Work Text:
“No matter what, you’re never gonna dump me, right?”
Alice looked up from her book, her glasses perched at the tip of her nose. She knew what time it was. She sighed and pushed it back up to her nose bridge, well-aware that moments like these needed her full, undivided attention.
Alice kept the finger she had used to push up her glasses perfectly erect; she wanted to make sure that her wife could figure out the answer to her query herself. The ring should have been answer enough.
“...if you’re gonna flip me off, at least use the right finger!”
Apparently not.
Alice made a sound between a snort and a sigh. “No, Amelia, I would never dump you - even if you were to turn into a worm.” She quirked an eyebrow at Amelia. “Is that the answer you were looking for?”
Amelia spluttered before huffing. “Listen, lady, I saw how you reacted to that worm in your apple.” She squinted her eyes in an accusatory fashion. “ Wormist. ”
“...because it was a worm in my bloody apple.” Alice argued. “Was I supposed to be excited that half a worm’s body was in the apple whilst the other was in my mouth?!”
“I mean- no, shut up, that’s besides the point, babe!” Amelia hissed. She ambled over to Alice’s side on the loveseat, slumping against her. Alice fought back a smile and instead rolled her eyes, doing her best to appear mirthless. “Okay, okay, how ‘bout this. What if I were a feral raccoon? Like, the kind that would break into your cupboards and ravage the fridge and stuff!”
Alice couldn’t help but snort. “You mean to tell me that you don’t do that already?”
“I’m serious!” Amelia said dramatically. “I mean business right now, Ali!”
Alice sighed and finally put her book aside, turning to Amelia. “What do you really want to tell me, hm?” She let Amelia drape her strong, gorgeous legs on top of her lap. Like second nature, Alice automatically found herself stroking Amelia’s thigh - and like second nature, Amelia’s gentle fingers found their way to Alice’s, rougher tips tickling Alice’s more delicate ones. It was one of Alice’s favourite sensations in the world.
“How d’you always know I’ve got something to tell you?” Alice rolled her eyes, full of affection, as Amelia groaned. The answer could not have been more obvious. “Okay, okay, fine. Tell me honestly. What if I went red?”
Alice’s thick eyebrows furrowed.
What on earth was that?
“Went red?” Alice echoed. The cogs in her mind began turning.
Oh, never mind, she knew what that meant.
Or at least, what it meant for her.
“Amelia, darling, you know that I refuse to keep up with whatever new American slang-”
Amelia let out an aggravated sigh, “I mean, what if I dyed my hair red?”
Alice finally shut her trap and stared at Amelia. At first, Amelia’s question entered one ear and hopped right out of the other, before making a return and forcing Alice’s mind to partially process it. Normally, Alice would find herself accidentally (she liked to put emphasis on that) telling Amelia too quickly that she could do whatever she wanted, but once the image of a red-headed Amelia entered her mind…
“Absolutely not!” The two words slipped out of Alice’s mouth, reflexive, though the horror in her voice might have been excessive. She did not know yet if she regretted such a negative reaction.
“Wh- you’d love me as a worm but not a ginger?!” Amelia spluttered, getting off of the loveseat in shock-horror. “Babe, might I remind you, you can actually have sex with a ginger! And just ‘cause there’s the stereotype that gingers have no souls doesn’t mean I’m gonna magically lose mine!”
It was Alice’s turn to groan as she massaged her forehead. “Amelia, I…” She sighed. “It’d just be a little odd. It’s bad enough that we have people assuming that we’re sisters-”
“If sisters fing-”
“ Please do not start now.”
“Okay, geez.”
Alice huffed before taking in a deep breath, as if inhaling the awkwardness. “It’s just- my sisters, you know, they-” Alice gestured wildly to her hair, “you know?”
Amelia gave her a flat look. It was one of those moments where Alice felt like their roles were reversed.
“Just saying,” the tone Amelia started off with was matter-of-factly, “ I ain’t the weird one for automatically thinking that my wife would look like my sisters if she got red hair.”
Amelia had a point, but Alice had an ego. Firmly, she said with all the eloquence in the world:
“Just- no, I’m sorry, but no.”
Amelia’s legs then left Alice’s lap. It felt cold and unpleasant without the weight.
7:23 p.m. was always a good time to think about one’s relationship. Alice glanced over at Amelia, who was still pouting over their petty squabble from hours ago.
Honestly, it did bring her some irritation. Amelia did that often, when she wouldn’t get her way. Alice thought that it was unfair.
But then, she recalled all the moments where it was her in that position, all the moments where it was Amelia who was trying to catch Alice’s attention from her peripheral vision. All the moments where she could also sense Amelia’s frustration whenever it would be Alice moping about something so minor.
And then, Alice thought about her previous relationships, the fights and arguments she had gotten into with past lovers and partners. She recalled the furious tones, the clash of verbal blades, the vortex of toxicity and anger. No one would escape unscathed or a winner, and ultimately, she would be alone.
And then, there was Amelia.
A pause, a breather.
When was the last time they’d fought about something serious?
A pause, a breather.
Alice glanced up at Amelia, who had already been looking at her. Naturally, Amelia noticed this and quickly looked away, trying to make it appear like she hadn’t been looking.
A pause, a breather.
What were they fighting about again?
A pause, a breather.
Red hair, was it?
Alice paused and breathed.
It was still 7:23.
She considered herself blessed so quickly that red hair was their only current conflict.
“...I suppose that you wouldn’t look like my sisters after all.”
“...you really should have talked me out of it.”
Alice threw her hands up in disbelief, still red from helping Amelia with her hair. Amelia inspected herself and her new bright red hair, donning that discomforted expression that she wore when she was unsure about how to feel about something.
“...yep, not my thing.” Amelia continued, making a low whistle as she observed the back. After more angle-viewing and head-tilting, Amelia made a face and said with finality, “Oh god, it really isn’t my thing.”
Alice gave Amelia’s reflection a good look, painfully ignoring their usually pristine white - now red - faucet basin.
The specific shade of the red dye was admittedly clashing with the undertone of Amelia’s skin, though overall, Alice had somewhat of an appreciation for the change in scenery, gaudy and artificial as it was. She carded her fingers through Amelia’s half-dried hair.
“It’s growing on me.” Alice said politely, admittedly somewhat wrestling with her ultimate feelings. “But bloody hell, it feels like it’s getting brighter.”
Amelia let out a whine. “Not helping!” She turned to look at her girlfriend, looking utterly betrayed and adorable. “Why didn’t you stop me?”
“Because I wanted to support my whiny wife.” Alice sniffed, giving Amelia a playful chastising look. Alice caught Amelia’s blush. “And I think that said whiny wife should be more grateful.”
Amelia opened her mouth, very well on her way to defend herself, no doubt. Alice braced herself for it.
But instead, she just pouted her bottom lip even more and rose from her seat.
Then, Amelia hugged Alice. She buried her face in the crook of Alice’s neck, her drying, bright red tresses pressed against Alice’s nostrils, yet she inhaled Amelia in.
She smelt of box dye and regret, but mostly of home. She always did. And her arms were secure around Alice, and they spoke songs of adoration and thankfulness.
Alice used to think that she had difficulty putting feelings into spoken word, but then she met Amelia, whose actions birthed epics and poetry and painted her world red with passion and love.