Work Text:
Different version of 1x3
They're not sure how they ended up like this, leaning against each other, giggling incoherently, breathing slowly. Neither of them seem to mind though, they're both girls anyways—it's no big deal.
No big deal how Olivia seems to notice the little beauty marks that litter the corner of Monse's lips—what they must feel like, she thinks.
Or not even the fixation Monse has with the way the fairy lights in her room gave Olivia's eyes a different type of shine. The type of shine that could light up the dark world they live in, Monse thinks.
Their laughs, as random as the words they slur through their Modelo induced haze. Everything seemed to be sillier and funnier than it really was with them like this anyways. Simple touches spared, raged little fires and tummies filled with butterflies.
Monse would like to write it off as just being drunk, but no amount of beer can explain the heat she feels in her cheeks when Olivia throws her head back and laughs, showing off her exposed skin.
"Is it hot in here," Monse asks more herself than Olivia, who still nods her head anyway. Then she's unzipping her jacket and toeing off her shoes before she comes to sit cross cross in front of Olivia who follows suit.
It's not long before they're looking into each other's eyes and Olivia's leaning in, and she brushes a loose curl back behind Monse's ear and whispers, "You're so...beautiful."
Monse feels hot, "So are you."
At this point they're resting their foreheads together, Olivia has one hand on Monse's clothed thigh. God how she wishes she wore a stupid dress.
Wait, what?
And this time, Monse makes the first move toward something more and takes Olivia's free hand in her hers. The soft exchange of touches and silent thoughts is almost too much.
It's definitely more intimate than anything else either of them have ever experienced, but they don't seem to mind. And with a leap of faith, Olivia is sitting up on her thighs and taking Monse's face in her hands, heart skipping a beat at the way her eyes widen.
"Would it be weird if I kissed you?"
Pupils blown and breath taken away, but still not missing a beat, Monse shakily says, "Would it be weird if I kissed you back?"
And slowly, they both lean in and press their lips together. Holding on to what is there is so sacred, yet scary.
They pull away after a few seconds that seemed longer than they were. Maybe time slowed with their kiss, that's how it feels, that's how it must be—right?
They don't say anything, just smile and lean in again, this time Olivia slowly laying back on the bed and hoping Monse follows her.
The sounds from the party have died out. They don’t worry much about anything, this ain’t fast and fleeting. It’s slow and patient. It has a rhythm that refuses to change because of circumstance.
When they finally pull away, they can’t stop looking at each other. Their lips are both swollen and their hearts ache.
“I should go.”
“N-no, it’s late and y’know—”
“What?”
Monse’s always has words come easy to her, getting caught up like this would be a first.
“I want you to stay,” she grabs onto her hand.
Olivia stays. Monse offers her an old t-shirt and shirts to wear. They lay down to sleep, facing each other. Noticing each other more.
They sleep soundly, only after they’re able to pull away from each other’s deep gaze.
When they wake the next morning they talk lowly over tea and aspirin to ease the hangovers. Monse offers waffles, Olivia says, “This is enough for me.”
Monse tries to blame it on the alcohol but she wasn’t drunk anymore and she still wanted to feel more of Olivia’s lips on hers.
Before Olivia leaves that morning, she makes it clear how she feels, “We should do this again sometime.”