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Rain gently patters down on the windowpane, leaving long, flowing streams like tear tracks on the glass. Thunder rumbles quietly, and Denise shifts in her sleep, tugging the fluffy blanket Tara tucked over her after she fell asleep over her worn copy of War and Peace , her glasses still perched precariously on her nose. Tara had taken them off so carefully, desperate not to disturb her, and now they wait on the nightstand by the book. Denise's already kind, gentle face is further softened without her glasses, and as much as Tara adores the lenses, her girlfriend looks so incredibly cute without them.
Lightning dances over the inky blue night sky, dark grey clouds obscuring the glittering stars. Tara has never been able to sleep through storms, but they bring her an inexplicable sense of deep peace. And the pretty girl asleep next to her doesn’t do anything to stir her up either, and Tara is content to lay awake against the soft, downy pillows and gaze out at the storm and listen to Denise’s quiet twitching and little, whistling breaths.
She stirs again, clutching a fist of the soft, fluffy red blanket to her chest, and Tara smiles, gently tucking the hem of the fleecy fabric around her to keep her warm. Denise is wearing a sweatshirt of hers, a warm one, navy blue cotton with layers and layers of fleecy fabric and white drawstrings that she’s tugged down to be perfectly even, the hood pulled up over her head nearly obscuring the little tendrils of blonde hair that perpetually hang in her face. Tara is flattered that Denise would like her clothes so much, enough to wear them herself, and her cheeks flush a bit pink as she wriggles closer to the other woman, wrapping her arms around her gently.
Thunder growls again, echoing through the stormy night sky, and Denise subconsciously curls back into Tara’s arms. Denise looks to her when she’s afraid, and it’s the best compliment she could ever give her. Tara leans forward and kisses her cheek softly, the following flash of lightning illuminating her face, revealing the tiny marks on her nose from her glasses and the tiny, barely visible freckles sprayed over her soft cheekbones.
“I love you,” Tara murmurs, and she only says it because she knows very well that the woman in her arms can’t hear it, but she says it, and the words fall easily from her lips. Maybe she’ll say it again soon, in daylight. When Denise can hear her, can know that Tara’s in this for real.
But for now it’s far later than Tara would like it to be, and the storm is slowly blowing away, the rumbling thunder and flashing lightning fading away into nothing other than brief annoyances, and Tara happily falls back against her downy pillow, letting herself drift off into the currents of sleep with her arms still wrapped around Denise.