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Neptune is a talker.
She’ll ramble on about her day, she’ll rant about whatever little thing inevitably ruined her mood (or maybe the one moment that made her laugh and forget about aforementioned little thing)— this is known.
It’s when she’s quiet that Jupiter knows something’s wrong.
A quiet Neptune is never good. She’s usually good at managing those feelings, all that ichor and vitriol building up inside her. The little stuff comes out in drips. But the big stuff gathers and rises. It needs to go somewhere, or it will all rush out as the dam breaks. A little at a time.
Their relationship isn’t perfect. They’re still figuring it out. They live too far away to spend the time they want together, but it’s still summer. And Jupiter’s taken up sailing. (At least, as far as her mom knows.) Which means finding the nearest lake, and— wouldja look at that, Neptune lives within walking (well, a long walk, but still) distance. Neptune’s parents don’t seem to care much about her having friends over. They don’t seem to notice much of anything. Don’t seem to listen to whatever excuses are made, either. Or listen at all.
“What’s wrong?”
They’re lounging on the couch, Neptune’s hair spilling over Jupiter’s lap as she glares, unseeing, at the television.
“Hm? Nothing, it’s— just some dick. Made a comment. But fuck him, whatever.” She looks down, starts tracing a finger over a cuff of Jupiter’s shorts. Starts touching the skin peeking out beneath it.
Jupiter is still getting used to that. The touching. It’s nice - it’s so nice, but it’s so new. It’s distracting and confusing and every time it feels Bigger than it is. And Neptune knows that. This is obviously an attempt to avoid. Jupiter isn’t deterred. “What happened?”
Neptune is quiet for a second. “Just whistled. Like an asshole.”
Jupiter is still trying to reprogram her brain. Not to the 'right' wiring, but to— well, whatever this new thing is. And she’s ashamed that her first thought is to ask what Neptune was wearing, like there’s any excuse. And more ashamed when she pictures it in her head. A flush spreads over her cheeks, a combination of shame and guilt and want. It’s a new situation. All of it. Her hands tense as Neptune’s finger draws circles over her knee. Breath plays against her skin and it’s a lot to take in. The closeness. The touching.
Sometimes silence is enough.
Or maybe it’s having a human pillow.
Or maybe - because this is Neptune we’re talking about - it’s knowing that her attention is overloading Jupiter’s poor little head.
Whatever it is, it lets her talk.
“I hate being pretty.” What kind of bullshit, entitled, first world problem, right? But— that’s not even it. “I hate wanting to be pretty,” she amends, frowning. “I hate being called pretty, and I hate that I feel good when I look pretty.”
Jupiter doesn’t call her pretty. She thinks it, though.
“I hate looking in the mirror, feeling excellent, and then being told I look excellent and feeling miserable about it.” It’s like she’s talking out every knot in the tangled mess of yarn that is her thoughts. “I wish I could just turn off being seen sometimes, y’know?”
Oh, Jupiter knows. It always feels like someone’s watching. A teacher, or a classmate, or a parent, or- hell, some rando on the street. Watching her, evaluating her, judging her. Neptune calls her ‘sinner’ sometimes and it makes her flinch. But she gets it. It’s hard not to think of how people are seeing her. “It’s easier in the dark,” she mutters.
Neptune lets out a snrk of laughter, and Jupiter is blushing again. That’s how it usually is with them, anyway. When they risk any kind of affection. It’s better for both of them. At least for now. Their bodies are still bodies. Looking at them is just a reminder. But kissing in the dark is easier, steadily becoming more familiar, and Jupiter is bolder in the dark. Bolder hands.
Even with the blush, Jupiter breathes out a weak laugh, jostling her knees the slightest bit, making Neptune’s head wobble. “You know what I mean.”
Neptune rolls her head over just enough to shoot a jokingly accusatory look at her rebellious human pillow, but then looks back to the tv as her face goes pensive again. “…I just want to like how I look, and not wonder why I like it. Not second guess things. Not— I mean, I know I dress for me, but… I want to know, know, y’know?”
Not really, no. But Jupiter tries. And it makes sense, once she can parse the syntax.
“And then I feel like I look good, and I like it, but I also hate it, but I also want to do it because I want to tell those fuckers to shut up about it all. What I can’t wear. But then there are the ones who won’t shut up about what I can. What I do, I mean.” She’s less angry now, at least, just a mild annoyance as she sighs. “I don’t know. It’s complicated.” Neptune shakes her head. “I just hate people saying I look pretty.”
Jupiter takes a second, and she realizes her hand has been wrapping around the end of Neptune’s hair, and watches the strands weaving over and under her fingers. “I don’t think you look pretty.”
Neptune shoots her an unimpressed look, and a flat, “Thanks.”
“I mean— not pretty. You’re-” attractive, for sure. But it’s not the clothes, it’s not the makeup, it’s none of that. Finally, Jupiter settles on, “-confident.”
There’s a second spent biting back the first thing that crosses her mind, the oh, so I have a great ‘personality?’ and for a moment, Neptune is quiet. She looks… softer. No jokes, no jibes, no sharp comeback. Like she’s really thinking over the word. And then her gaze moves to Jupiter, to the contemplative look on her face, and Neptune’s lips twitch a bit at the corners. “Confident, huh?”
Her expression is mirrored, though Jupiter’s smile is just a tiny bit bigger, and a lot more crooked.
And the growth of Jupiter’s smile just makes Neptune smile wider, more like a smirk, before shifting to face the tv again, pulling just a little closer. “I’ll take it.”