enough to line almost the entirety of one side.

“Alleria wasn’t lying.” She says, softly, but Vereesa is standing close enough to hear, to pull a sour face.

“I can’t believe she told you.” She doesn’t look that happy to be here. Her expression tears itself apart depending on what she is focusing on at any given moment. When she watches Jaina, it’s soft, lingering, almost melts away into a smile. But when her gaze drifts off to the room around her, reality seems to sink back in, leaves her hesitant, almost nervous.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me yourself.” Jaina says, more to herself than anything. Because yes, it was surprising to receive that email from her old friend’s sister. Shocking really.

Because maybe they didn’t get to see each other in person all that often anymore, too wound up by jobs and family to give up that much time, but they still talked. Most days there’d be at least one text message shared between them, and when Jaina started to drive around recruiting local artists, there was often enough spare time in her car to call, have long conversations about nothing and everything. And it’s not like they never talked about anything serious. Jaina had told her so much about her family, about how hard it was to rebuild all her relationships.

She would have liked to know.

“I told you.” Vereesa says. “None of this is serious. Not anymore. I just… I had some free time and I was messing around. That’s all this is. She didn’t need to tell you.”

Maybe Jaina’s mad, but there’s another message curled up beneath all that. You didn’t need to come. Almost guilty. Like Jaina hadn’t taken this as an excuse to see her again. She probably should have made that clearer. Framed this more as a catch-up and less as business. But then, maybe, Vereesa would just keep everything hidden again.

“I don’t have to look.” She says, reluctant. “If you really don’t want me to, I won’t. It just seemed like fate. I needed a handful more pieces for the collection, and then out of nowhere I get the news that you started painting again. And the one Alleria sent a photo of was… enrapturing. Honestly. But I mean it. I’m already here, worst thing that happens is we go downstairs and just talk. It’s up to you.”

Vereesa is still tightly curled in on herself, arms crossed, eyes closed. But Jaina doesn’t push her, let’s her think for a minute more, occupies herself by staring out over into the ocean. Dark waves, visible even this far away, crash against rocks, withdrawing only to gather the strength to fight again. Over and over. A much more violent ocean than the one at home, but Jaina grew up by the sea. Even a furious ocean is a familiar one, and she could stare for hours.

“Alright.” Vereesa says. “But I don’t want you lying to me, pretending to take some to spare my feelings.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

They’re landscapes, mostly. Some of them Jaina recognises, a handful with the Windrunner house in the background, a couple of mountains and lakes she’s sure they visited together years ago. Others she’s never seen before, but there’s something so earnest in the way Vereesa paints them that makes her understand, regardless. She finds one that takes her breath away, a small one of a sea eagle in flight, high above an unsteady cliff that crumbles like sand into the ocean below. Delicate and subtle, but gorgeous, and she sets it aside, watches the corner of Vereesa’s mouth twitch into a smile when she shows it to her, asks why she chose the colours she did.

Jaina should be working. Should grab out the notebook she always keeps in one of her pockets, write down all the details that come pouring out of Vereesa at that single tiny question so she can write summaries later. But.

Vereesa is running a hand through her hair, drawing strands out that shine like moonlight in the afternoon sun, and she’s smiling now, unconsciously. Jaina just wants to watch, wishes she were a painter herself so she could capture it, keep a memory of it beyond what her mind will be able to remember.

By the time Vereesa stops, looks back up at Jaina, it’s far too late to write anything down. She hopes that she remembers some of it, that she won’t have to explain that she doesn’t know any of the details behind this painting because she was too busy wondering how long it has been since she saw its painter smile like that.

Vereesa doesn’t question her silence, and Jaina doesn’t dwell, instead moving on to look at another. She asks questions about all of them, this time, even the ones she doesn’t set aside. There’s always an answer, even if it’s a joke, and each time she can physically sense Vereesa relaxing.

There’s one she finds behind three others, turns it around to find a half-finished portrait of Alleria and Sylvanas. From what Jaina has heard, the fact that both of them are in one frame, and smiling no less, is a miracle.

“What happened here?” she asks, and Vereesa leans in over her shoulder to look at what she’s holding, leaning against her and laughing when she recognises it.

“Oh, that! I thought it would be nice to have something done for them, but it turned out to be way too hard to get either of them to sit still long enough to finish it. I’ve given up.”

“It’s nice though! Or, what’s there is nice. I’m surprised you’ve done any portraits though, it’s different from the rest of these. Almost like your old-” she stops herself, but too late, and Vereesa draws back into herself.

“Too many bad memories.” Is all she says, taking the picture from her hands to cast it aside in a dusty corner.

They continue on, even if the mood is damaged. Jaina finds three others she likes, all landscapes, and she can tell that they have moved into some of Vereesa’s earlier works, and it shifts more into an excuse to talk, especially when she sees locations she recognises. They move on to the last painting left, a large one set aside from the others.

Jaina moves to pick it up, pauses when Vereesa’s hand grabs hers.

"Oh." Vereesa says. Jaina turns to look at her, and she's blushing, just a little bit.  "That’s- I don't think you want that one."

"Why not?"

She can see Vereesa struggle for words, finds herself distracted by the way her blush deepens and travels all the way up to the point of her ears. It’s cute. But in a way she wouldn’t dare say aloud.

“That’s the first actual painting I did in years. It’s not very good, there’s a hundred mistakes in it, I- You won’t want it.”

Jaina stops, her hands still on the frame. She’s curious, understandably, and the fuss only makes her want to know all the more, no matter what lies hidden. But the last thing she wants is to step too far, to push Vereesa on something she clearly isn’t confident about yet.

“Can I see?” She asks, lifts her hands off by a centimetre. Just enough to show her trust. Enough to make Vereesa lift her hand too, to shrug and gesture for her to turn it over.

Another landscape. But there is something strangely magnetising about this one. It’s honest, she can tell, perhaps not as steadily done as some of the others but Jaina can tell how much time was poured into it, the attention it stole from Vereesa as it now steals from Jaina.

This one’s a lighthouse, a building caught between a wide sinking ocean and the forests behind. In isolation, abandoned by any signs of life, any other hints of human touch, but resilient despite that. Even in paint the building looks strong, old stones that not even the heaviest of storms could break.

A very old lighthouse. A very old, very familiar, lighthouse.

“I’ve seen this before.” She says, turns to Vereesa. “This is in Kul Tiras.”

Vereesa nods.

“Did you visit and not tell me?” It’s hard not to sound hurt, but she thinks she succeeds, nudges Vereesa playfully.

“No, I-” Her eyes are squeezed tight, and the red of her face lingers. It’s been a while since she’s seen her this nervous. “Do you remember a couple years back, when you sent me all those photos? You took one of that lighthouse and I just. Stared at it for days. And then dug out all my old equipment and painted that. The first thing I’d painted in almost five years, and I didn’t think it was very good but you know I just, kept doing it. It was relaxing.”

Jaina lowers the painting down, lets it lean back against the wall, and draws Vereesa back into a hug. A slow one this time, one she doesn’t rush to pull away from. She rubs Vereesa’s back until she can start to feel her relax, and then keeps going.

“I’m really glad you started painting again.” She says against her shoulder. Jaina doesn’t feel like pulling far enough away to talk properly. “Not even for the exhibition, just for you. I know how much you loved it, how happy it made you.”

“I’m glad too.”

A moment’s pause, and Jaina pulls away. Thinks quietly to herself that if she doesn’t, if she lets herself linger, she will stay here all night. She looks back at the painting, tries to remember the day she took the photo that inspired it. Two years ago. She can barely remember it. She hadn’t even thought about the lighthouse in so long, and yet somehow a picture of it had possessed Vereesa, brought her back into that old passion.

“Can I take it?” she asks. “The lighthouse one, I mean.”

“It’s really not very good.”

“I like it, though. And it means a lot, much more than just a picture of a lighthouse. It’s not for the exhibition it’s just… for me. If that’s alright. I’d like it in my office.”

Vereesa shrugs, but there’s a smile playing at the corner of her lips, so even that try at indifference fails. “Sure.”

Together, they pack up all the pieces Jaina choose, lay them down carefully in Jaina’s car. And then, they hesitate, stand outside in the cool wind, neither of them quite willing to look at her car, at the unavoidable reality that Jaina can’t stay forever. That this was, technically, a business visit. That they have lives to go back to, to focus on.

“Before you go,” Vereesa says, “Do you want a drink? We just got some new tea that I’ve been meaning to try.”

“I’d love to.” Jaina says, relieved to follow her back inside.

Jaina stays longer than she probably should. The thought the long drive ahead hovers in the back of her mind, but she ignores it, grants herself enough time to have a proper conversation with Vereesa. The uncomfortable truth of it all is she doesn’t know how much time will pass before they see each other again. A week, a month, half a year, it all feels too long.

She is getting close to actually leaving when she takes a bad turn while looking for the bathroom, blunders into a dark side room. She squints into the gloom, almost turns around to retreat into the safety of the well-lit hallway, when she notices a strange shape leaning against the back wall, and, well. Maybe it’s a breach of privacy, but a strong enough sense of curiosity gnaws at her heart for her to take her phone out, turn its light on and peer closer.

Another painting. Or at least a blank canvas, she can’t quite tell from this angle. An enormous one this time, almost tall enough to brush the ceiling, still resting on an easel, like it had been worked on only moments before Jaina arrived.

Jaina glances back out into the hallway, filled with guilt for something she has already decided on. It’s empty, and she creeps in closer, and slowly, carefully, turns it around, shines her light up to illuminate it.

It’s far from blank, filled to the very edges with broad, confident strokes that weave together into something that leaves Jaina standing stunned. This one isn’t a landscape, but another portrait. A woman with golden hair, captured with enough slow care that she looks like a goddess.

Jaina takes a step back, far enough to see it properly, and her heart freezes with the realisation that the woman is her.

She reaches a hand out to touch it, and millimetres before her fingers brush its surface she stops. The air smells like fresh paint, and the painting is still wet. Vereesa must have been working on this only recently. Even then, the painting is massive, immaculate, and Jaina cannot even begin to guess at how long she must have been working on this.

She swallows, and draws her hand back, thankful that she hesitated before ruining it.

There’s a strange noise behind her, something like a strangled cough, and she turns to find Vereesa’s silhouette. Something about this, the dark room, the hidden painting, makes Jaina feel like a criminal, or a child caught reaching for something they shouldn’t.

“Vereesa this is beautiful,” she says, trying to play it off, “why didn’t you show me this before?”

Vereesa reaches out, finds the light switch Jaina missed earlier, floods them both with light. Released from the harsh white light from her phone, the painting is all the more magnificent, warm colours and gentle curves she didn’t quite manage to appreciate before.

And yet, Jaina is torn between it and the woman who made it. Now she can see her, no longer a dark shape but clear enough to see her wide eyes, the almost violent blush spreading up her neck and into her face.

“Um.” Vereesa says. Her voice cracks, and Jaina watches her swallow heavily. “This is… I just… Just forget you ever saw it?”

Jaina stares at her, incredulous. “But it’s- you’ve seen it! It’s amazing!”

It’s easy to switch her thoughts back into work. It’s almost comforting, familiar. Something she understands. It lets her avoid the subject, provides an answer to the question of why the painting was made, and why it was hidden. Hidden, or just kept separate while it’s worked on, or moved out of the way while Jaina visits. It’s hard to tell. And somehow, given everything else here, the hesitation and Vereesa’s nervous behaviour, it’s no wonder she would be less than confident about it.

Vereesa hasn’t yet replied, frozen still with her hand on the light switch, like she is the one being caught with a secret, blundering into a place she doesn’t belong. Jaina continues on, regardless. “Can I have it for the exhibition? I wanted something big, something eye-catching, but I was about to give up and work without it but this- Please, Vereesa.”

Vereesa’s eyes flick between her and the painting, never able to settle on either for more than a few seconds. “It’s not finished.”

“How long do you need?”

Vereesa bites her lip, manages to look away. Her eyes close for a second, then another. Without opening them, she speaks. “You really want it?”

“Yes.” She waits a second, rethinks. “I promised I wasn’t going to lie to you.”

“Fine.” Vereesa says, voice quiet enough that it’s hard to read any emotion in it. “I just need a couple days.”

Tandred squeezes through the crowd, and they nearly collide before he sees her. He’s wearing a suit for once, but his hair is windswept, his shirt a touch too crumpled. Small battles. Jaina’s just glad he’s here, that he actually agreed to come. Especially given what the alternative would be, Jaina locked in here in a room full of strangers with no backup.

“Finally found you.” He says, passing her a glass of wine. There’s still another two in his hands, and yet somehow Jaina doubts he will be willing to donate any of those. She should have known the only way to get her brother to come was to tempt him with free alcohol.

“There’s a lot of people, I know.”

He pulls a face, drains half a glass in one go. “Trust me, I know exactly how many there are. I was driving the ferry that brought them all over from the mainland.”

“They weren’t entertaining?”

“No. I honestly don’t know how you stand it.”

“Practice.” She says, and he rolls his eyes, starts pushing his way through the crowd again, and Jaina hurries to take advantage of the space he leaves in his wake. Inelegant, and not exactly polite, sure. But effective. He leans back to her occasionally, not breaking stride to make comments, pointing at things he likes and waving dismissively at things he doesn’t. It’s almost amusing how quickly he forms judgements, but there’s a type of honesty to it that she appreciates. It’s too easy sometimes, to be caught up in her own perspectives of things, and maybe Tandred doesn’t know much about art, but he has a good eye.

 “Holy shit.” Tandred says, stopping dead in his tracks. Jaina has to fight the tides of people around them to squeeze back to his side, find what he’s staring at.

It’s Vereesa’s painting. The big one, the one of her. It stands alone, a solitary giant in form and substance, in stark contrast to the other subtler landscapes, displayed so there is no way anyone can walk past without having their eyes inevitably caught by it. She smiles a bit to herself, when she glances around and sees how many others have been trapped like Tandred, small pockets of people who whisper amongst themselves.

It makes her wish Vereesa was here, that she could see this for herself.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” She says, nudging his side in a bid to steal even a fragment of his focus. “I think that one is my favourite of hers. But you should look at the others too. They’re all good.”

He stares for another minute. Then breathes out, long and heavy, turning his head back to her. “Shit, Jaina. Who painted that?” He sounds confused, almost worried, and it makes her falter, stare back at him.

“Vereesa Windrunner. Do you remember when I went on that long drive two weeks ago? I was visiting her. In fact, I found that big one hidden in a back room. It’s lucky I found it, isn’t it?”

He leans in closer, close enough that there’s at least some semblance of privacy to their conversation. “Your friend Vereesa? The one you call all the time, that one?”

“Yes, why? You’re acting weird.”

He shrugs, but his eyes don’t leave her, searching her face, intense for an uncomfortable minute before he sighs finally. “I can’t believe you sold something like that, but that’s not my decision to make, I guess. And fine, sure. This isn’t any of my business.” He shrugs again, rubs a hand on the back of his neck. “I just would have thought you’d tell me about this sort of thing. But it’s fine.”

“What sort of thing? I-” She leans back in. Something about this feels too personal a conversation for here, for the amount of people around them. But there are a million other conversations, and million other distractions, and Jaina doesn’t think anyone has realised who she is yet. Another anonymous art enthusiast. And if she manages to free them somehow, escape into some isolated corner, she has a terrible feeling the moment will pass, and Tandred won’t tell her. “Please, I don’t understand.”

He looks mildly uncomfortable, but he sees it too. The privacy they have, even in the crowd. Because of the crowd really. There’s enough noise that none of their words will carry across, slip into unintended ears.

“I just thought you would have told me if you had a girlfriend. Especially one who paints you like. Like that. And no, not everything is the same as when we were younger but I… I didn’t think you’d have to hide things like that from me. I don’t know. It’s your business.”

She stares at him while her mind slowly catches up with his words, and then she can feel her face heat up. “She’s not my- We’re friends! Why would you even think that?”

He stares at her now, in disbelief. “Are you… Jaina no one paint’s like that unless they’re at least half in love with whoever they’re painting.”

Jaina glances back at the painting, tries to think his words through. It’s a good painting, sure, anyone could see that. Delicate, carefully constructed, and so masterfully done that she must have worked on it for weeks. Or months, even. That sticks in her mind, the thought that Vereesa must have stood there for months with Jaina’s face so clear in her mind that she could make something like this from memory alone.

She remembers what she thought when she first saw this, that it made her look like a goddess. Is that how Vereesa sees her? Oh no.

“I think I need to talk to her.” She says. Tandred just laughs.

It's her sister that answers this time. Sylvanas only opens the door by the tiniest fraction, enough to press a single frowning eye against the crack.

"What do you want?" She asks, voice muffled by the door. Jaina wouldn't be surprised if she was making herself difficult to hear on purpose. It's not like this is the first time she's ever seen the woman, or the first time they've ever talked, but Sylvanas is as elusive as ever. Jaina isn't even sure her family understands her.

"I'm here to see your sister." She says, shifting uncomfortably. The weather is cold this time of year, almost strangely cold for somewhere so close to the ocean. She can see a hint of lights behind Sylvanas, and she wants more than anything to slip into that warmth. Most days she would have called the strong breeze coming off the ocean invigorating, or bracing, but tonight it just sinks its teeth into her bones.

Sylvanas doesn't open the door any further, just continues to stare at her. "Which sister?"

"Vereesa, I thought she would have- listen, we work together sometimes and- can I please just come in?"

Even through the narrow gap she can see the displeased pull of Sylvanas' mouth, but she opens the door eventually. And yet she doesn't move, doesn't move away. Just stands there, watching, evaluating her. Jaina wonders what she sees.

And then she walks away, quickly melting off into what shadows remain inside the house.

For a few seconds, Jaina waits, staring at the spot she stood just moments before. Not sure what to think.

But soon enough, she shakes her head and continues up the stairs, raps her fingers lightly against heavy wood.

The lights are off inside her studio, and Vereesa paints to the dying sunlight. She turns her head as Jaina enters, flashes a quick smile but doesn’t move from her place. Just maintains her small dance, the twirl of a brush between her fingers. Jaina doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t even dream of it, more than content to find a wall nearby to lean on, and watch.

Vereesa is magnetising, when she’s in focus like this. Jaina can remember what it was like years and years ago, when she brought her art history homework out into the kitchen of their shared apartment, worked quietly through centuries of progress while Vereesa worked at her own pace, carving out her well-deserved place in history.

Or at least, that was what her dream had been, in those days.

She still has the same ticks, the same strange song of hums that escape her throat as she thinks, the same tilt of her head when she leans back to focus on the painting as a whole, the same almost-dance when an idea strikes her and she leans back in too fast. Some things change. Some don’t. She’s still the same woman, all these years later. Jaina’s just blessed to see her dance again.

It’s half done, but enough of it is there for Jaina to guess at the subject. Another bird, too far away to tell what kind, plummeting rapidly through a sky in storm. Whether the bird is diving willingly or falling, Jaina can’t tell. Maybe it’s both. Maybe you would only know the truth too late, after the impact. It’s bittersweet, but in her style, half hidden behind Vereesa, the bitterness fades away.

Time passes slow, dreamlike, while Jaina waits. She can’t even tell how long it’s been since she walked in, but the sunlight drains away bit by bit until it’s far too dark for Vereesa to work, and she puts her brush down.

“Sorry to make you wait.” She says, turning away from it, facing Jaina at last. “I just…”

“You had a flow going. Don’t worry, I remember what you used to be like.”

Vereesa laughs, drags Jaina into a hug. She’s warm, Jaina thinks, more than willing to settle against her for a long minute. Phone calls aren’t enough, hardly compare to the feel of her, the way she breathes out when Jaina’s arms wrap around her. Nothing she could describe, nothing she would know how to write down if asked, but it feels right. Like a puzzle piece clicking into place.

“I thought it might be years before I saw you in person again, remembering what you are still like.”

She groans, holds her that touch tighter. Like it will make it easier to remember when time and distance inevitably tear them apart again. Like it will leave an imprint on her skin, one that will make the long nights easier to bear alone. Like it could tell Vereesa all the things Jaina doesn’t know how to say.

Jaina should let go. Step away, slip back into that persona of professionalism. Should say all the things she drafted up in her mind on the drive here. About them, about what that painting means, about where exactly the line between them lies. But in every moment that she considers it, weighs it out in her mind, she hesitates. Backs away from it, not even willing to think through why the words taste like poison in her mouth.

“They loved your paintings, you know. Even Tandred was impressed.”

Vereesa is the one to pull away this time. She doesn’t speak, at least not immediately, just looks away from Jaina and towards the painting she had abandoned only minutes before. Jaina can’t see it anymore, not in the murky twilight, not without her glasses. How easy it is to hide secrets from her. Just a small shroud of darkness, and she is almost blind.

“I’m glad.” She says eventually. “I think. It’s all… still strange. I almost feel like I should be running away from it all, like a surprised insect running from the light.” Is she smiling? Jaina isn’t quite sure anymore. The day is barely even twilight anymore, and standing against the window, Vereesa is little more than a shadow.

“It’s not undeserved. You’ve practised for years.”

“I suppose.”

Maybe it’s the dark that takes a hold of her heart then, makes her count back the years, think of the way time flows, and the woman she never thought would lie to her. Not after everything they had been through together. Not after every awful secret she has let spill from her own lips, weakness and admissions she would not even tell her family, not her brother, not even now. She shouldn’t be bitter. Shouldn’t hold onto things that don’t quite matter. Shouldn’t intrude into other people’s privacy. But maybe she isn’t quite as good a person as she’d like to imagine herself as.

“It’s two years isn’t it?” She says. And actually, the dark makes her braver. “Since you started painting again?”

“Yes.” Vereesa says, after a pause.

She wants to press. To cut in closer, to know why such things were kept hidden from her. But she doesn’t. Falters once more, before the question can even fully form in her mind. Instead, she lingers in that same awful hesitation. Let’s unspoken words hang in the air, and the silence drag on.

“I wanted to tell you.” Vereesa says, finally, guessing the question. She steps away from the window, sinks down into the well-worn couch she keeps in her studio, the only actual furniture in the room. Pauses again, and while Jaina can see her silhouette with its small shadowed movements, she can’t see any expression. Somehow, she knows this isn’t a conversation for bright lights. She follows, sits next to her. Not quite touching. “Do you know why I stopped?”

She doesn’t need to answer. She was there, all those years ago.

“Up until then, I thought it would be fine. Everything fit together, seemed to make sense.” Vereesa crosses that boundary first, drops her head onto Jaina’s shoulder. Jaina lets her. “My paintings won awards. I had Rhonin. And Sylvanas was…” She breaks off, and Jaina puts an arm around her, pretends she can’t hear her ragged breathing. “You know how she had that sport scholarship?”

“I know.” Jaina says, soft.

“Then she had that accident, and the surgeons wanted to stop her doing everything she used to love, and she just… lashed out at all of us, disappeared at all hours of the night. And just as we were reeling from that there was that fucking… One drunk driver and Rhonin was gone. And I tried to keep doing my work. I really did. But I couldn’t. I used to do portraits, you know. Of everyone I knew. But I couldn’t look at anyone long enough to do them anymore, just kept thinking about… I don’t know. I couldn’t concentrate on anything long enough to finish it. And so, I just. Stopped. I packed it all away. Didn’t want to think about it ever again.”

She pauses, draws in a slow, faltering breath. “I think I’m scared it will happen again. That every time I come close to being happy, I’m really just coming close to losing it all again. I’m sorry.”

The dark is a strange shelter now, something that also hides Jaina from scrutiny. But her voice betrays her, cracks when she tries to speak. “Don’t be sorry.”

This time, the choice is more conscious than just continual hesitation, and Jaina stays. Their conversation drops in volume, finds different, more pleasant topics. In the end, Jaina is just listening to the whispered melody of her voice, the steady pulse of her heartbeat. It lulls her away, and she is not strong enough to resist.

Jaina wakes much later, unwillingly stolen from sleep by the merciless march of the morning sun. She groans, deep in her throat, and tries to twist away from the light, only to find herself progressively more and more entangled in some heavy blanket she doesn’t remember from last night. By the time enough of her mind has recovered for her to escape its clutches, the realisation of where she still is has already dawned on her. Still here, in Vereesa’s studio. Had she really been that tired? Clearly.

She can hear the door open slowly, and the quiet footsteps that pad across the floor after it. “Oh good, you’re awake.” Someone says. Half-asleep Jaina doesn’t want to acknowledge the words, wants to bury her head deep within her blanket and sleep the rest of the day away.

A hand touches her shoulder lightly, and she cracks open one eye far enough to see Vereesa leaning over her. She’s smiling again, and that fact is enough for Jaina to force herself to sit up properly. Something like disappointment lances through her when she leans away, grants Jaina space.

“Sorry for falling asleep on you.” Jaina says.

“It’s fine. Really. I would have woken you, but you seemed so tired that I thought it would be better to let you rest.”

Jaina doesn’t reply. Her mind isn’t quite awake yet, makes her feel like her head is full of mist. Hard to see through, but even harder to move through, fighting against itself just to think. Vereesa sits herself down next to her, leaves a small space between them that Jaina immediately erases, collapsing against her side until it is more Vereesa holding her up than anything else.

Another second, and her mind rethinks the action. Then there’s a tiny vibration of a laugh from Vereesa, something she feels more than hears, and she rethinks it again. Even half twisted in blankets, the air is cold, and Vereesa is so, so warm. It’s easy to stay.

“I think I may have slept better here than at home.” Jaina says. She means it as a joke, but the tone doesn’t quite carry through into her voice.

“Do you still have trouble sleeping?” Vereesa asks, softly. It’s strange, how nice it is to hear the concern in her voice.

“Not like before.” She doesn’t need to say when exactly before is. The word means something else to the two of them now. Means any one of those awful years when they were young, when they had to learn by hand how cruel the world can be. “But yes. Sometimes.”

She can feel her shuffle against her. By now her eyes have closed once more, so all she knows is the movement. In an ideal world, time would no longer matter, and all their responsibilities would melt away, dissolve like salt, and they would never have to leave.

“I think that-” Vereesa starts, then pauses. A warm hand brushes Jaina’s cheek, and her eyes flicker open. Vereesa is close. So, so close. Close enough that she can feel the ghost of her breath on her skin, and she finds herself consciously supressing a shudder. Vereesa’s eyes aren’t on hers, but somewhere a little lower down. Her lips?

This was Jaina’s fault, she should have said something yesterday, should have cast in steady stone what they are to each other. And yet. Even now, here, with Vereesa touching her so softly, the words don’t want to leave Jaina’s throat, digging their claws deep into her and refusing to budge.

“You have paint on your face.” Vereesa says, her thumb softly rubbing against the area in question. Jaina feels her heart freeze, then sink deep within her, dark and out of sight. Vereesa stands, and some awful part of her wants to grab her hand, make her stay even a second longer. Her tired mind is just playing tricks on her, she thinks, controlling herself until Vereesa returns with a damp cloth.

Vereesa reaches out for her again, then pauses, her hands frozen still in the air. “Do you want to do it yourself, or can I...?”

“Go ahead.” Jaina says. Her voice sounds strange even to her own ears, a note too high.

And her hands are back, one on her shoulder, the other slowly brushing away at the paint. Her eyes are focused, and with every passing second, she leans even closer, unconsciously. Any more and she will be in Jaina’s lap, and a flashed image races through her mind of Vereesa pressed against her, hands tangled in her hair, lips brushing the same spot the cloth touches now. She squeezes her eyes closed, but that just makes everywhere they touch feel all the more intense.

It’s only made worse when Vereesa stops, moves both of her hands to frame Jaina’s face. “Are you alright? I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“No, I’m just… Tired.” Too tired to even come up with a good excuse, really. But Vereesa hums, and goes back to her gentle work.

And maybe it’s just because it’s early, and Jaina hasn’t fully recovered the use of her brain. Maybe it’s something strange about the morning light, and the way it falls over them, soft enough to make even the rocky sea behind the window look calm. Maybe it’s something to do with Vereesa’s untidy, sleep-ruffled hair, and the way the light plays with the silver of it. Whichever it is, something hits her then, trapped there watching Vereesa watch her, the blue of her eyes sharp as she concentrates, leans in too close like Jaina is another one of her paintings.

How strange is it, she thinks, that I’ve never realised until now how pretty she is?

And then Vereesa leans back, smiles, and Jaina shakes her head, ignores the thought.

“Sorry.” She says. “I should have cleaned this area up better.”

Jaina smiles back. Then falters, when she sees Vereesa’s eyes flick down again, wonders exactly how much paint she has managed to cover herself in.

Her hands return, cup her face, and Jaina can feel herself tilting forward without thought, chasing the subtle feel of her breath against her skin. And then she looks back up, and their eyes meet for long enough that Jaina can see something flash through her eyes, and Vereesa tears herself away.

“We don’t have anything exciting here, food wise.” She’s not looking at her, but Jaina can still see the burst of red spreading up her neck. “But I can make you breakfast? Only if you don’t have to leave straight away.”

“I can spare another hour.” Jaina says. She probably shouldn’t, probably should race off right now, but she gives in to temptation, just this once.

Jaina has been trying to convince Vereesa to visit Kul Tiras for… years now. She had succeeded before, but that had been in the days before the creeping responsibilities of jobs and less than ideal family relationships stole much of their time and attention. And with the distance between them these days, it’s hardly a surprise that such a thing is difficult. But still. Years. Vereesa hadn’t even been able to come down for that first exhibition, to see for herself the way people reacted to her work.

In the end, Jaina tells her long descriptions of her homeland, the ways it differs from Quel’thalas, trying to tempt the part of her that loves nature. It’s not subtle. It’s the furthest thing from it really. She’s beginning to think she’ll never succeed when Vereesa calls her one afternoon, says a lot about her sisters’ upcoming plans, about travel and work, enough so that Jaina is approaching confusion by the time she admits the real reason for the call, that she has finally carved out the time and opportunity to visit.

Tandred smiles a bit too broadly when she tells him, and she regrets telling him anything of what happened the last time she saw her. But, mercifully, he doesn’t push things too far, just pats her on the shoulder and whispers an old sailor’s blessing, insists on sitting in on the gallery so she has enough freedom to play tour guide.

But there’s always paperwork. Paperwork and emails and phone calls, enough so that she almost misses Vereesa’s arrival, and almost worse, forgets to clean out her car so there’s an awkward shuffle, Jaina throwing binders of paperwork to the backseat while Vereesa laughs, says she’d die from shock if she ever found Jaina more than a couple feet from some form of work.

She shows her Boralus first, the twisting, unplanned streets, the old docks they barricaded off once they started having safety fears, the long line of cafes that face the ocean and form a border around the town itself. She wonders for a moment how interesting it could be, another sea-side town that carries most of it’s meaning in the memories imprinted on her consciousness, but Vereesa’s eyes are bright, and more than once she asks for them to stop a moment to take a photo. The winding streets with their mismatched houses, the old sandstone courthouse, and the wide expanse of ocean that borders it all. Only when she seems satisfied does Jaina take the road out of town, the one that winds around most of the outside of the island, driving slowly, and pulling over at every place possible, because Vereesa always asks.

After the first handful, she stops looking herself, starts watching her instead. The way her eyes brighten, the way her smile starts on one side of her mouth before the other follows. The way she moves her hands when something takes her by surprise, a strange movement that she eventually recognises as an unconscious spin of a brush that isn’t there. It’s charming.

She takes her back to her art gallery in the late afternoon. Tandred is still sitting at the front desk, the relief spilling over into his face at the sight of her twisting into almost childish disappointment when she asks him to continue to watch over things while she shows Vereesa around. Jaina’s been fearing what kind of commentary would spill from his mouth, but he lets the opportunity go, waves her on.

It’s easy to talk about work. A rhythm she settles into, an almost-rehearsed speech that spills from her lips without thinking, the sort of thing she tells most visitors. When she recognises that, she makes herself stop, and talks instead about the people who made them instead, about which painter filled his house with enough succulents that she tripped over no less than three times visiting him.

“They’re mainly locals, aren’t they?” Vereesa asks as they walk. “Kul Tirans?”

“Yes. There’s a handful that aren’t, but they’re mainly from the islands.” She pauses a second, then starts slowly leading her towards one wall in particular, in a way she would hope was subtle. “In fact, you’re the furthest away of all my artists.”

“Am I worth it? Being kept as one of your artists?”

Jaina shrugs, points to the part of the gallery she led them to, a wall headed with a small sign marking the works below as not for sale. There’s a handful of paintings there, a collection of Jaina’s personal favourite pieces from some of her most popular artists. A small constant, even while the rest of the collection shifts and changes like the tide.

“I think so. I had to set some of yours aside, they were being bought up so fast. At least this way, maybe when you’re famous someone will remember who worked with you first.”

Vereesa smiles, the action a fraction too forced, and moves to stand and look at the wall, stands close enough to one to brush her fingers down one side of the frame. “This still doesn’t. I don’t know. It doesn’t feel real.”

There’s a second where Jaina is caught between instinct and that same awful hesitation, and then Jaina moves to stand next to her, touches one shoulder gently. “You know I wouldn’t lie to you. Disregarding everything else, that’s real.”

“I know.”

This time, it’s Vereesa who hesitates in leaving. The sunlight begins to fade, and she still lingers, pointedly avoiding looking out the window. Even when there’s little interesting left in the gallery. They end up just moving to Jaina’s office, and Jaina watches the small quirk of a smile that breaks out on her face when she recognises the painted lighthouse keeping watch over her desk. And there they just talk, settle into the slightly weathered couch Jaina keeps pressed against one wall, something she pretends is just for visitors when it’s more for the nights she’s too tired to even drive the short distance home to an actual bed.

It reminds her a little of that small apartment they shared years ago, when they were at university. Enough so that she moves on instinct, forgets all the change in the last few years and doesn’t so much as sit next to her as collapse, lies down with her head in Vereesa’s lap. Then she freezes, unsure, only relaxing again when she hears a soft hum escape from Vereesa, feels her hand touch her hair, and a soft you’re fine spoken so lightly she may have just imagined it.

Even when their conversation falters, Vereesa doesn’t leave, just lingers, hums something deep in her throat and plays with Jaina’s hair. And maybe Jaina should be responsible, but time feels immaterial, and she so jealously wants more time with her that even considering backing away now feels like treason. In the end, she picks up one of the books left sitting nearby, slips her glasses on. She squints for a second at the pages and their less than familiar words, only to remember the one book in Thalassian she had ordered, smugly confident that she would be able to power through somehow. Oh well, she thinks, I’m already holding it.

"What are you reading?" Vereesa asks after a few minutes, fingers still running through her hair. Gentle, but constant, and when her touch brushes her scalp Jaina shivers, just a bit. It's distracting, very much so, and Jaina forgets to answer her for an embarrassing length of time. "Another one of your dry art history books?" Vereesa continues when she doesn't speak, and Jaina drags herself back down to earth.

"They're not dry!" She protests, and Vereesa laughs. She has not stopped moving, and Jaina feels trapped, but in a pleasant way. Her hand stroking through her hair, her leg burning hot beneath her head, her melodic voice ringing clear. It's enough to strike a strange sort of desire in her heart, make her want to stay here forever.

“They are, and you know it.” It’s hard to concentrate on the words, even harder to string them back together into sentences, with Vereesa touching her like this. And yet, she doesn’t want to move. Moving might mean that she would regain function of her brain, yes. Might even allow her to finish this book she’s been struggling with for weeks.  But the sacrifice is too much.

Forget it, Jaina thinks, I don’t see her often enough.

“What’s it about?” Vereesa asks, just as Jaina begins to play with the idea of closing her eyes, tempted to burn away their precious time together by falling asleep on her again.

She shows her the cover, the neatly scripted Thalassian beneath a watercolour of an old eucalypt forest. The sight makes Vereesa snort ungracefully, which is charming, but also makes her hands still, which isn’t. Would it be too needy to ask her not to start again? Probably. But she loses the chance, and Vereesa’s hands slip away from her, pick up her book instead, flick through a few pages.

“Are you really trying to read an old textbook about a niche art movement, in a language you only half understand, on your day off? Jaina.”

She can feel herself flush, and she pulls her book back, settles back into her attempt at reading it, almost stubbornly this time. “I’ll have you know I’m almost fluent.” As she settles back in to read, Vereesa’s hand returns, and Jaina releases a sigh that’s a little too obvious. At least, this time, Vereesa doesn’t stop.

“I’m only teasing.” There’s a pause, and Jaina can almost hear the thoughts whirring through her mind, rattling around almost loud enough for her to hear. “Doral ana’diel?”

Even if she was reading it only moments before, hearing the language spoken is somehow altogether different. Written, it sounds almost hollow, whispered in her mind by her own voice, her own attempts to maintain the proper accents. Spoken, it is almost a song, lifts Vereesa’s voice higher, makes her soft almost forgotten accent more pronounced. Spoken, it is also faster, harder to pin down and decipher. But she knows this one. A basic greeting.

“Sinu a’manore” She replies. Not exactly the right word choice, she is sure, and even after all her practice it doesn’t quite sound right to her ears. Like lyrics spoken instead of sung, the rhythm interrupted and faltering.

Still, Vereesa’s small brief laugh echoes through her bones, and she leans down to brush her lips on Jaina’s forehead. “Well done,” she says, then pauses a moment, staying close enough that Jaina knows there is no way to hide her blush. Another song slips from her lips, soft this time. “Anar'alah belore, rea elu'meniel mal alann.”

That one Jaina doesn’t quite know, not immediately. Something about light, something about the sun, words she knows but a meaning she doesn’t. She looks up, at Vereesa and the small gentle smile framed by her loose hair, falling down far enough to brush against Jaina’s skin.

“What’s that one mean?” she asks, abandoning her attempts at translation.

“It means you should relax more. You work too much.”

Jaina frowns, reaches up with a hand to push Vereesa’s shoulder. It’s childish, petulant, but it makes Vereesa laugh again, so it’s worth it. And then, just as she’s opening her book again, flicking through pages trying to find her place again, a hand sneaks down, brushes one side of her face. It stops a moment, then in one fast fluid motion Jaina’s glasses are pulled off her face, torn out of her reach.

“Vereesa! You know I can’t read without those!”

“Clearly.”

She sits up, twists around, But Vereesa is still holding her glasses away from her, her smile not quite clear but so very obvious. Distantly, she recognises that Vereesa will hand them back if she asks, if she means it. She’s not the type to be wilfully cruel. And, also distantly, she knows that she doesn’t want to ask.

Instead, she crawls in closer, straddles Vereesa’s legs and leans in behind her to grasp at her glasses. She expects something more of a fight, some other trick, but Vereesa doesn’t move, doesn’t stop her from slipping them out of her fingers. Jaina is just about to say something, prod Vereesa on exactly where all her elven grace drained away to, when she glances down, sees Vereesa staring up at her, wide-eyed, silent.

They had been close before, when Jaina was reading. But that was different, the sort of thing they did years ago, on weekend nights when neither of them felt energised enough to leave the apartment. Now, Jaina realises, she is set flush with her, straddling her legs, faces set so close that it would be easier to lean in that millimetre closer than it would be to lean away.

She doesn’t think. Just lowers her glasses back onto the couch, somewhere she hopes she will remember to find them later. Her hands settle on Vereesa’s shoulders, and she can feel her release a held breath, and the surprise painted across her face drifts into something else, and she looks up at Jaina with a soft smile. Hopeful.

There isn’t a plan. There isn’t even any some of conscious goal, just a deep twisting sense of want that draws her in. Closer, closer, until a heavy hand bangs at the door of her office, Tandred’s voice shouting through, saying that he was going home.

It’s enough to crack whatever tension there was, and Jaina rolls off, shouts back at him.

His footsteps fade away, and she breathes out. There’s enough distance now, enough time, for her mind to kick back into motion, to start to think through what just happened. And then to think too much, to twist itself into knots trying to figure out exactly what she was going to do, and then to think more in an attempt to run from the obvious.

“Um.” She starts, eloquently. “Did you want to stay with us tonight? We have a couple guest rooms, and they’re clean, just, dusty maybe? Or there’s…” she breaks off, checks the time, and swears under her breath. “There’s the ferry but there’s only one left tonight, we’d have to go right now.”

“That’s alright.” Vereesa says, not looking at her. “I’m ready now.”

They don’t talk while Jaina drives. They probably should. That would be the smart thing, the practical thing, the reasonable thing to do. Instead, Jaina just drives, glad for once that she can only really focus on the road ahead, that the darkness and her own awful eyesight turn the inside of her car into a dark smear. She can hear Vereesa’s breathing, when the road is smooth, and it just further drives in how tense this whole situation has become.

They make it in time. Just in time, and Vereesa slides out of the car, pausing only for a second to lean across for an awkward side hug. Then she slips out.

If they had had a minute more, maybe they would have broken. Talked about whatever this is, whatever they were about to do. About what they wanted. But maybe they wouldn’t, maybe they would have just sat there in that same awful silence, wishing they knew how to break it.

Jaina only has ten seconds.

She rolls down her window, leans out of it. “Vereesa!” she calls, wishing she were stronger. “Text me when you get home!”

“I will!” she hears called back. And nothing else.

The ferry slips away from the docks on time, and its lights slowly melt away onto the waves, until they are little more than a speck. And then Jaina can’t see it anymore, can’t pick it out from every other glimmer of reflected moonlight. Even then she waits in the dark carpark, time creeping on and on.

When she tears her sight away from the ocean, all she does is rest her forehead against her steering wheel instead. It’s quiet here. So quiet. Quiet enough that she no longer has anything to distract her, to tear her attention away from… it.

She nearly kissed her. She wanted to. Maybe it wasn’t a conscious thought, wasn’t any grand plan she’s been working on for weeks, but she’s certain of that. Jaina doesn’t even know what she would have done if they hadn’t been interrupted. That’s the scariest part, actually. Not knowing.

She stays there for a long time before driving back. And then she stays up longer still, waiting with her phone in hand until she gets Vereesa’s message that she arrived home safe.

It takes a month, but Jaina manages to carve out a completely free weekend. By now, the drive along to the Windrunner house is familiar, and the time passes smoothly. It’s a long journey, but Vereesa picks up the phone on the first ring, seems more than content to burn away the early morning talking to her. She’s painting again, Jaina knows, can almost imagine the expression on her face in the quiet moments, when she takes a break from speaking to concentrate. And every so often, she can hear the distant echo of her sisters, a handful of shouted words. Another argument between Alleria and Sylvanas, Vereesa tells her quietly. They’re both at fault.

It’s strange, that it makes her smile just a bit.

Neither sister is present when she arrives. Whether they’re out or hiding somewhere, she doesn’t know. Somehow, she doubts she would be able to find either of them if they didn’t want to be found.

Jaina only ended the call with her minutes before, and yet Vereesa still seems genuinely thrilled to see her, drags her inside and up the stairs, asking how her last event went, how her family has been, almost too distracted to remember to open the door to her studio.

The room is filled with paintings again, all facing away from the wall. Jaina recognises some of the old ones, but there’s a surprising number painted since the last time she visited.

The new paintings are mainly seascapes. Nearly every single painting has some hint of the ocean in it and yet. And yet. They are all unique, a tiny crystallised fraction of a larger breathing world. Jaina has spent so much of her life around artists and yet walking into this room still steals the breath from her lungs. And then, another moment, another heartbeat, enough time for her mind to be gifted back to her, and she realises how familiar each landscape is.

Kul Tiras. Her home.

“Holy shit, Vereesa.” She says without thinking. She can hear Vereesa laugh behind her as she closes the door, something so warm and rich that she has to restrain herself from turning back around to stare at her.

“Do you like them?” she asks, walking up to stand next to her, close enough that their arms brush. Close, close, but not quite close enough, just a hint that makes her thoughts swirl, and she’s glad she has the paintings to focus on, an anchor to stop her mind from drifting off into more dangerous shores.

“They’re amazing, I-” she cuts herself off, nudges Vereesa gently with an elbow. “I can’t believe that you kept all this from me for so long. I’m almost hurt.”

“I didn’t think any of them were worth mentioning. I thought I was mad, painting again.” A pause, a smile. “But, well. I might have done it sooner, if I knew it was the only way to get you to visit.”

She groans. Thinks back on this past few months, curses herself when she realises that yes, Vereesa is right. Maybe she is a bit too obsessed with work.

Vereesa walks over to one, a picture of a seabird nested up on the very edge of a steep cliff, nothing but sharp stone and rough waves below. Even with that implicit threat of danger, it’s still somehow so tender. A picture of home, no matter what threats lie in wait.

“You were right.” She says, quietly. “Every time you talked about how beautiful Kul Tiras is. I’ve been painting as fast as I possibly can, trying to capture all the memories I have of even that one brief visit and I just- I’m half convinced I’m on some kind of time limit. That if I wait too long, everyone else will find it too, and the world will be inundated with pictures of the same cliffs, the same birds, the same town. I don’t know. Maybe I kind of wanted to keep part of it secret. Just for me.”

“I don’t think anyone sees it the same way you do.” Vereesa is smiling at her, something familiar, and yet. Heart stopping.  And she wishes, quietly, in the part of her she almost fears to give a voice, that she had realised all this so much sooner. That she could have had longer to admire her, her paintings, her smile, the way her hair moves in the ocean breeze. That she could have ignored these things, had them in front of her for so, so many years without realising, without treasuring each one, feels awful now.

“And besides.” She continues, forging on and trying to feign concentration. “I still think it’s more about the people you know there than anything else.”

“Maybe.” Vereesa says, watching her. Her voice is warm, almost suggestive, and Jaina can feel a blush started to creep up from her neck, only spreading faster when she notices Vereesa’s growing smile.

She waves her hand, tries to focus. “They’re all beautiful. And I promise I will look at them all later, I just… I didn’t visit for business, this time. I came for you. I managed to make some free days, and I thought we could… I don’t know. Go somewhere? A hike maybe, or a drive or… Or we could just stay here and listen to your sisters argue.”

Vereesa laughs. “You could have warned me earlier, you know. I was trying to come up with excuses for you to stay longer.”

Jaina starts to move back towards the door, expecting Vereesa to follow her, stops in place when she doesn’t.

“One last thing, before we go.” Vereesa says. Her earlier confidence drains away, leaves her rubbing a bit of her shirt between two fingers. “It’s- A little different. A side project, I guess? I wanted to… You know. Try something.” She walks over to a corner of the room, to a painting still covered in sheets. Jaina had seen it earlier, had to squash down on her curiosity to avoid crossing some boundary. She had likely pushed things too far the first time, blundering uninvited into Vereesa’s personal things, and some of the guilt still remains.

Vereesa has almost started to pull the covers off when she hesitates, glances back to Jaina. “If this is, weird, or… I don’t know. Creepy? Just… I’ll get rid of it. I promise.”

“Show me.”

One last pull, and another painting is revealed, one not quite the same as the others. The brush strokes are still soft, but the colours aren’t quite real. Rich purples and blues, twisting into a sunset that is somehow more realistic than it should be.

It’s a picture of a woman, standing tall against the breeze. Set against a magnificent sky, a deep and treacherous ocean, and yet somehow, she looks all the stronger for it. A witch maybe, or a queen, standing on a small strip of sand silently willing nature to bend its knee to her.

If every other painting was a shard of reality, this is something else, a dream carved out and brought to life.

Then, with a start, she recognises the woman’s stance, the shade of her brilliant gold hair.

“Vereesa, is that me?” she asks, quiet, still stunned.

She manages to tear her eyes from the painting for a second, sees Vereesa still holding the same sheets in a death grip, eyes not leaving her face. She looks almost… afraid. Like she thinks Jaina will snap, throw to the ground something she has poured hours and hours into, curse at her.

“Yes.” She says, still quiet. “I just- I remember what you said about the last one, that you almost wish you hadn’t sold it. I thought… I thought you might like another one?” Words haven’t properly returned to Jaina yet, and she’s still staring at her, and Vereesa clearly assumes the worst, flushes bright red and starts to cover the painting again. “I’m sorry. This was a step too far. I’ll get rid of it.”

That makes Jaina rush forward to stop her with a touch. “No don’t.”

Maybe she’s been so caught up on everything here, on planning and admiring all her new paintings, but Jaina only now notices a smear of paint on Vereesa’s cheek. That same bright shade of purple, brilliant against her pale hair. Maybe it’s a sign, reflects how much of herself she mixes into her paintings. Maybe it’s just an accident.

If nothing else, it’s an excuse to cup her face again, to stay so intoxicatingly close. “Hold on.” She says. Vereesa’s eyes widen. “You’ve got something…”

If she were smarter, had hesitated even a second to think, she would have found a cloth to wipe it off with, but instead she wipes a hand across it, until the paint mixes on her as well. Some still remains on Vereesa, and she tries again, but the edges have started to dry, and they linger despite her efforts. She frowns for a second, and then laughs.

“I’m not doing a very good job of this, am I?” And now Vereesa laughs, and her hands settle on Jaina’s hips, steps in that fraction closer, until they are flush against each other. If a brush of contact was intoxicating, this is enough to make her feel like she’s on fire, and it makes something heavy tug at her stomach. This time, Jaina admits to herself that it’s desire.

They both hesitate. Stare at each other for a long, long moment, both waiting for something neither is quite brave enough to do first. And then, Vereesa drops her face to Jaina’s shoulder, at the point where it meets her neck, and laughs again.

“Are we really still doing this?” She asks, more amused than bitter.

“Apparently.” Jaina says.

The tension breaks. Maybe they’ve been thinking too hard, Jaina thinks. Overthinking, twisting something simple into something incomprehensible and unapproachable.

Vereesa pulls herself back, still smiling. Jaina almost wants to hesitate more, to just stand back and appreciate the simple beauty of it all. But they’ve hesitated too much. Backed out of every single opportunity, trapped each other in this never-ending dance, as if coincidence will one day do the work for them.

No more.

Jaina slips her fingers into Vereesa’s hair, and erases that last bit of distance between them, kisses her gently and breathes her in like air. Vereesa’s grip on her hips tightens, pulls them somehow even closer, until Jaina can feel the curve of her smile. One moment, then another, something that they let linger, an embrace they no longer have a reason to run from. Jaina starts to move, walks blindly until the back of her knees collides with that worn couch, sudden enough that she loses her balance, and they fall in a wild tangle that is decidedly less romantic than she had hoped it would be. But Vereesa laughs still, leans back in.

It’s nothing complex, but it feels right. The last stroke of paint on a painting that has been left to linger too long. Maybe not a masterpiece, not yet. But they have time.