Work Text:
Héloïse did not know much about love.
The old storybook she kept as a girl was her only consolation in the field of romantics- damsels in distress, princes with swords that could part the sea. She pictured love as words on paper, her lithe fingers scrolling endlessly down the pages as her eyes followed with vigor, drinking up the tales of loss and hope.
Marianne was not a prince. She was merely a woman with lips that spoke of music and eyes that saw through skin and bone, noticing the tremors of a heavy heart. She did not carry a sword but a paintbrush, but, Héloïse believed they held the same power- they both had the capability to dissect, to tear through layers.
It was when they were lying in bed one night, hands intertwined on the soft linen between them, that Héloïse truly began to understand love. Perhaps it was hidden in plain sight, within the feather-light touches of naked skin against naked skin, the pattern of Marianne’s fingertips trailing across her back. Like she was trying to commit each inch of her body to memory.
“Are you familiar with The Little Mermaid?” Héloïse asked. Marianne’s fingers stilled as she raised a questioning brow.
“I believe I am,” she said. “Although, I don’t remember much.”
Héloïse smiled faintly, fondly, as she rubbed her bare legs against Marianne’s, creating a warm friction beneath the sheets.
“It’s tragic, really,” she murmured. “I very much wish it ended with Ariel marrying her prince.”
Marianne crept her hands up to Héloïse’s cheeks, tracing down to her trembling lips. Her breath hitched as she let her eyes close. For a moment, Héloïse was angry at the woman who held her like she was worthy of being cherished. She was angry at her heart for giving away her affections, for chanting I love you I love you I love you into the tight space between them.
“I thought it was beautiful,” Marianne said, “the ending. Tragic, yes, but beautiful.” She tilted her head, her eyes roaming Héloïse’s face, her gaze soft and searching. “Like you.”
“I am tragic?” Héloïse asked.
“Yes,” Marianne said. “Tragic in a way that devastates those who cannot help but stare at you.” She leaned in so that their noses touched, their lips a whisper apart from brushing against each other. When she spoke, her words ignited something deep within Héloïse’s core, wrapping themselves tightly around her body. She felt trapped, but she also felt free, caught beneath a tidal wave that had the capability of dragging her under and drowning her.
She was lost at sea, but she found that she did not quite mind. Not when Marianne’s breath hit the side of her neck in short, hot spurts. Not when she was here, existing beside her, her arm slung around her torso.
“The Little Mermaid lost her one true love,” Héloïse whispered, her voice bare. “She lost him and could not carry on. How is that beautiful?”
Marianne bit her lip before speaking. “Her fate was beautiful because she sacrificed herself in the name of love. Her happiness, her life, she gave it all to him.”
“But what about-“
“She let him go,” Marianne said, “because she knew her love for him would kill her.”
Héloïse’s hands searched blindly for Marianne’s, grasping them in a desperate way to keep herself anchored to the bed. She was consumed by sadness, by the reality of their story- it must come to an end. The sea would swallow her and leave nothing in its wake.
“I do not want you to regret me,” she said, her words rushed and trembling. “I do not want you to regret loving me. I do not want-“
Marianne pulled her into a deep kiss, a kiss that cut off her words, a kiss that served as a lifeboat and a parachute. Their lips were fire, two separate tragedies melding into one.
Marianne pulled back to speak against her lips, hands cupping her face tenderly, reverently. Héloïse felt whole.
“I will never look back at our love and regret it,” Marianne said, a strangled gasp escaping her throat. “I will remember it.”
Héloïse kissed her again, because that was all she could do. She kissed her, and she loved her, and she replayed her words over and over in her mind.
Héloïse did not know much about love. But she was learning, and that was all that mattered.