Archive of Our Own

The gallery space was beautiful in the way galleries almost always were: a big, open room full of modular white walls and spot-lighting, people milling around with wine glasses, murmuring their opinions lowly. Laudna adored this kind of setup, even if it was a bit of a cliché. She loved that it was intentionally chaotic, so that a person had to choose how to move through it without trying to follow some externally-imposed narrative. She liked to watch people look at her art in the order that called to them, often so different than what she would have thought.

She wouldn’t be able to watch people much tonight, though. A handful of her undergraduate students from her Intro to Photography class had already gathered around her, emboldened a little more by each classmate that approached her. That was all right, she adored her intro students even more than the more skilled ones most of the time—they were still so curious, so experimental. They took the most lovely, terribly-framed photographs; made errors in development that Laudna found herself intentionally trying to reproduce for the effect of it.

She forewent the free wine Fearne had offered her when she’d shown up, and she was regretting it a little now. It was one thing to appreciate the joy and creativity of her undergraduate students’ art, but it was quite another to listen to them try to curry favor with her by attempting to interpret hers and Ashton’s. Especially Ashton’s, those images with a violence that unsettled even her at times, a glimpse of a type of casual disconnection from oneself she wasn’t sure most of her students could understand. She hoped, if they took anything from her course, it was to learn to listen to the art, not to try to tell it what it was.

It wasn’t long before they’d moved on to her section. She listened to her students’ thoughts with openness and kindness. She enjoyed that they could see something in a piece that she couldn’t, when they were genuinely interpreting and not trying to tell her what they thought she wanted to hear. They came up to her favorite of this series: a shadowed figure with her hand on a window pane, the other person not seeming to see. Darkness on one side and light on the other. There was a young woman standing in front of the photograph, brow furrowed, hand playing idly with a silver chain around her neck as she looked.

“Wow.” One of her students said. “Exquisite.”

The woman jumped, as though she hadn’t even noticed someone come up behind her, much less the small group now standing there. She d uck ed her chin a bit in emba r rassment , then turned and began to move on to the next pictur e .

“It feels so profound.” Another student said—Brian. Brian was the son of a lawyer who made millions defending the coal industry, and he seemed hell-bent on distancing himself from that reputation by proving loudly to everyone in the room that he was the deepest, most intellectual person in the room. “The way the lighting illuminates one woman entirely and shadows the features of the other seems to be so obviously a statement on Patriarchy and the Madonna/whore complex.”

Laudna felt a little smile tug at the corner of her mouth. People often put feminist themes on her work and, while she certainly considered herself a feminist, that was very much not what she was trying to say. She wanted to express how she felt, and while that was impacted by being a woman, it was not the defining feature of it for her. Before she could respond, though, the woman who had been walking away spoke.

“You got that from that picture?” Her tone wasn’t condescending, just… curious. Surprised.

Brian raised an eyebrow at her in response, as though it was obvious. “You didn’t?”

It might have been a bit unethical given the fact that she was his professor, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care about Brian’s opinion right now. “And what did you think of the photograph?” She asked.

She found herself instead fully absorbed in this stranger. Her purple hair and light eyes, which reflected either lavender or blue depending on the angle of her face and whether they caught her hair or her shirt; the button-up she was wearing, the kind that draped across her shoulders and clung to her breasts, that dipped low enough to show off the chain on her neck but not what hung on the end; Laudna caught her mouth; the skin exposed on her chest; the way her khaki pants clung to her hips and thighs. Laudna swallowed thickly. Fuck. She didn’t frequently find herself attracted to strangers—not in such an obvious way, anyway. Not in a throat tightening and palms sweating and can’t keep her eyes in respectable places kind of way, like she was now.

“Oh, I don’t know.” The woman demurred, shoving her hands into her pockets. Her voice was absolute velvet, smooth and accented and slow. “I don’t know much about art.”

“That’s quite all right.” Laudna responded, moving forward out of the gaggle of students around her in hopes it might ease the woman’s discomfort. And maybe just a little because she wanted so desperately to be close to her, to see what nearness might be like. “I’m not asking for your assessment of the technique. What does it make you feel?”

The woman looked back at her, meeting Laudna’s eyes in a way that made her far too aware of her own breathing. She was sure her chest must be heaving, that everyone could tell how quickly her heart was beating. The woman smelled of something faintly floral, but she couldn’t quite pin down exactly what. Like walking through a field of wildflowers and catching the hint of them on the breeze. There were a couple of long moments where the woman didn’t look away, and for a second Laudna worried she’d done something wrong, offended her in some way, unsettled her as she so often did with those unfamiliar with her and her work. But then, she cleared her throat and looked over at the photograph. There was color in her cheeks, highlighting a smattering of freckles there, but whether it was embarrassment or the glass of wine in her hand or something else, Laudna wasn’t sure.

“Well, I—I guess it makes me feel sad.” She started haltingly. “Like the woman inside is lonely and hurtin’. And the woman outside can’t see it, ‘cause she just sees the house, you know? Like when it’s light out and dark inside and the glare keeps you from lookin’ in. You can just see your own reflection, and not the dark parts?” Her sentence curled up at the end, like she wasn’t totally sure it was the right thing to say.

But it was, of course it was. Not everything required big words to describe, not every feeling needed a highly-specific name to make it worthy of being described in art. Loneliness, yes. Pain. The things we project onto others, the way so much of ourselves are internal, unknowable by others. Yes. The desire to be seen, the way she felt seen right now.

Yes, just… yes.

“That’s a little... simplistic, don’t you think?” Brian asked with an arched eyebrow before Laudna’s brain caught up with the rush of being understood. “I mean, I get that your whole thing is like, edgy normcore or whatever,” he said, motioning to her with his hand, “but this is art.”

There was a moment where the woman leaned a little bit back—not actually moving in space but recoiling away from him in surprise. But then, tension began to seep into her posture, clenching her hands into fists, and before Laudna could do anything to intervene, the woman was responding.

“Right.” She said tersely, throwing her hands up in the air in surrender. “Whatever you say.” And she turned to stalk off.

Laudna let out a small sigh and gave Brian a look that she hoped conveyed her immense disappointment in his behavior. They finished their little impromptu feedback session on her photographs, and every step she took afterward, Laudna was looking around for the stranger.

She felt horrible, of course, that a student of hers made this woman feel silly or stupid for her opinion, and that was part of why she wanted to seek her out. But if she were honest with herself, it was the way she’d made Laudna’s long-still heart jolt into motion again. The way it had felt to have her work spoken about by her. She’d heard critique of her work in art circles for a long time, and of course she adored every review, even the critical ones (so long as they were in good faith, of course). The appreciation of her story, her craft, her message, invigorated her. But it had been a long time since she’d seen someone impacted by her work so viscerally, so genuinely.

Fearne came in to walk smoothly beside her, hooking her arm into Laudna’s without missing a step, and sidling up close to her like a lover. She had a mischievous glint in her eye (as usual), and Laudna immediately checked to make sure she wasn’t wearing any new jewelry that hadn’t been there at the beginning of the evening.

“Hello, darling.” She said with a grin, because Fearne could always perk up her mood. “You haven’t happened to see a pretty young woman with purple hair around, have you? I have to speak with her.”

Fearne hummed, cocking her head off to the side as though she were thinking and conveniently shading a large portion of her face from Laudna’s view. This was a favored tactic of Fearne’s, to hide the machinations of her mind. Fearne was a frequent liar though not necessarily a particularly skilled one. She was mostly successful because even the truth often sounded like a deception coming from her and most people just gave up on trying to discern which was which at some point.

“Lots.” She said finally, turning back to smile at Laudna. “Unfortunately, none of them have been interested. Why do you ask?”

Laudna let that comment slide because she truly did not want to know what it meant (if it meant anything at all), and she certainly didn’t want to blush in public the way she was sure Fearne’s answer would merit. “One of my students was quite rude to her earlier, and I’d like to make amends, if she’ll allow me.”

“Oh, was it Brian?” At Laudna’s nod, Fearne rolled her eyes. “What a creep-o.”

Laudna breathed a laugh she hoped was quiet enough no one would notice. As a teacher she couldn’t really refer to any of her students in the pejorative, but, yes. Brian, for all his intentions at being a different kind of man than his father, was… well, insufferable, frankly.

“Yes, and I’m afraid the work he was being a creep-o about was one of mine. I’d really like to be able to make it up to her, if I can find her.”

Fearne stopped, and raised her finger to point in a humiliatingly overt way. “That woman with purple hair?”

Laudna followed her finger to see Ashton standing there, dressed down as always in his ripped black jeans and leather vest, talking to a lithe young man and, yes, a familiar purple-haired stranger. Her heart kicked up in her chest again, bringing the nerves back to the surface. She swallowed. She could do this.

“Yes, in fact.” She said, trying carefully to sound neutral. “Do you know her?”

Fearne shook her head. “No, but I know the guy she’s with, Orym. I’m trying to set him up with Ashton, they both really need to get laid.”

Laudna chuckled. “Fearne, that boy looks like Ashton would eat him alive.”

Fearne scoffed. “Don’t be such a prude, Laudna. If Ashton wants to eat Orym out, let them.” She shrugged. “They’re both adults.”

Laudna had nothing to say to that, especially when even her best efforts couldn’t keep her eyes off of that woman, who had to be at least two decades her junior. She looked relaxed now, laughing quietly at something Orym had said, the joy in her eyes making them shine all the brighter. Fearne was steering the two of them toward the group and, while Laudna rarely felt strong, right this particular moment she felt like her legs might actually give out beneath her with every step closer she took.

Fearne greeted Ashton and Orym with hugs and kisses on the cheek, and Laudna smiled and introduced herself to everyone except Ashton, who brought her in for a gentle side hug. She made sure to arrange Fearne on the other side of her after the hugs so that she could stand beside the purple-haired woman, whose name she found out was Imogen (a name so Celtic that it made her immediately homesick for the UK, even if this Imogen was as American as apple pie and baseball and navel-gazing about individualism). She bided her time, watching the conversation with as much interest as she could muster and doing her best to surreptitiously watch Imogen with most of her attention.

Imogen was quiet, reserved. She spoke mostly when spoken to and let Orym and Ashton and Fearne carry the rest. Now that Laudna had more opportunity to listen to it, she had an accent that Laudna could best describe as “sweet,” and “kind,” and every so often when Laudna would sneak a glance at her, Imogen would be looking right back.

Eventually, in one such moment of eye contact, she figured she had to try. So she gathered her courage, leaned over, and said softly enough that hopefully the others wouldn’t overhear, “I wanted to say, I’m sorry about before.”

Imogen looked back over at her, seeming a little startled to be addressed directly, and smiled thinly. “Oh, that’s okay. You didn’t do anythin’ wrong.”

“No,” Laudna agreed, “but he was out of line. My students want so very much to impress me, you see, and I fear they sometimes mistakenly believe that putting another down is the same thing as making themselves more right. A notion the art world at large does little to disabuse them of.”

Imogen made a non-committal noise and nodded slowly, her eyes moving back to watch the crowd around them mingle. “Right, so I shouldn’t be offended by his condescension because he’s actually secretly just insecure?”

Shit, Laudna was really blowing this. “No, no, of course not.” She responded quickly, trying to explain and salvage this conversation before it was too late. Not that it really mattered, did it? Why did it suddenly feel so much like it mattered? “It’s an explanation, not an excuse. He behaved terribly and, for what its worth, I thought your interpretation was brilliant.”

Imogen looked back over at her with narrowed eyes, sweeping a scorching look over Laudna. “Are you makin’ fun of me?”

Laudna’s heart ached—she knew that feeling too well, that insecurity. When Morrigan had first introduced her to these circles she’d thought she would die of naivete. “Not at all. In fact,” she added, suddenly realizing exactly what she wanted to do to make it up to her, “I was hoping you’d accept the photograph as a gift? My way of showing my sincerity.”

Imogen’s lips parted for just the briefest second in surprise, mistrust lifting from her eyes for just a moment, before scoffing and looking down at her drink. She quirked an eyebrow. “You’re gonna buy me an overpriced picture to make up for your student bein’ rude to me?”

Laudna cocked her head to the side just a little, realization dawning on her slowly, threatening to bubble out of her in a laugh, though she didn’t want Imogen to think she was laughing at her, so she tamped it down. “I don’t know how to ask this question without sounding terrible, but… do you know who I am?”

Imogen crossed her arms over her chest, shifting her weight onto one leg; the pure picture of reflexive disdain. “Should I?”

“Well, it is her show.” Ashton said with a snort and no small amount of amusement. Laudna wasn’t sure when they’d clued in to this conversation, but she was mortified to find three pairs of eyes watching the two of them now. “So, yeah. Probably.”

“Our show.” She corrected, and Ashton rolled his eyes.

“Okay, our show.” They mimicked. Then added, “that I’m only in because Laudna came in and plucked me out of the obscurity of the juvenile justice system.” Their voice was all gravel, and she could tell this Orym was hanging on every word despite his serene demeanor.

Ashton had the bad boy thing down pat, and she’d seen more than one person swoon for it. She was almost a little jealous that he could parlay his traumas so easily into assets while she struggled so wholly with them.

“Oh, my god.” Imogen covered her face with her hand to hide her mortification, shaking her head slightly. “I’m such an asshole. I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t be. Truly.” She laid a hand on Imogen’s forearm in a way she hoped was soothing. Though, if Imogen felt the hum that resonated through her body when they touched the way Laudna did, it may not have had the intended effect. “If you don’t want the photograph, that’s quite all right.”

The second they touched, Imogen let her hand fall away from her face, though not so far that Laudna would be forced to let go of her arm. Then they were looking into one another’s eyes again, and it felt scandalous, that they were doing this in front of other people. Looking, touching, like it must be obvious to everyone around them exactly what it made Laudna feel, what it made her want.

That blush reddened her cheeks again, but she didn’t look away. “I liked it a lot.” She said, a little shyly. “If you don’t mind it languishin’ in mine and Orym’s shitty little apartment, then I’d gladly take it.”

“I can’t think of a more fitting home for it than with someone who will truly appreciate it.”

“Well, that’s that, then.” Fearne cut in with a shamelessly cheeky grin. “I’ll go mark it ‘sold.’ Ashton, Orym, wanna join me?”

“Why would I want to join you when I could watch Laudn—hey!” Ashton yelped as Orym tugged him by the arm to follow behind Fearne.

Laudna breathed out a laugh, suddenly realizing her hand was still on Imogen’s forearm, the spell of those beautiful eyes broken by Fearne and Ashton’s interruption. She looked down at her feet and the lace-up ballet flats she always wore to this sort of thing, suddenly self-conscious that her outfit was too eccentric, too unfashionable. Surely, this was all happening in her mind—she’d always had an overactive imagination.

“Well.” She said, clearing her throat and sneaking a peek up at Imogen without raising her chin. “I should probably go back to mingling. I think I see the Dean heading my way now. Just make sure you give Fearne your details so that she can have the photograph delivered.”

“Right.” Imogen said, taking a step back and crossing her arms over her chest self-consciously. “Of course. I’ll let you go.” She smiled weakly and turned to leave.

A panicked dread suddenly flooded Laudna, and she called out after her. “Wait!” Imogen turned back to her, and Laudna closed the step’s worth of a gap now between them. “We’re going out for drinks after, me and Ashton and Fearne. It’s something of a tradition for the three of us. Would you like to join?” Imogen blinked at her for a second and didn’t respond, so she added quickly, “I’m sure your friend Orym will be invited, as well. We’d be happy to have you both.”

Imogen’s smile slowly widened into an honest one. “Sure. I think I’d like that. Come find me before you leave.”

They found a booth in their usual post-gallery spot—far enough away from campus that they wouldn’t run into any students, and dive-y enough that they wouldn’t run into anyone else—and settled in. They were waiting on Orym and Imogen, who had taken a separate car, giving Fearne and Ashton plenty of time to embarrass her thoroughly for the way she and Imogen had been acting.

“Oh, we’re just giving you a hard time, Laudna.” Ashton said, even though he laughed as he did. “Lighten up a little.” Laudna didn’t lift her face from where she’d laid it on her arms on the table in an attempt to hide from their teasing, which just seemed to encourage them more. “Besides, I think she’s totally into it.”

“Ashton, that whole exchange was absolutely mortifying. I asked her if she knew who I was. There is absolutely no way she’s interested in me.” She lifted her head up just a little to peek at them from across the table. “And besides, what if she’s a student?”

“She’s not.” Fearne replied, popping a tortilla chip smothered in nacho cheese and sour cream into her mouth, somehow without making any mess at all. “Orym told me. And she’s single, in case you were wondering.”

“Oh, my god.” Laudna groaned, burrowing her head back into the dark safety of her arms. “You asked him if she’s single?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Didn’t need to, the two of you weren’t exactly subtle.”

“I’m too old to be having this conversation.” She huffed, her words getting muffled in her shirtsleeves.

“Oh, please. You spent, like, 30 years of your life locked in a cell.” Ashton growled back, not actually annoyed but also not entertaining the objection. “You get to have some fun. And you never date anyone. Live a little!”

“Yeah,” Fearne agreed, “you’re never too old for a fling. Flirt with Imogen, take her home,” she dropped her voice (thankfully) and waggled her eyebrows, “get up to a little hanky-panky.”

“All right!” She sat up. She was starting to think her hiding was just encouraging them further, after all. And besides, her face was so hot—was it hot in here? “Yes, I get the picture, thank you.”

Anything else she wanted to say was cut off when she noticed Orym and Imogen winding their way toward their table. She raised her hand in an enthusiastic wave before she could think better of it, and Orym smiled and waved back. They detoured toward the bar, but that was all right because it gave her time to look at Imogen again, now with a worn, sherpa-lined denim jacket thrown over her outfit. It gave her an air of… ruggedness that Laudna immediately found did things to her, She didn’t realize “rugged” was something she’d ever have looked for in a person, but here she was. Did she have a cowgirl thing? Maybe she had a cowgirl thing.

Imogen was shifting fluidly to weave through the patrons at the bar, stopping to lean on it while she and Orym ordered, collecting appreciative glances from other patrons as she went. The bass line of the song playing in the background somehow seemed like it was playing just for her, like the slow-motion intro in a romcom. And then she looked over her shoulder and caught Laudna looking at her. Her lip curled into a smile, and she ran a hand through that thick head of curls, pushing it back and away from her face, and wow.

Ashton laughed again, the sound going high pitched in his glee. “Holy shit, you are so into her!”

She startled and turned to glare at him. “It’s not my fault! She’s very pretty.” She said, trying not to sound like she was pouting, but, well, she was pouting.

“Hey, guys!” Orym said, setting his drink down and falling into the booth next to Ashton. “What are we talking about?”

Laudna scooted over to let Imogen slide in next to her, sandwiching herself firmly between Fearne on one side and Imogen on the other. Which was incredibly distracting, but at least she wouldn’t be able to get caught staring at Imogen as easily.

“How pretty Imogen is.” Fearne supplied cheerfully. Then, holding out her basket to Orym and Imogen, “nachos?”

Imogen choked on her glass of wine. “Me?” She gasped out. “I thought Orym was the one on the date here.”

“Yes,” Laudna cut in, hoping to give Imogen a chance to catch her breath. And also to change this topic as quickly as she could manage. “Orym, you’re gorgeous.”

“Gee, thanks.” He returned with a genuinely grateful smile. “I think you’re absolutely stunning, too.”

“Oh, stop.” Laudna giggled in return, waving a hand at him. She couldn’t help but be charmed by him, even if she had absolutely no interest in him in a romantic or sexual way.

“Yeah, yeah.” Ashton grumbled, their fun ruined. “We’re all hot, we get it.”

They talked more, and Laudna did her level best to keep her eyes on the other side of the table, though every now and then she’d catch a glimpse of Imogen in profile, Imogen laughing, Imogen running her thumb contemplatively over her lower lip. And as the night wore on, their hands started to brush, first on accident, and then more frequently, like they both couldn’t help but reach for their drinks at the same time, and Laudna couldn’t help the rush of breath from her lungs every time.

She was having fun, but she was also feeling a little overwhelmed between Imogen to her left and Fearne on her right, nudging her and waggling her eyebrows and generally being a pest (a pest that Laudna loved more than most people, places, and things in the world, but a pest nonetheless). So, she excused herself for a smoke.

The air outside had gotten chilly, but it felt nice against her flushed, overheated skin. It wasn’t just being next to Imogen, either. The bar had grown busier and busier while they were there, and the temperature had risen quickly in tandem, the sticky sort of humidity that came with too many bodies in a small space. The smattering of other smokers gave her a little nod as she exited and stepped to the side to light the end of her cigarette, but generally left her alone. She reveled in the burn of it in the back of her throat, the little boost of calm invigoration she felt offsetting the drowsiness of the alcohol.

About halfway through the smoke, the door opened and Imogen came out, bundled back up in that jacket, hands stuffed into the pockets.

“Hey, mind if I join you?” She asked, coming to stand in front of Laudna without waiting for an answer.

“No, I’d appreciate the company, in fact.” She responded, smiling at Imogen’s presence in spite of herself. When she didn’t seem to be doing anything, Laudna pulled her pack out of her bag. “Would you like one?”

Imogen shook her head. “No, I actually don’t smoke.” She chuckled self-consciously, playing with that necklace again, and drawing Laudna’s attention back down to that stretch of skin on her chest. “I just needed a little break from all the people. Gets a little overwhelmin’ sometimes.”

“Ah.” Laudna nodded, putting the pack away. “I understand, I feel the same way.”

“Right, because of…” She trailed off, looking a little uncomfortable.

“My incarceration, yes.” Then, “you seem to know quite a lot about me for someone who didn’t realize they were at my gallery opening earlier tonight.”

Imogen laughed, biting at her lip. “Yeah, after that conversation I went back and actually read your artist’s statements.”

“Do you want to ask me about it?” Laudna asked, bracing herself for the questions about prison life.

“No.” Imogen countered, eliciting an eyebrow raise from Laudna. “If I wanted your life story, I could find it online. I want to know the boring stuff you don’t tell other people.”

Laudna hummed, leaning back against the brick building, oddly pleased to be free from conversations about her past. “Well, I love mint chocolate chip ice cream, but it has to be the green kind.”

“Oh, yeah?” Imogen asked, a current of amusement in her voice. “There’s somethin’ about that green food dye that does it for you?”

Laudna let herself smile as big as it wanted to be, and responded, “yes, there’s nothing like artificial flavoring.” There was a brief pause, and then she added, “but what about you? Why are crowds overwhelming for you?”

“Nothin’ particularly interestin’, not like you.” Imogen responded with a shrug. “I’m from a small town, and everyone knew everyone, you know? A crowd was, like, a small party here, it feels like. And I thought it was gonna be great, bein’ around all those people, because it’d be so different from how I grew up. But, I dunno, it’s like you’re never alone, not really. Everywhere you look, there’s people.”

“Yes, it’s a strange sensation for sure.” She agreed. “What made you move out here?”

“What makes anyone move away from their small town?” Imogen responded, a small smirk twisting her lips. She looked right into Laudna’s eyes when she added, “I’m gay.”

If the cigarette hadn’t been in the process of waking Laudna up, that certainly would have done the trick. It shouldn’t have been a sexy thing to hear, in and of itself, but she was almost certain that was some kind of invitation. The trouble was, she had absolutely no idea what to do with it.

“Oh. That’s… great.” She winced at her own lack of couth, her mouth opening though she had nothing more to say that could fix that.

Imogen looked away, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Look, I… am I misreadin’ this?” She gestured between the two of them with a shy, tentative smile. “It seemed like maybe you were interested, but I don’t wanna be weird.”

“No! No, you’re absolutely not, I’m being weird.” She gushed, relieved to have it spoken. “Honestly, I don’t know how to do this, it’s been a long time and—and you’re so beautiful,” she stammered, “and so young. I sort of can’t believe that you’re-”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence, because Imogen stepped closer, bringing her hand up to Laudna’s cheek, brushing her thumb along her cheekbone. And she was so close Laudna could feel the heat of her, so close she could smell the slight sourness of wine on her breath.

“Can I kiss you?” She breathed.

Laudna swallowed. This must be some sort of trick, right? Imogen wanting to kiss her? She didn’t dare verbalize it, didn’t dare open herself to that sort of mockery. But still, she nodded. Because what if it wasn’t? What if Imogen wanted to kiss her?

Her mouth was soft and warm, her kiss gentle. Laudna’s body went slack, the rest of her cigarette falling from between her fingers. And then it was over, and Imogen pulled away, though she still stayed in Laudna’s proximity, nudging her nose with her own playfully.

“You taste like smoke.” She giggled. “Smell like it, too.” She added. “When I first met you, you smelled like bergamot, but now…” she pressed her face into Laudna’s neck, running her nose up the side of it as she inhaled.

And god, the thrill of that cold nose touching her, smelling her, her lips so close. Of Imogen’s hands sliding along her hips, holding her. Laudna couldn’t remember the last time she’d been touched like this, if she’d ever been touched like this at all. She had thought many times in her life that she might die from the intensity of a feeling, but this time she was the surest. Her heart couldn’t take this kind of excitement. But she also couldn’t push it away, couldn’t turn it down. She arched forward so their bodies were flush, shivering again at the feeling of it.

“Imogen.” She squeaked, halfway between a moan and a protest and a plea.

Before she could finish her thought, Imogen pressed another, brief kiss to her lips. “Take me home, Laud.”

“So you slept with her, right?” Ashton asked, squirting way too much ketchup onto the side of their plate. At this rate, they’d have more ketchup than they could possibly consume with the amount of french fries on their plate.

Laudna blushed, picking at her salad as though she hadn’t heard. “A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“Well, that’s a lie.” Fearne said. “I don’t know any ladies who don’t love to talk all about the hot new piece of ass in their life.”

“Besides,” Laudna continued, emboldened and pointedly ignoring Fearne, “you were the one on the date. Did you and Orym go home together?”

Ashton smirked. “You’d know if you hadn’t come back from your smoke break with someone else’s lipstick on your mouth and hop into a cab home almost immediately.”

“Well, I’m older than you. If I waited around to find out if you made a move, I might not live to see it.” Laudna snapped back, feeling rather proud of that one. She wasn’t as quick as Ashton, but every now and then she got a good barb in.

“Oh!” Fearne reached over for a high five then, at Ashton’s reproachful look, she asked, “what? It was a good one.”

“We did not go home together, for your information.” Ashton sniffed, indignant. “But we do have plans for next weekend, so suck it.”

Fearne pushed some mac and cheese around on her plate absentmindedly. “Are you gonna see Imogen again?”

Laudna bit her lip, unsure of whether or not she should admit it or not. “She’s been staying over at my house since Friday.” She said quietly, waiting for her friends to scream, which they did, complete with jostling her about.

“A fuckin’ legend!” Ashton called out. “She’s not moving in already, is she?”

“No!” We’re just—intrigued by each other, is all. We like spending time together.” She felt herself flush as she thought about just how intriguing it was to map every inch of Imogen’s skin with her mouth, over and over and over again.

“Mmm-hmm, I bet.” Ashton replied. Then, “lesbians, man! Wild shit.”

There were a couple moments of silence as they all shoveled food into their mouths. “I’m real happy for you, Laudna.” Fearne broke it with a surprising moment of sincerity. She glanced over at Ashton, “and you, too. You both deserve to be happy.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ashton grumbled. “We’re all so happy for each other, it’s disgusting.”

“We love you, too, Ashton.” Laudna said with an affectionate eye roll and a smile. It was shaping up to be the best year in a long time.