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Krista wakes up with a long arm slung around her, and blankets stolen. Ymir should thank the gods it’s warm today because otherwise, Krista would fight tooth and nail back for them right now.
Instead, Krista stretches, toes pointing and back arched. There’s so much to do today. She’s TAing today for some hopeless undergrads and Ymir wanted to go rock climbing or wake surfing or bowling in the afternoon. Some extreme sport. That adrenaline junkie.
Said junkie isn’t even using the covers, limbs akimbo and lopsided. She always hogs more than half their bed, pushing off Krista more than once onto the cold wooden floors only to yank her back in bed and cuddle as an apology.
“Ymir.” Krista sits up, rubbing her eyes. Ymir’s arm falls off her chest. When she can, she sleeps like the dead.
Kirsta sighs. The half-broken red clock from Ymir’s dancing a month ago shows it’s only 10. Maybe she should let Ymir sleep in.
Ymir’s been having trouble with her nightmares again, Krista knows. The wake-up-screaming, unable-to-sleep-unless-she’s-exhausted-so-she-doesn’t-dream type of trouble. Krista’s had her fair share of nightmares too—she takes sleeping pills when it gets rough, but she knows—Ymir’s are about her foster homes and fucked up religious “conversions.”
Therapy is good for both of them. Honestly, therapy is good for everyone.
Krista reaches up for Ymir’s face. She presses her finger into Ymir’s freckles, one by one. Ymir hates them, absolutely despises them, which is stupid if you were to ask Krista. Freckles were the first thing Krista noticed about her now-girlfriend when they first met at a mutual’s party, well, besides her height and wondering how conspicuously she could ask if Ymir listened to girl in red. Just if she liked girls.
Ymir had taken one look at her, said, “Sweater weather?”, and fast forward to now.
Girlfriends of three years in two months. Krista wonders if Ymir will let them move for their anniversary. She hates the ratty air purifier and loud neighbours in this apartment. Granted, they’re loud too. From arguments to jokes to everything else. Even though this apartment is close to both their classes and it’s decently cheap, Krista wants more windows.
She makes the executive decision to slide out of bed and yank on the blinds. Harsh white light from the disgustingly cold outside spills in. Class is going to be a pain with this snow.
Krista crawls back into bed, tugging all the covers she can get without manhandling Ymir or disturbing her and resumes brushing each one of Ymir’s freckles.
Instead of her usually analytical or serious face, Ymir’s relaxed. Calm. Krista’s eyes float down to the expanse of her skin, pressing a finger to every freckle. The clustered ones on the outside of her forearms, a few on her stomach, uneven on her calves and thighs. Pretty.
When Krista first moved in with Ymir, she’d almost had a heart attack when Ymir explained she only slept in a sports bra and shorts.
“It’s freeing after you have to cover up all day,” Ymir had said. “Fuck society for accepting men but not women walking about shirtless. And everyone else.”
And that was that. Krista had still needed about a month to adjust to the fact when Ymir was sleeping beside her Ymir was almost naked. Krista always worn a baggy shirt and sweatpants since she was cold. She still did.
Now, Ymir’s only wearing her black sports bra that makes Krista’s hands twitch. It would be so easy to push her fingers into Ymir’s stomach and wake her up with those kisses, the ones that promise more.
She doesn’t, though. It’s so tempting, but it’s just as nice to watch Ymir’s chest rise and fall, freckles and skin highlighted by her clothes. Or lack thereof.
Now that Kirsta’s used to Ymir only wearing a bra and sports, she appreciates it. Yards of exposed skin, strong muscles Krista wants to bite and freckles she traces. With her fingers and her lips. Being Ymir’s girlfriend comes with special privileges, after all, that include checking her out constantly.
Krista kisses a freckle on the side of her jaw. It’s barely there.
“Krista?” Ymir slurs the consonants in her name. She blinks.
“Morning, Ymir.” Now that she can, Krista uproots the blankets and yanks them to her side. “You stole all the blankets and space again.”
“Did I?” Ymir curls onto her side. “Sorry.”
Krista huffs, burying herself in the blankets and turning towards the opposite wall. A few seconds later fingers pull on the sheets, digging her out.
“I said I was sorry.” Ymir kisses the back of Krista’s shoulder blades, hands slipping around her stomach. “We do have a closet full of extra blankets for a reason.”
“We bought ones for a queen bed for a reason too,” Krista says.
“It’s too early for this.” Ymir yanks on the blankets, flipping over Krista by force. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
Krista eyes one of Ymir’s bra straps that’s fallen down a few centimetres.
“Eyes up here, baby.”
Krista glares at her grinning face.
“Mmm.” Ymir leans down. “Kiss?”
Krista nods. She reaches up, wrapping her hands around the plethora of freckles on Ymir’s shoulders. Ymir’s hand is in the back of Krista’s hair.
It’s a steady, easily domestic kiss. Ymir presses her lips onto Krista’s cheek before pulling back.
“You have morning breath,” Ymir says, as if she’s trying to piss off Krista this early in the day.
Krista tugs on Ymir again. Another kiss.
Ymir sighs with a small grin, and lets herself be pulled towards Krista. This time, Krista bites Ymir’s lip as she pulls back, just for fun.
“Krista Lenz,” Ymir says, hand teasing through Krista’s knotted hair. Perhaps she can convince Ymir to finally give her that pixie cut. Ymir wants to actually go to the hair salon, but both of their bank accounts argue. very convincingly. “You’ll be the death of me.”
“Good.”
Ymir laughs. She falls back down into the bed, taking the blanket with her. Krista gives up, swinging her legs out of bed and heading for the closet.
“You’re not cold anymore?” Ymir asks.
“We don’t have enough time to cuddle.” Krista sees through that, even though it’s alluring and sweet. “You’ve got therapy at 10 and I’m teaching at 10:30.”
Ymir groans. “Wake me up when life doesn’t take so much effort.”
Krista tosses her a pair of socks from the closet. Warm ones.
“Don’t wear the whitewashed jeans today,” Ymir calls from the bed.
“Why?” Krista had been planning too.
“Then I’ll be too turned on to focus.”
Krista laughs. “Ymir!”
“Can you blame me?” Ymir smiles crookedly at her. Krista understands. Those pants have gone through too much at her mercy. And Ymir’s.
“And what if that’s my goal?” Krista grabs them out of the closet just for effect.
“You will kill me.” Ymir shifts to the edge of the bed, coming over to the closet too. “Rip out my hearts with your bare hands.”
“Sounds like some Black Widow tactic.”
“She’s hot.” Ymir stretches. “Will my therapist recommend more sessions if I show up in my sweatpants and a Kakegurui tee shirt.”
“It’s likely.” Krista hands Ymir a blue sweater. “Do sweats with these, even though I understand the masterpiece of Midari Ikishima.”
“Thanks, babe.” Ymir swipes it out of her hands. “Marry me, okay?”
Ymir’s been saying that ever since their first anniversary. Casually, as if Krista could ever get used to it.
“If you take your meds,” Krista decides. “And make us coffee.”
“That’s taking advantage of my love for you,” Ymir says, going to start the coffee. Krista takes hers black with one heaping teaspoon of sugar and Ymir shoves in whatever sweetener they have, taking into account how many classes she has that day.
“Totally.” Krista presses a kiss to Ymir’s jaw before she heads to the kitchen. They also need to fix the sink and get new towels. It’s not her fault the laundromat machines eat those things almost more than socks. “Thank you.”
“You’re lucky you’ve got a pretty face.” Ymir pulls her in for a real kiss. It’s sweet, casual, and just a little suggestive. It’s a kiss that makes Krista’s toes curl and happiness bloat in her stomach. “Otherwise you’d be in trouble.”
“You’re lucky you’ve still got a girlfriend.” Krista elbows her, grinning. “Go. Coffee won’t make itself.”