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Usually for her, nights are cool, silent, sometimes isolating. Sometimes, at night, Camila feels like she’s the only person in the entire world. It’s hard to feel like that, hard after everything she’s seen in her life, all the things she’s experienced and all the battles she’s fought. Hard to feel so out of place in a world she’s so deeply connected to—even when perhaps it’s just something she wants to be. Being ready to die for something does not mean you know it particularly well, no?
Things have gotten better since Lilith is here; since Lilith has returned, and it’s less cold with a human (and Lilith is human, Camila knows it, because being human is about what you do and not what you are, and what Lilith is doing these days is her best every single one of them, and Camila simply doesn’t find it in her to hold on to anger) furnace in her bed. It’s less silent, either, with another person breathing next to her. Less alone.
Sometimes, however, nights are isolating, still. Camila wakes to a scared little noise out of Lilith’s throat, to the twitching of Lilith’s arm, resulting in her elbow bumping into Camila’s ribs. Camila wakes, and for a second, her head is spinning, the galaxy around her huge and empty, for a second, she’s all alone.
Then Lilith sucks in a sharp breath, whispers, “Please,” and rolls over. Suddenly, Camila’s head gets clear. Suddenly, she’s zapped back into the present—and at times, she doesn’t know if maybe the present is worse than the zero zone. But… at least it’s real.
(She knows what to do, has done it countless times before. Sometimes, it is her who dreams instead. Sometimes, they both have to hold each other, the pillows growing damp from their tears. Sometimes they don’t sleep the whole night, staring at each other, clung together so tightly Camila wonders how they’re ever going to unravel again. It’s consuming, this feeling. Camila revels in it.)
When Camila puts her hand on Lilith’s bare shoulder—burning up, somehow even more so than usual, and Lilith is always burning from the inside out, so that’s saying something—Lilith is trembling against her touch. It makes Camila’s mouth feel dry, makes her heart squeeze, and she shakes Lilith’s shoulder, gently. Presses a kiss into her hair. Fingers slipping on the cliff, hurling down again and again and again, like she’s done countless times before.
“Lilith,” she whispers. “Lilith, wake up. Hey, sweetheart, come on, I’m right here. I’m right here.”
Lilith mumbles something, and her voice is hitched, her body still trembling, but then her lashes flutter. She jerks when her eyes open, flinches away from Camila’s touch. It doesn’t really hurt, just throbs somewhere in Camila’s rib cage, like a faint realization they are not glued together, but she gets it, she really does, so Camila puts her hands up, allows Lilith’s mind to take in the situation, to fully wake up. To re-attach herself to her.
“Hey,” Camila says, softly. “It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”
Slowly, Lilith’s breaths slow. Her gaze is still wild—like an animal cornered, and together with her bedhead it makes for a picture that makes Camila swallow. It always hurts her heart to see Lilith like this, beautiful, bright and just Lilith. And she knows Lilith wouldn’t agree with her describing her as such, but she will anyway, she will do it anyway, she’ll always do it.
“Camila,” Lilith gasps out, brows slightly furrowed, like it’s a surprise. In moments like these, Lilith always looks at Camila like it’s a surprise. Like it’s a surprise that Camila is still here, that they’re in bed together in the first place. That they exist in the same universe, on the same plane, as if they’re not so tightly interwoven there’s no way back.
(Not that Camila wants there to be one.)
Slowly, slow enough for Lilith to back away if she wants to—and Lilith has always been faster than Camila, even before the scales grew on her skin, even before a fire started burning inside of her, but she’s also sleepy and perhaps still afraid—Camila reaches out, cups the other woman’s cheek. The moment her fingertips touch warm, flushed skin, Lilith leans into her touch, eyes fluttering shut with a soft sigh, and Camila swallows. Her chest swells with warmth. There’s so much devotion in this that she wants to pass out.
Focus, she tells herself. Focus. This time, right now, right here, is for Lilith.
(Everything in Camila’s home—in their home, she has grown to think by now, even when she’s never said it out loud, and it’s not like she thinks Lilith would hate it, it’s just that sometimes she’s afraid, too—is for Lilith. For them, together. All of them, intertwined, and Camila never wants to let go again.)
“Yes,” Camila says, “it’s me,” and Lilith nods, slowly, before leaning over, pressing her forehead to the crook of Camila’s neck. Lilith’s skin is hot, a little sweaty, but Camila’s body still prickles pleasantly when Lilith nuzzles closer, but Camila still wraps her arms around Lilith’s shoulders. Tilts her head to press another kiss into her hair.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Camila asks. Sometimes, Lilith shares. Sometimes, they both lie down on their backs and stare at the ceiling, intertwining their fingers—Lilith holding on with a strength that almost aches—and Lilith tells her about her dreams, about the fire, about the angels, about the damnation. About the blood, about hurting people she cares about, about the betrayal and the guilt and the righteousness burning in her chest.
Camila always listens silently. Takes it all in, files it away, keeps it safe for Lilith, so the other woman can be a little lighter, so she can sleep again. Then they go back to sleep, Lilith turned away from Camila, Camila’s arm draped around her waist, her face nuzzled into Lilith’s smooth, straight hair.
Right now, however, Lilith shakes her head. Her breathing is still irregular, her hands clammy and feverish when they come up to touch Camila’s arms, to wrap around them, but really, Camila wouldn’t have it any other way. She hums softly, in a way she hopes is soothing—Lilith asks her to sing sometimes, or to play piano (and they don’t have a piano here, but Camila has her app on her tablet, and it’s enough, she guesses, it’s enough)—brushes her hand down between Lilith’s shoulder blades over the damp cotton of her tank top, then up again.
Lilith swallows audibly. Camila thinks she’ll have to get her a glass of water once she’s calmed a little. “No,” Lilith says, quietly, nuzzles closer, arms slipping down to wrap around Camila’s waist, pulling her impossibly close. Camila lets her. “No, I just—”
Camila hums, brushes a hand through Lilith’s hair. It’s thick, feels nice to the touch, and she plays with the ends, listens to the slowing breaths of Lilith, feeling them ghost over her skin.
“It’s okay,” Camila says, pressing another kiss into Lilith’s hair. “I promise.”
The room is quiet again, then—the air cool on Camila’s skin, while Lilith in her arms is burning, and it’s a nice sort of balance. The universe is vast and empty around them, but they are not alone, they have each other. They always will, Camila will make sure of that.
It takes a while—Camila can’t really tell how much time has passed, if it’s mere seconds or a handful of minutes or something in between—until Lilith nods. Breathes out, presses a small kiss to Camila’s throat. Camila involuntarily giggles, and once she feels Lilith’s smile—soft, hesitant, slight, fragile—against her skin, she smiles, too.
“I’ll get you a glass of water,” Camila whispers, moving to pull away, but Lilith just pulls her in closer, shakes her head.
“I’ll come with,” she says, voice hoarse, and Camila’s chest is warm, even when her heart is squeezing at how this is a normal part of their life.
But, who knows. Maybe there’s some beauty in this, too. At least Lilith’s hand feels nice in hers when they move through the dark apartment—and Lilith can see in the dark, Camila is pretty sure, but she’s also been here for long enough that she probably knows the way by heart, which makes something in Camila’s chest hitch—to get to the kitchen.