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Right size, but wrong color. Right color – sort of – but too busy a pattern. Right color again – better this time – but now there’s some tiny difference in the style that just doesn’t gel with her tastes. Right style and right color, but wrong size, and Anna sighs at the disorganized clothing rack and keeps leafing.
It’s not that she minds clothes shopping. Actually, she likes it as long as she can be efficient about it; find out what she wants, find out where to get it, go in, find, grab, pay and get out. Today, however, the closest place to her route that has what she wants is a department store, which means that the general public is a much larger factor, which in turn means that things get put where they fit rather than where they actually go while the hapless staff scrambles to keep up. If Anna doesn’t find the right item soon, she’s either going to have to give up, or accept that she’s going to be late getting home.
‘Department store’ also means that the low roar of noise surrounding her is more apparent than it would be in a smaller, less generalized space, and that – combined with the single earbud playing music in her ear – is probably why the light touch of a hand to her shoulder catches her so off-guard.
“Son of a—!” She jumps hard enough for the motion to clear at least a foot of space on the bulging clothing rack, but at least manages to spin in place without actually pulling anything onto the floor. “Wh—oh.”
The hand’s owner is a blonde woman; well-dressed in a distinctly ‘corporate executive’ sort of way, with neatly styled hair, minimal, beautifully done makeup and – Anna glances at the hand itself, which has retreated with a startled jerk and now hovers in the air between them – a French-tip manicure that’s definitely a professional job. She is also wearing an acceptably apologetic expression, though the tiny hint of amusement in those very blue, very familiar eyes is undeniable.
“Sorry,” Anna tells her with a little laugh, and feels her body settle back down even if her heart continues to race. “Wearing my nerves on my sleeve today. Hi, Elsa.”
Elsa, who wasn’t Anna’s age in high school, but was still her classmate most of the time because Anna always tested well ahead of her age and her parents let her skip several grades because of it. Elsa, who was easily the kindest, friendliest, most beautiful soul in the entire school and was dead-set on doing whatever she could for the planet, humanity and animals. Elsa, who Anna had spent every single day politely and easily-excusably avoiding to the best of her ability, because Elsa somehow always made her ridiculously nervous and she could never figure out why.
Then college happened, and… yeah, Anna caught a clue or two. At least once her social skills started catching up to her academic ones.
“Hello, Anna.” The apologetic look fades in favor of a smile, and yeah, time has definitely been kind to Elsa. “I’m sorry I startled you; I thought you looked familiar and wanted to make sure.”
Anna chuckles. “I’ll take ‘familiar’,” she decides because she’s certainly heard worse, and finds an easy smile of her own because while the butterflies in her stomach have clearly been hibernating rather than left entirely, they’re a lot simpler to deal with when she understands what causes them. “I didn’t know you were back.”
“Ah.” There’s a faint tinge of red appearing in Elsa’s cheeks, and her smile grows sheepish. “Heard about that, did you?”
“We have friends in common,” Anna reminds her, not unkindly. “Or least friends of friends. You know how it goes; especially if someone actually moves out of the country. That just makes the gossip spread faster.” The eye-roll makes her smile widen. “You back for a visit, or is it more of a professional thing?”
Elsa shakes her head. “Neither. Or—well, somewhat the latter? I moved back a few months ago, but partly for work.”
“Ah.” A few seconds pass while Anna cants her head and sorts through her mental archives. “There was a sizeable NGO around here looking for some top-level flavor of director recently,” she remembers, and grins when the sheepish smile returns. “Congratulations. Guess that means you’re sticking around?”
“Barring as many regular visits to Europe as I can manage, yes,” is the answer to that, and Anna manages a brief, questioning look before she has to drop her gaze to fish her insistently buzzing phone out of her hip pocket. “My girlfriend lives there.”
Girlfriend. The text – even if all it says is PECORINO in all capitals and what – is at least exquisitely timed, because reading it means that Anna gets a precious, precious moment to feel and mask the way that word hits her like a sledgehammer. “I’m—kinda stuck between another ‘congratulations’ and an ‘I’m sorry’,” she admits as she slips the phone back into her pocket. “Long-distance is rough.”
This time, Elsa is the one to chuckle. “It is,” she agrees, with a smile that doesn’t quite match the subtle tightening of the skin around her eyes. “But we decided it was worth a try, and at least I have one of those visits coming up soon.” Her pocket starts chirping, and now she pulls out a phone. “Speaking of. I have to go, Anna.” A hand comes up to curl around her upper arm, and squeezes gently. “It was good to see you.”
“You too, Elsa.” Anna smiles, and hikes her bag up a little higher on her shoulder. “Travel safe.”
Then they go their separate ways, and Anna doesn’t think about it again.
xXxXx
Anna absolutely thinks about it again. Repeatedly, and way more than once a day, which is frankly ridiculous because she is a grown-ass adult, but she can’t seem to make herself stop.
It doesn’t matter. Okay, so a pretty girl that she – in hindsight – had the biggest, most cringe-inducingly obvious crush on over a decade ago has grown into a gorgeous woman who is romantically interested in other women. It changes nothing to learn this now, and it would have changed an equal amount of nothing to have known it back then. So it does. Not. Matter.
And yet.
She’s been called a hopeless romantic more than once and by several different people, and the description isn’t exactly wrong. On top of that, she’s a creative soul with a vivid imagination and is – thanks to spending the better portion of her formative years focusing far more on academics than on interacting with other kids her age – very much still working on the whole ‘learning how to people’ thing.
Daydreaming is practically her natural state of being, so it really isn’t surprising that the latest batch of those all feature herself and Elsa in a variety of increasingly unlikely ‘what if’ scenarios. It’s silly – not to mention more than just a little childish – and she is painfully aware of that, but it doesn’t keep her from sinking into another invented situation at the drop of a hat, or from not even realizing that she’s done so until several minutes later.
After over a week of that, Anna decides that maybe the best course of action is to stop fighting it and go a little easier on herself. Clearly, getting frustrated isn’t working, and clearly, there are some old feelings somewhere deep down that haven’t been processed properly. The daydreams, at least, let her bring those feelings up to the surface a little bit at a time, so she can process them.
So really, what’s the harm? Especially considering that while the city isn’t exactly big, it sure isn’t small. Anna has spent her entire life here, and strangers still handily outpace familiar faces by the hundreds every day.
Running into Elsa again is unlikely, to say the least.
xXxXx
It takes well over a month – maybe even more than two months – but she runs into Elsa again. Or rather, Elsa spots her again, because Anna is standing in the produce aisle with a plastic-wrapped celery under one arm and her chosen basket on the floor between her feet; too busy tapping away at her phone to debate recipes with Kristoff to really pay much attention to anything else.
At least the slow swipe of a hand between her face and the phone’s screen doesn’t startle her nearly as much as the touch to her shoulder did. “Elsa!” she identifies needlessly when her head jerks up in surprise, and grins. “We meet again.”
“Indeed we do.” Elsa is dressed much as she was last Anna saw her; only in lighter materials and paler colors to better suit the warming weather. “A department store last time, and a grocery store now. What’s next, you think? Home Depot?”
Anna pockets her phone with a laugh, because Kristoff and his odd insistence on the exact products from the recipe can wait. “Well, I do have some walls that could use a fresh coat of paint,” she jokes. “How’s next weekend work for you?”
“For buying the paint, or for actual painting?” The question comes around a smile, but something about that smile is… off, somehow.
People don’t tend to like feeling as though they’re being analyzed, and Anna knows that well. But micro expressions are so, so easy for her to pick up on and pretty much impossible for her to ignore, and Elsa looks… sad? Yes, sad. So ‘caution to the wind’ time it is. “Are you alright?"
“Am—” There’s a long moment where Elsa just stares at her, and then she closes her eyes, sighs, and presses the tips of her fingers to her forehead. “I swear, I’m usually good at keeping a straight face.”
“Oh, I believe you.” The celery is gently deposited into Anna’s basket, and as she straightens back up, she adjusts the messenger bag until it settles against her hip. “Unfortunately for you, I tend to be better than the average at reading people, and worse than the average at not being nosy.” She takes care to keep her voice low, at least, and to maintain a small, sympathetic smile. “Just to state what’s hopefully obvious: you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“… we broke up.” Somehow, Elsa’s voice manages to be even softer than Anna’s own; possibly in an attempt to hide the undercurrent of pain in it. “Not long after I last saw you, actually.”
It doesn’t work, and Anna’s heart about breaks for her. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” Elsa takes a long breath, and manages a small smile. “It was a mutual decision, at least. The distance was just too much, but—“
“—it still hurts like hell.” A grocery store, Anna knows, is hardly the best place for this kind of conversation, but there’s always at least one notepad and half a dozen pens in her bag, so she roots around for a moment, flips to a blank page, writes, tears, folds, and holds the resulting scrap of paper out.
Agreeable, but clearly confused, Elsa takes it. “What is this?”
Anna very deliberately focuses on getting the items back into her bag before looking up. “My phone number.”
“Your ph—” Those very blue eyes blink at her no less than three times. “Why?”
“Because sometimes it’s easier to talk about the hard stuff with a complete outsider,” Anna tells her quietly; right there between the leeks and the onions. “And since I’m not a licensed therapist, I won’t even charge you for it.” She means it as a joke, but going by Elsa’s pensive, hesitant expression, it falls flat. “Um. Anyway.” It feels vaguely like she’s overstepped somehow, so Anna clears her throat and picks up her nearly-empty basket. “The offer’s there, and I promise I won’t get offended if you don’t want to make use of it. Right now I need to—” She juts a thumb over her shoulder, and starts walking backwards. “Take care, alright?”
She was supposed to pick up significantly more than just celery and carrots, but Anna still makes a beeline for the self-checkout because wow, that was awkward even for her. So she pays for her pitiful haul and gets out, and decides to make the slight detour needed to hit up a different store.
It’s certainly preferable to bumping into Elsa again right now.
xXxXx
Anna can’t quite claim to hate business formal, but she definitely dislikes it enough to be glad that she only rarely needs to wear it. Everything just feels too close and constricting and stiff, and she shucks out of the tailored blazer before she even makes it across the sun-bathed parking lot; hooking it over her shoulder on one finger and using her other hand to pull her hair free of its conservative updo as she walks.
At least she can usually wear slacks and flats to most of her in-person meetings. A skirt and heels is doable but always grates on her nerves in under an hour, and it’s a further pain in her neck to need to change before she can even drive home afterwards.
“Hooray for women’s lib.” Anna unlocks the car and tosses the blazer into the back seat with a grimace; hitting the button on her key fob that rolls down all the windows because the sun is out in force and what little shade she found when parking was probably lost before Samuel had even finished pouring her coffee. So she’s doubly glad to be wearing pants when she settles into the driver’s seat and closes the door, and stays there for a while without even turning the engine on just to let the – thankfully cool – breeze have a go at the sweltering interior before wasting AC and gas on it.
She fishes her phone from her bag while she waits – a purse today, which has a lot less room than she really prefers, but ‘appearances matter, Anna’ – and holds down the power button for moment to turn it back on. It buzzes obligingly in her hand, and Anna leans back in her seat and closes her eyes while she waits for it to boot.
Business formal she can live with, and could probably manage even if it had to be a daily thing. Meeting unfamiliar executives – not to mention important ones from equally unfamiliar companies – is a little further down the list, though; especially when they only ever want to meet her to ‘put a face to the name’, like the word of people who have known her for years isn’t good enough.
It’s always so stilted that it makes the back of her neck itch, and is only made worse by how everyone still insists on pretending it’s jovial and comfortable; like a group of long lost friends meeting up for a beer. But she put on her ‘socially competent human being’ face and made it through today, and now her phone is coming alive in her hand and spitting notifications at her.
Most of them are expected – emails to follow up on the meeting she just escaped – and there’s a few messages from Kristoff about what he picked up from the stores, and what he forgot or only just found out they need. There’s a reminder from her mom, too, some discord notifications and a few game messages, and finally a text from a number that’s not even in her contacts.
When would be a good time to call you?
Anna eyes that one for a minute while she rolls the windows back up and turns the engine over.
That depends entirely on who’s asking, is what she ends up sending back, and then deposits her phone in the center console before shifting into reverse. Wrong numbers happen, and she can’t rule out that Michelle handed her details over to a contact and then forgot to inform her, because it’s happened before.
Of course – I’m sorry, is what pops up on her lock screen while she waits to pull out of the parking lot. This is Elsa.
Anna damn near drives into oncoming traffic. Instead of doing that, however, she curses, clicks her phone into place on the dashboard, and pulls out responsibly while it connects and dials.
She hasn’t forgotten that she’d given Elsa her number, of course – though she’s admittedly been trying her darnedest to – but it’s been well over a week since that particular example of mild self-humiliation, and honestly, she thought that Elsa had just tossed the note and decided to talk her troubles out with someone she actually knows. Which, of course, would be fair and totally understandable.
“I mean the cheese,” is what Kristoff says by way of greeting when he picks up.
“Forget the cheese for minute,” Anna tells him. “Elsa just texted me and I need you to tell me to stop overthinking it.”
“Stop overthinking it, Anna,” comes the agreeable reply. “What are you overthinking?”
“What if I’m doing this for all the wrong reasons?!” It’s a good thing she’s driven this route lots of times, because otherwise she’d probably end up getting lost. “What if she’s actually hoping that maybe I can help her out somehow, and I’m only doing this to score cheap points because she’s stupidly pretty and I lose all higher brain functions around her?”
Kristoff groans audibly. “Okay, first off, if that was your motivation, you wouldn’t even be worrying about it. Second, you are literally the furthest thing from the Nice Guy stereotype, so cut it out.” Briefly, there’s the sound of a door closing. “You’re talking shit about my best friend, and I don’t appreciate it.”
Anna changes lanes with a grumble, and slows the car to a stop at a red light. “You’re way too reasonable and I hate you.”
“And you get stressed over the stupidest things for the stupidest reasons,” is the answer, which… okay, fair. “What if Elsa actually wants to talk to you? And don’t you dare answer that with ‘why would she’.”
There’s a faint click of teeth as Anna – who was indeed about to say exactly that – snaps her jaw shut.
“Stop overthinking it, Anna,” Kristoff repeats, now; gently. “You made the offer because you’re a good person who wanted to help, and the fact that you’re attracted to her doesn’t change that. Breathe, relax, and answer her. And please don’t forget the last groceries.”
“Like you did?”
She can practically hear the eyeroll. “Yes, like I did, smartass. See you when you get home.”
The call ends, and Anna – as requested – takes a long, deep breath followed by another, and keeps it up when the light changes and she can make her turn. It does help her relax somewhat – though God knows the overthinking isn’t going anywhere anytime soon – and yeah, Kristoff is probably right. She still finds Elsa insanely attractive, but mostly she just wants to help her because she remembers her as a kind, sweet person; something Elsa certainly hasn’t managed to change her opinion on yet.
So. Anna guides the car into another parking lot – this one by a neighborhood grocery store rather than a massive office complex – and finds a free spot before reclaiming her phone.
Hey, Elsa! I’m usually free after 7 PM on weekdays. Weekends are a little harder to predict. Have a good day!
That sent on its way, she firmly backs out of the new thread, leaves and locks the car, and switches to the mile-long and age-old conversation with Kristoff as she makes her way into the store.
xXxXx
She doesn’t expect Elsa to call her that same evening, but Anna is starting to think that maybe she needs to expect what she thinks shouldn’t happen, because at least in regards to Elsa, that’s been a way more accurate prediction so far. Her phone lights up with Elsa’s name and starts vibrating its merry way across her desk at precisely 7:01 PM, and it’s pure luck that keeps her from spilling water all over her laptop as she tries to put down her open bottle, save a document and grab her phone all at the same time.
“Shit!” Okay, so that slipped out after she picked up. “Crap. I mean, hello?”
Even Elsa’s laugh is pretty, it turns out. “Hello to you, too,” she manages eventually. “I’m sorry for laughing, but that… was not what I was expecting. At all.”
Anna sighs, and decides to just roll with it; if they are going to be talking about breakups, there’s nothing wrong with a lighter start. “I live to disprove the preconceived notions of others,” she therefore drawls, and saves the document one more time for good measure before pushing back her chair and getting up. “Happy to be of service.”
“Then you’re welcome for the chance to practice, I suppose.” Elsa falls silent for a moment, and there’s the sound of a faucet turning on and that of a glass or suchlike being filled. “How was your day?”
That… isn’t what they’re supposed to be talking about at all, but again, lighter starts, and Anna at least appreciates being asked. “It was,” she muses; flicking on the lamp that sits on a shelf by her office’s low couch, and slipping an earpiece-style headset into place around the ear that the phone isn’t covering. “Had a meeting with a pretty strict dress code, which I never enjoy, but I survived. You?”
“I spent most of mine with a handful of lawyers.”
“My deepest sympathies.” Anna waits for the robotic-sounding lady in her earpiece to tell her that the unit is on and connected, and smiles when her comment earns her a chuckle. “You still hear me okay?”
“I do. Going hands-free?” There’s a pause while she hums in confirmation, and then a thoughtful sounding, little noise from Elsa herself. “I don’t think I ever asked you what you actually do for a living.”
“You haven’t exactly had a lot of chances to.” The couch is long enough to only barely fit against the wall at all, but it’s comfortable, and Anna pushes a throw pillow up against one arm rest before laying down and placing her phone on her stomach. “I write. Freelance, sort of, so I’m a work-from-home hermit most of the time.”
“You must be good at it if you’re actually earning enough to live on.”
Anna chuckles. “I do alright,” she admits. “Having a roommate helps.”
“And if we don’t change the subject now, you’re going to have to suffer through one of my many, many political rants on the cost of living crisis,” Elsa tells her wryly, and then falls silent for several seconds before sighing. “Admittedly, changing the subject would be easier if I knew where to start.”
The couch’s leather squeaks as Anna settles deeper into it. “Start from the beginning.”
xXxXx
It becomes a weekly thing. Not just because Elsa – to Anna’s quiet satisfaction – admits that talking to her helps, but because they turn out to get along surprisingly well in general. They click in a way that at least Anna only rarely gets to experience, and it does make her wish – however uselessly – that she had been better about the whole people thing back when they actually shared a school; not to mention several classes.
In some ways, getting to know Elsa better – or at all, really – helps with the whole crush thing, too. Of course, in other ways it only makes it worse, but being in regular contact with her does make it easier for Anna to not be a nervous, stuttering mess.
Most of the time.
“Do you read LGBTQ books?”
Elsa always switches to a lighter topic whenever talking about her last relationship becomes a little too hard, so Anna just smiles. “I think I’d be a pretty terrible bisexual if I didn’t.”
“Ah. Well, I didn’t know that and didn’t want to assume.” There’s a low creak traveling down the line; like Elsa is either sinking to a seat or adjusting one she’s already in. “In that case, does the name A. P. Maenne ring any bells?”
If Anna wasn’t already laying down, her knees would probably have given out. As it is, her heart is only happy to start playing leapfrog with itself. “I’ve… come across it before, yes,” she admits – very carefully – and consciously stares up the ceiling instead of glancing at the shelving system against the adjoining wall. “Why?”
Elsa chuckles. “Because her books are some of my absolute favorites,” she admits; apparently blissfully unaware of how she’s now sending Anna’s blood pressure through the roof for entirely new reasons. “Even if it is the most obvious nom de plume I’ve ever seen.”
“A penname,” Anna translates in a murmur. “Literally.”
“With the letters scrambled around a bit, yes.” It’s clear from the sound of Elsa’s voice that she’s smiling. “You’re either very good at anagrams to figure that out so fast, or you knew already. Which is it?”
“Um.” She feels like an ass for not just coming clean, honestly, but Anna can count on one hand the number of people who know her pseudonym and aren’t working directly with her in that exact context, and she also doesn’t know Elsa that well yet. “I knew it was a penname the first time I saw it written out.” Which is true; just not for the reason it sounds like. “Which one’s your favorite?”
Elsa actually growls at her for that. “God; give me a hard question, why don’t you?” A long, slow breath crackles through the air and into Anna’s ear. “… all of them? But if someone had a gun to my head, probably Celestial and its sequels. I remember taking great pains to transfer them all to every new external hard drive I bought, back before physical copies started being available.”
Anna knows better than probably anyone else that actual, printed versions of any of her books only became a thing in the last year and half, while Celestial was originally digital-only; self-published well over five years ago. So that… is extremely flattering and maybe a little embarrassing, and certainly doesn’t help with the guilt she’s feeling for keeping mum.
So. “Wanna know a rumor I came across about that series?” She listens to the curious little sound Elsa makes in response, and wets her lips. “Apparently she’s talking to one of the bigger streaming services. Like, late stage negotiations kind of stuff.”
“… shut up.”
Anna starts laughing, because damn if this whole situation isn’t just completely ridiculous. “Well, it’s gotta be true if you read something on the internet, right?”
“Oh, come on!” There’s a long groan, and then Elsa starts laughing, too. “I thought you had an actual, credible source.”
Her laptop is sitting abandoned on her desk the way it always does when she’s talking to Elsa, and Anna looks over at the PDF it’s still displaying; specifically at the very well-known logo in the upper right corner of every page, and takes a moment to suck at her teeth. “Sorry. Just something I read.”
xXxXx
The first time Elsa calls her on a weekend, Anna isn’t even at home. She isn’t far from home, granted – just downtown rather than on the outskirts of suburbia – but seeing Elsa’s name light up her phone’s display still catches her by surprise because it’s become something she associates with quiet evenings on the couch in her little office; not broad daylight in quote-unquote normal life.
She answers anyway, of course. “Hey, Elsa. What’s up?”
“Hello, Anna. Do you have a moment?”
Anna notes the careful lack of any kind of inflection in Elsa’s voice as she eyes the front of the store she was about to enter, and promptly turns on her heel. “I can find one,” she answers lightly. “What’s wrong?”
There’s a low, wry chuckle. “I really would like to know how you can see right through me when you can’t even see me.”
“I’ve gotten used to the sound of your voice, which means I’m learning the nuances of it.” There’s quite a crowd waiting at the pedestrian crossing, so Anna tucks herself against the wall of a nearby building instead. “You didn’t answer the question.”
“You’re not at home,” is the non-answer to that; something Elsa probably guesses from the sounds of traffic and the low din of at least a dozen voices. “Where are you?”
Agreeable, if also a little exasperated by now, Anna tells her.
“Ah,” Elsa says, and then takes an audible breath. “I—don’t suppose you’d be willing to come over?”
“To your place? Where is it?” She turns the ear she’s holding the phone against closer to wall to better hear the answer, and – after a quick survey of her mental map of the city – snorts and sets off in the right direction. “That’s like, barely two blocks from here. On my way.”
“Thank you.” This time, the audible breath sounds an awful lot like a relieved sigh. “I’m sorry for interrupting your plans, Anna. I j—”
“Stop.” Anna weaves around a few people walking in the opposite direction, and keeps her voice low. “You’re upset, you’re asking me to help you, and I am actual minutes away. I literally would not do anything else. Okay?”
“Okay.” She can barely hear the sound of Elsa walking around. “Let me at least put some coffee on or something. Buzz when you get here?”
“Can do.” Turning a corner takes her down a much less busy road, and Anna feels the tension in her shoulders ease when the noise around her drops as a result. “See you in a bit.”
‘A bit’, as it turns out, is anything but an overstatement, but she is also walking faster than normal. She hasn’t heard that particular tone to Elsa’s voice since they bumped into each other in the grocery store, and Anna could happily go the rest of her life without ever hearing it again because it smacks of a sort of hurt that Elsa is too damn kind to deserve.
Of course, life is often unfair and pain happens to everyone at some point, and Anna does know that. So she gets a handle on her own overprotective instincts before they can spiral out of control, which thankfully happens just as she reaches Elsa’s building.
She finds the button for E. Caldwell and pushes it, but instead of hearing Elsa’s voice like she expects, there’s just a buzzing noise before the door clicks open to let her in. Which, she supposes as she enters and starts climbing the stairs, makes sense since Elsa knows she’s coming, but still probably isn’t the safest thing to do.
Later for that, though, because when she reaches and knocks on Elsa’s front door, the woman who answers it looks… well, not like a wreck, but definitely a lot less put together than Anna knows she usually does.
“Hi.” Anna lifts one hand in an awkward little half-wave, but it at least makes Elsa smile, so there’s that. “You… kinda look like you need a hug, honestly.”
“I’m not even going to pretend you’re wrong about that,” is the exhausted answer; the door being pushed open wider to let Anna enter, and then clicking shut behind her as Elsa leans back against it. “I talked to Silje.”
Flip, goes one of the little, mental calendars Anna keeps, and she nods. “Right. It’s been six months today.” She slips her bag free from over her shoulder and places it on the floor next to a handily placed coat stand, because this doesn’t feel like it’s going to be a five-minute conversation. “How are you feeling?”
Elsa’s eyes are red-rimmed but clear, and at the question, she gives a brief laugh that manages to sit somewhere between pained and relieved. “Guilty? It was… remarkably easy, actually. A lot more than I expected it to be.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Of course it is.” There’s a definite note of frustration in Elsa’s voice; mirrored in the line of her shoulders when she straightens. “But shouldn’t it take longer than a few months for that to happen? We were together for over two years.”
“… okay.” Anna casts a quick glance at her surroundings to orient herself – a nice space, she decides, and nicely sized, too, which isn’t surprising given Elsa’s job title – and then shucks out of her jacket, deposits it on the coat stand and catches her host by the elbow. “We are going to go find the coffee you promised me, and then you’re going to start from the t— what?”
Elsa – who had been staring at her – shakes her head. “Sorry. I just don’t think I’ve seen you in a shirt before.”
Chuckling, Anna glances down at herself. “You have, actually,” she points out as she starts them both moving towards a partly-open kitchen area with a few bar stools. “You just haven’t seen me without a jacket. Now.” She releases Elsa’s elbow when they reach the bar stools, and pats one of them. “Sit. I’ll figure out the coffee. How do you take yours?”
“Just a bit of milk, please.” Elsa does sit down, but she also watches Anna walk into the kitchen proper with just a hint of disbelieving outrage. “Why am I being ordered around in my own home, exactly?”
“Because you look, act and sound like someone who’s emotionally exhausted, and I’m good in a crisis as long as I’m not personally involved in it.” Anna notes the location of the peacefully percolating coffee maker, and finds the mugs in a single attempt. The milk is another easy find since the location of the fridge is obvious, and since at least most of the western world seem to keep their cutlery in the topmost drawer, the teaspoons are easily located, too.
“… have you been in my kitchen before and I don’t remember it?”
“No.” Anna laughs. “There just tends to be a pattern in where people put things, and you conform to it pretty well so far.”
Elsa has settled her forearms on the bar, and now frowns at her. “A pattern?”
Since she’s been prompted and the coffee isn’t ready yet anyway, Anna points to the lower cabinets first. “Heavier items lower down, because lifting with your biceps is easier than with your shoulders. Lighter, smaller items higher up for the same reason. Cups and mugs—” She opens the cabinets she found those in. “—tend to be right above the coffee maker, because who wants to make extra effort if they’re already caffeine-deprived? Plates…” Another glance around the immediate area, and two steps. “Those tend to end up roughly between the stove and dishwasher – or sink – when possible, because again, we’re lazy. So, here?” Another upper cabinet is opened. “Yup.”
“I don’t really know how to feel about apparently being such a conformist.”
“There’s no shame in efficiency,” Anna decides, and sends her a quick wink before turning to the coffee maker, which has now gone silent. “If it helps, you’re at least making things easy for me.”
“Small blessings,” comes the low mutter, and while Anna has her back turned and can’t actually see her, she’d bet money that Elsa is rolling her eyes. “I thought the average writer took their coffee black?”
“See, there’s your mistake.” The lid for the little sugar tin makes a round, metallic sound against the countertop, and Anna points a spoon over her shoulder. “I am no mere, average writer. So excuse you.”
Elsa starts laughing – which was, of course, the whole point – and Anna lets the proud grin happen as she takes the milk and the unsweetened mug over to her, and then returns for her own. The butterflies, of course, are waking up and going absolutely mental at the sound, but she’s getting used to them. It’s not like they’re going anywhere anytime soon, probably.
“Now,” she then says as she claims the bar stool next to Elsa. “From the top, please.”
Elsa adds the milk to her coffee, and blows out a slow breath. “I feel terrible, honestly,” she admits; leaning one elbow on the bar counter and rubbing at her forehead. “Being able to just… move forward this fast? It makes me feel like what I felt for her wasn’t real, but it was.”
“Of course it was real,” Anna agrees gently. “But you told me yourself: your relationship was strained before you left Norway. So you have to take that amount of time into account too, because the two of you probably started unconsciously separating yourselves from each other even then.” She pauses to watches Elsa watch herself stir the milk in, and listens to the gentle clinking of the spoon against the porcelain. “And that was over a year ago.”
“I suppose,“ is the eventual answer; hesitant as it is.
“Long distance is hard.” Anna adds a little more sugar to her own coffee. “I’m sure it’s harder still when the relationship doesn’t start that way, though I admit I don’t have a whole lot of experience with that.”
That earns her a curious look from over the rim of Elsa’s mug. “How do you mean?”
“I’ve never been in a relationship that didn’t start out – or remain – long distance,” she admits with a shrug. “At least not outside of one in preschool that lasted like five hours or so, and I really don’t think that counts.”
“You’ve never been in a relationship with someone who was actually around you most of the time?”
“No.” Anna shakes her head. “There were visits, of course, but no.”
Elsa looks remarkably like she just told her that the sky is red, which is at least flattering, considering the subject. ”Why?”
“Because I’ve spent most of my life as a socially inept recluse?” is her half-answer, which is only partly joking.
“Why, though?” comes the repetition; Elsa’s brow furrowing in honest confusion. “I’d imagine we have pretty much the same background and at least roughly the same life experiences. We’re even the same age.”
“The same a—” Anna blinks at her. “You’re 27, right?” She watches Elsa nod, and – when that doesn’t make her expression clear in understanding – puffs a laugh. “Well, I guess I can give you at least part of the answer in two words. I’m 23.” Pause. “Well, almost 24.”
That earns her a long, startled stare. “Excuse me?”
“I’d skipped three grades by the time I started high school.” Carefully, Anna blows at her steaming coffee, and also keeps an eye on Elsa because it sort of looks like she’s blowing the poor thing’s mind. “I didn’t technically skip a fourth one during college, but I did complete it a lot faster.”
Elsa’s mug is set down very, very slowly. “How old were you when we first met?”
“You transferred in sophomore year, right?” She knows the answer to that very well without needing to ask, but still waits for the blonde head to nod. “12, then.”
There’s the soft sound of a long, deliberately controlled exhalation, and then Elsa firmly buries her head in her hands and groans. “How did I not know that? I thought you were just a late bloomer.”
“Cut that out.” Anna bumps her with a gentle elbow. “Believe me, there was plenty of gossip flying around my freshman year. You just weren’t there to hear it, and by the time the next year started it was old news. Besides, it’s not like we ever actually hung out—” Or like Anna had hung out with anyone at all, honestly. “—so how could you have known?”
“I could have asked, for one.”
“Sure, if I’d been willing to say more than two words to anyone other than the teachers,” she counters wryly. “Don’t get me wrong; being moved ahead that far has been great for me on a lot of levels, but it was absolute hell on my social development, and I know it. I’m still playing catch-up.”
For a few seconds, Elsa’s gaze turns inwards. “That’s why you let others come to you, as it were,” she then decides; focusing back on Anna and narrowing her eyes a fraction. “Isn’t it?”
“I’m… not really sure what you mean by that.”
“You gave me your number,” Elsa points out. “Anything else, you’ve left entirely up to me. You’ve always let me send the first text. You’ve always waited for me to call you. You always answer what I ask, but you rarely – if ever – volunteer any information about yourself.”
“… oh.” For several long, oddly breathless moments, Anna stares blankly at the opposite wall; turning those words over in her head and examining them from all angles. “I… never thought about it that way, but I—yeah, you’re right.”
“Are you scared of letting people get close to you?”
There isn’t a single ounce of judgment in the question that Anna can hear – nothing more than simple, genuine curiosity, in fact – and that’s probably why finding an answer for it is… well, maybe not exactly easy, but certainly easier.
“I guess I am.” Idly, she traces the tip of her index finger around the rim of her mug; mostly to have something to do. “I was called—well, a lot of things, whenever I tried to make friends growing up. ‘Intense’ was probably one of the kinder ones, because I always went in full tilt, you know?” A glance at Elsa shows her to be listening patiently, and Anna shrugs. “Eventually I learned that I was less likely to scare people off by letting them set the pace.”
“You’re a private person; I realize that. I respect that,” Elsa promises; quiet, but intent. “But you’re also someone who is rapidly becoming very important to me, and I’m starting to realize that I don’t really know you at all.”
The primary focus of this whole conversation has definitely shifted from Elsa to her, and Anna can’t claim to be entirely comfortable with that. “And you’d, what? Like to?”
Those very blue eyes fly wide open in patent disbelief, and Elsa turns to face her properly so fast that she almost turns too far. “Yes,” is the answer, in a tone that sounds mostly like she can’t believe that Anna is even asking. “Of course I want to know you. How is that even a question?”
And yeah, maybe that is a little strange. “That’s fair.” Anna wipes at a stray drop of coffee on the outside of her mug, and chuckles. “I’m just not used to people being interested in me on a… personal level, I guess?” She glances over at Elsa, who is sitting very, very still and barely even breathing, and shrugs. “Academic reasons, sure. Professional ones, sure. Personal…” For a moment, she trails off to perform a quick, mental count. “Well, it’s not that it doesn’t happen, it’s just… pretty rare. So I guess I’ve developed a certain amount of reticence.”
“Reticence,” Elsa echoes with a sigh, but smiles. “You’re definitely a writer.”
“See? You do know things about me.”
“Hm.” There’s the soft sound of shifting fabric as Elsa crosses one knee over the over, and leans against the bar on one elbow. “So what’s the best way for me to learn more about you?”
Anna frowns at her coffee as she considers that. “I’ll try to be more open with you,” is what she eventually says, and lifts her head enough to offer up a halfway-apologetic look. “But honestly, this is a very old habit. Unlearning it is going to take time, so I doubt I’ll be any good at it for a while.”
“I can live with that,” Elsa decides with a nod. “What can I do to help you?”
That answer, at least, is easy. “Ask questions.” She watches the pale head cant curiously, and smiles. “Chances are that I’m not really gonna notice that I’m not telling you something, at least not for a while. So if there’s something you want to know, ask.” Her coffee is going to go cold if she’s not careful, so Anna takes a pause, and a sip. “If I can answer, I will. And if I don’t want to answer for whatever reason, I’ll tell you. Does that work?”
“I believe so.” Those eyes are watching her closely, and it’s a gentle, patient sort of curiosity that Anna hasn’t had a whole lot of experience with, so it makes her distinctly nervous. “You’re intelligent, obviously,” comes the quiet observation. “How intelligent?”
Anna closes her eyes and rubs at the space between her eyebrows. “I’ve heard the phrase ‘scary smart’ a few times.”
“Alright.” There’s a touch to her shoulder; the feather-light weight of a hand that only grows heavier when it isn’t immediately shrugged off. “I can tell this makes you uncomfortable and I’m sorry about that, but I’d like to understand, if you’ll let me.” A pause, and when there’s no immediate negation: “Can you be more specific than ‘scary smart’?”
“IQ scores are notoriously useless for measuring anything other than logical and analytical intelligence.” Her voice is perfectly calm and even thanks to years of practice, but Anna can still feel herself tensing. “I haven’t been tested since I turned 18, anyway.”
“Hm.” Going by the slow, repeated curling and uncurling of Elsa’s fingers against her shoulder, she can feel the tension, too. “What was your score then?”
Anna sighs, but she did promise. “… 156.”
From the corner of her eye, she can see Elsa nod thoughtfully. “Why do you sound like that’s something to be ashamed of?”
“Because it was just one more thing that made me different.” She finds a smile, but guesses that it probably looks as tired as she feels. “Humans are pack animals, and if one member of the pack doesn’t act like the others—”
“—they’re excluded,” Elsa finishes softly. “So you initially learned to close yourself off as… what? A survival strategy?”
“Basically. This?” Anna gestures between the two of them. “Right now? This is absolutely terrifying, and I’m definitely in fight-or-flight mode.”
Her hand is caught before she can let it drop. The hold is gentle, though, and when Anna doesn’t object or pull free, Elsa’s fingers curl around her wrist to press against her pulse point. She remains like that for several seconds – her expression quiet and pensive – and then she releases Anna’s wrist and instead moves the half-empty mug of coffee away from her.
“I’m no doctor,” she says wryly. “But I’m pretty sure caffeine is the last thing you need right now.”
That pulls a startled bark of laughter from Anna’s throat. “Probably.” She feels as exhausted as she figures she would after a marathon, but still takes a moment to study Elsa. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” Elsa promises, even if it is around a vaguely exasperated smile that Anna doesn’t quite understand the cause of. “How about you? Are you as desperate to take a running leap through the nearest window as you look?”
Hrm. Anna scrunches her nose and drums her fingers against the bar. “Busted, huh?” The soft laugh at least makes her smile. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to this, so I guess it makes me a little—”
“Panicked?”
“Well, maybe not that bad.” She reaches for her coffee before remembering that it was taken away, and clears her throat instead. “’Uneasy’ probably works better.”
“I suppose that makes sense.” Gracefully uncoiling her body, Elsa slides off the bar stool and onto her feet. “I promise I’ll let you leave under your own power if you do so through the front door.” Pause. “By which I mean ‘after opening it first’, just to be clear.”
“I see you’ve picked up on my tendency to take things at face value, too,” Anna quips; hopping down from her own seat and following Elsa when she starts moving towards the door. “At this rate, you’ll know me like the back of your own hand soon enough.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” By the door, Elsa folds her arms and leans against the wall on one shoulder while Anna puts her jacket back on and settles her bag into place. “Any chance you’d agree to that hug you mentioned before you go?”
Anna rolls her eyes but opens her arms. Exactly what she expects, she isn’t sure; probably one of those ‘A-frame’ style hugs that she tends to end up in professionally – the kind where you’re only touching at the arms and shoulders – but that definitely isn’t what she gets. Instead, Elsa practically envelops her; pulls her into an embrace so tight and close that Anna can barely tell where one of them ends and the other begins.
“Thank you for letting me in,” comes the low murmur by her temple, and no; those butterflies definitely aren’t going anywhere.
In fact, they seem to be multiplying. “Thank you for wanting me to.”
xXxXx
“So why, exactly, are you in New York?” comes the question several weeks later; almost half an hour into yet another conversation that hasn’t focused on Elsa’s ex at all.
“Work.” She can see a not-unimpressive section of the Manhattan skyline from her hotel room window, and Anna isn’t above admitting to a bit more imposter syndrome than usual at the whole thing. Not to herself, at any rate. “Honestly, I’m just glad it’s not LA. The Big Apple is hot enough this time of year.”
“You’re dodging,” Elsa points out, and it’s kind of scary how good she is at figuring that out, now that she’s willing to show that she has. “Why, exactly—” Definite emphasis, this time. “—are you in New York?”
And yeah, Anna really needs to just gird her metaphorical loins and fess up to the whole ‘oh, by the way, I’m a published author in a way that started out as being just for fun and now is spiraling into a lot more acclaim and recognition than I really have a clue how to deal with’ thing. Hell, she wants to fess up – has for a while, if she’s honest – but the problem lies in figuring out how to approach it.
“Elsa…” Sighing, she drops to a seat on the edge of the bed, and adjusts the earpiece. “I’m sorry. I just—”
“Is this a question you don’t want to answer?”
“… not exactly.” Anna rests her elbows on her knees, and watches the sky darken while she twiddles her thumbs. “It’s just something I’d rather talk about in person, so it’s more accurate to say that it’s a question I don’t want to answer right now.”
A low, considering hum tickles her hearing. “Alright; I can accept that,” Elsa decides. “But I hope you know I’m holding you to it.”
Outside, the city lights are coming alive, and Anna grins at her own reflection in the window. “I’d expect nothing less.”
xXxXx
The very next night, Anna calls Elsa; at least once she’s finished drying her hair. For one, it’s been a long and trying day with little to do other than stare at the walls and wait for the cadre of lawyers from both sides to go through the last-minute revisions with a fine-toothed comb. For another, she misses the sound of her voice. For a third, she remembers Elsa mentioning that Anna never calls her first and wants to change that, and for a fourth, she could do with the break before she has to spend the rest of her evening in a restaurant she can’t even pronounce the name of.
“Anna!” Elsa sounds surprised, but delighted. “How are you?”
“Tired of dealing with other people,” she admits; and watches her own face contort in the bathroom mirror as she works to apply her eyeliner. “So I figured I could at least spend some time talking to someone whose company I actually enjoy before I have to dive back into it.” The soft chuckle makes her smile. “Am I disturbing you?”
“Never.” There’s the soft creak of leather that makes her think of the recliner she saw sitting in a corner of Elsa’s living area. “I’m just having a quiet evening at home with a glass of wine and a good book.”
“Mm?” Anna caps the eyeliner, and moves on to the mascara. “Which one?”
“Celestial,” comes the wry admission. “Again. I’m going to have to buy a new copy soon, I think. I’m wearing this one out.”
“How many copies have you owned so far?”
“… I don’t remember.”
Anna starts laughing, and has to pause in applying the mascara before it ends up all over her face. “Bullshit.”
“Rude,” Elsa decides. ”True, but rude, and now I’m definitely not telling you.”
“Uh huh.” She manages to restrain herself to a smile, and leans closer to the mirror again. “Well, I’m sure the author appreciates your support.”
“I’m sure the author doesn’t even know I exist. But speaking of.” There’s another low creak, and the faint sound of a glass being picked up. “Apparently your questionable internet source was right. Maenne and her publisher just signed a deal with rather large streaming service, indeed.”
“Really?” The surprise in her voice is completely genuine; if only because Anna didn’t get to put her own signature down until well after close of business. She wasn’t expecting there to be any official information until tomorrow, at the earliest. “Huh. Good for her."
“Mmhm.” Barely, she can hear the sound of Elsa swallowing. “So exactly what are you ‘diving back into’ tonight?”
“Oh, you know.” She caps the mascara now, too, and sets about adding a subtle dusting of eyeshadow. “Usual end-of-business-trip deal where everyone goes out for dinner in the name of ‘team spirit’ or something. Not enough food, a little too much alcohol and way too much noise.”
“Such a social butterfly.”
“Gag.” Elsa’s laughter makes her smile, though. “A whole evening spent dialing myself down to quote-unquote normal levels and stuffed in formal clothes? Believe me, I’d skip the whole thing if that was an option.”
“Anna.”
“Sorry.” She sighs, and eyes herself in the mirror before packing her makeup away. “I don’t mean to sound so cranky about it, but… honestly I’d rather just spend the time talking to you.”
“I’d like that, too,” is the gentle reply; low and fond in a way that makes the butterflies in Anna’s stomach flap their wings like they’re possessed. ”You said ‘intense’ was one of the kinder terms you’ve heard for how you actually are,” Elsa then says. “What else have people called you?”
Well, that’s a simple question with no shortage of answers. Most of them aren’t exactly complimentary, though, so Anna works her hair into a partial updo as she runs through the list in search of the more acceptable ones.
“Anna.” The voice in her ear is low and stern. “Stop thinking about what you should tell me, and just tell me. Please.”
“You’re a terrible influence on my coping strategies.” Which is true, but Anna smiles anyway. “Is it weird that I kind of want to see you destroy any and all bought-and-paid-for politicians in a head-to-head debate?”
“You’re trying to distract me,” is the wry reply. “Yes, it’s a little weird, but flattering nonetheless. Now answer the question.”
Anna sighs, but gamely tugs the well-worn, metaphorical armor back into place before speaking. “Overwhelming,” is the first one that comes to mind as she settles a tiny stud into her left earlobe, and the rest just sort of follow behind it like a dam cracking. “Smothering. Suffocating. Loud. Annoying. Weird. Unemotional. Too emotional. Repressed. Robotic—"
“Okay!” There’s an almost desperate sort of note to Elsa’s voice when she cuts her off, and Anna swears she hears a sniffle. “Okay. Stop. Please.”
So she does, of course, and instead spends several moments just breathing quietly and staring at her own reflection in the mirror; watching the shutters behind her eyes slowly disappear again, and idly wondering how much of Elsa’s reaction was due to what she was saying, and how much was due to how she was probably saying it.
“Sorry,” she manages eventually, and finds a chuckle. “I never said they were wrong about the ‘intense’ part.”
“Don’t.” Elsa’s voice is low and practically vibrating with anger. ”Don’t you dare ever believe any of that ever again, Anna. Yes, you’re an intense person, but you’re intense because you feel intensely, and that is beautiful.” A pause, and a long, calming breath. ”Is that clear?”
Anna kind of feels like she needs to sit down right now, so she makes her way out of the ensuite and over to the bed. She sinks to a seat on top of the covers in her bare feet, neatly pressed slacks and her bra; hair, makeup and jewelry done, and spends several moments just staring at the tailored silk shirt and ditto blazer where they rest on separate hangers over the closet doors.
“Anna?”
“Can you pick me up at the airport tomorrow?” It slips out without her even really thinking about it, but Anna bites the inside of her lip and soldiers on anyway. “It’s short notice, I know, but—”
“I’d be happy to,” comes the soft answer. “Kristoff isn’t available?”
“He is. In fact, now I need to text him and tell him not to do it—” Which she’s going to catch at least ten different kinds of shit for once she explains why, she’s sure. “— but that thing I wanted to talk to you in person about? I kind of need you to be at my house for that, so…”
“Ah.” Elsa’s smile is audible. ”Two birds with one stone?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
xXxXx
“When you first mentioned you had a roommate, I was expecting an apartment, or maybe a condo not unlike my own,” Elsa points out, not unreasonably. “Not a house in the suburbs.”
“Left up here,” Anna tells her, and falls silent until she hears the soft ticking of the turn signal. “The one all the way at the end.”
“What does Kristoff do for a living?”
“Sculptor.” It’s little more than a murmur, and Anna knows she’s probably worrying Elsa by being so quiet, but her insides are twisting into knots, and it’s hard to focus on anything else.
“A sculptor and a writer sharing a—what are these, three bedrooms?”
“Four.”
“—four-bedroom house in a subdivision that I know only finished being developed two years ago.” There’s a long period of silence where Anna can feel that gaze on her even from behind the sunglasses, and then Elsa sighs. “You must have one hell of a rental agreement,” she mutters as she guides the car into the driveway, and Anna lays a gentle touch to her arm before she can turn off the ignition.
“There’s room in the garage, if you want,” she offers without looking over; digging her keys from an inside pocket and pressing the button to start the double-wide door lifting itself up.
Wordless, but obliging, Elsa waits – though Anna can see her head turning this way and that from the corner of her eye – and then finally pulls into the free space next to Anna’s trusty Arteon while Anna presses the same button a second time to send the doors sliding back down.
The air feels uncommonly thick, and Anna forces herself to breathe it anyway. “Well, here we are.” She doesn’t bother trying for a smile as she unclicks the seatbelt and pushes the door open. “Come on in.”
They secure Anna’s luggage before continuing into the house proper, and Anna is idly glad of Elsa claiming her small suitcase, because that means that she herself has to carry the bags containing her laptop and her fancier duds, respectively, and the latter of those are so large that she has to hold them up high enough to at least partially block her own face.
Elsa, she knows, has pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head and is looking around the large, open interior in undisguised fascination – a sizeable, modern kitchen and dining area, a comfortably appointed living space with a massive entertainment center and several wide windows looking out to the back yard and the bordering tree line – and there are so many questions all but physically pinging off the back of Anna’s head that it actually makes her feel nauseous.
Anna nudges her own bedroom door open just so she can hook the garment bags over the top of it – it’s literally just where she keeps her clothes and, you know, sleeps, so there’s nothing to see in there anyway – and she waits for Elsa to set the suitcase down in the doorway before she clears her throat and leads them to another door.
The familiar confines of her office damn near makes her heart burst out of her chest when she enters it, which is… weird, to say the least, because it’s been set up to be the most peaceful space she can create; all earthy colors and natural materials, and dotted with several small lamps for when the natural sunlight currently spilling through the single window fades. But it’s less about the space and more about what it signifies, and definitely about the single shelf stocked with several colorful, mint-condition hardbacks that seems to blare at her from the second she enters.
So Anna swallows as she picks up one of them – Celestial, of course, because what else would she pick? – and wordlessly hands it to a thoroughly puzzled looking Elsa before turning her back and stepping over to her desk.
“I’m not sure how much of a fan you can call yourself if your copies are all is in this good condition,” Elsa muses while Anna digs out her laptop and powers it on. “It doesn’t look like this one has even been opened.”
That, of course, is because it hasn’t, but Anna swallows again and says nothing; instead plugging in the computer’s power supply and feeling her heart rate spike when she hears the book’s spine actually creak.
It gets worse when there stops being any sound at all. “Anna, this is an author’s proof.”
“Yes.” The computer boots with a total lack of fanfare, and Anna signs in, pulls up her e-mail – her official one, anyway – and waits for it to load without ever turning around. “It’s old-fashioned, probably, but… I don’t know. I like having them.” The topmost message in her inbox – a digital scan of the physical contract she signed yesterday – opens with a simple click, and she maximizes the window, takes a single step backwards, and gestures at the screen.
Elsa steps closer and leans on the desk on one hand, and she must read at least as fast as Anna does, because it only takes a bare second before she stops breathing entirely. The book in her other hand is gently set down near the desk’s corner, and instead, she uses those fingers to scroll down further along the document.
To the signatures.
Softly and deliberately, Anna breathes. “Outside of a pretty narrow, professional circle, there aren’t a lot of people who know.” Her voice is low and anything other than steady, and Elsa turning her head to watch her with those thoroughly unreadable eyes really doesn’t help that. “I don’t want the spotlight and I never did, and I’m lucky that I’m good enough to bring in an amount of money that makes my publisher willing to deal with that.”
“How many?”’
“Three people.” A pause, and Anna corrects herself. “Four, now. My parents, Kristoff—” Weakly, she gestures to Elsa with one hand. “—and you.”
Slowly, the blonde head nods. “Who owns this house?” Elsa asks her, very calmly.
“I do.”
“Not Kristoff?”
“No.” Anna shakes her head. “Just me. And the credit union, I guess.”
“I see.” With a slow, thoroughly controlled motion, Elsa removes her sunglasses from where they sit on top of her head, folds them neatly, and sets them down on the desk before running a hand over her face. “Would you go sit down on the couch, please?”
Quietly, Anna obeys – settling at the end of the couch furthest from the desk with her knees together and her hands folded in her lap – and feels her heart try its darndest to clamber up the inside of her windpipe as she watches Elsa step closer, claim a nearby throw pillow, and hug it against her own body.
“So. Just to be perfectly clear.” There’s a long breath, and Elsa clenches her fingers around the seams of the pillow in her hands. “You are A. P. Maenne.”
“Yes.”
“I see,” Elsa says again, and spends several seconds peering out of the window before nodding.
Then the pillow smacks against the top of Anna’s head. “Hey!” she yelps, and makes a startled, useless grab for the offending object only to get hit by it again. “Elsa!”
“You complete and utter sneak!” Elsa hisses as she keeps swinging; practically bristling with indignation, though Anna manages – somehow – to notice that she doesn’t actually seem to be legitimately angry. “I fangirled at you, you—you liar, you—” There, Elsa just freezes in place for a long moment, and then – impossibly – looks even more outraged. “No, you never actually lied, did you? You just talked around it, you… you devious, little—!”
Bap-bap-bap goes the pillow against Anna’s head, and she finally has to curl up into a little ball and hold up her arms in a half-hearted – and thoroughly unnecessary – attempt to protect herself. “I’m sorry!” she laugh-cries. “Mercy!”
“No mercy for deceivers!” is the imperious response, and yeah, okay; now Anna is sure she isn’t actually angry. “Submit!”
“Dude!” She almost chokes on her own, already uneven breathing at that word choice. “Phrasing! You’re gonna give Kristoff ammunition for eons if he hears that.”
“He already did!” comes the yell from down the hall, and Anna flops back against the couch with a heartfelt groan while Elsa – she notes – turns bright pink from the base of her throat all the way up to the roots of her hair. “I look forward to officially meeting you, Elsa!”
Anna sighs. “I guess that takes care of the introductions,” she mutters. “Can we just never leave this room again, please?”
Elsa gives a wan, little chuckle and offers her hand; tugging Anna to a more proper seat before settling down next to her with the pillow in her lap. “Well, that was invigorating.”
“Don’t forget mortifying.”
That nets her a nudge. “A healthy dose of mortification is the least you deserve,” Elsa tells her with a playful glower.
“Probably,” she agrees around a chuckle; pulling one knee onto the couch and half-turning in her seat to better face her guest. “Thanks for not being angry.”
She gets a definite look for that one. “I seem to remember telling you once that I respect the fact that you’re a private person,” comes the reminder. “I meant it then, and I mean it now.” Carefully, Elsa claims the author’s proof copy of Celestial from where it rests on the corner of the desk, and holds it out to her. “I never want you to feel like you have to tell me something if you aren’t ready to.”
Anna shakes her head, and nudges the book towards Elsa. “Yours,” she tells her quietly, and has to smile at how those eyes go impossibly wide in less than a second. “If you want.”
“… is this a bribe?”
The suspicious tone makes her grin. “I guess it could be?” she allows; settling one elbow on the back of the couch and resting her head in her hand. “But no. Really, I just like the idea of it belonging to someone who’ll actually read it, rather than have it sit on a shelf to collect dust.” Here, her grin goes a little wider, and a good deal more devilish. “And I know how fond you are of chapter 17.”
"Oh my G— Anna!" The pillow impacts her arm this time, and the color is rapidly crawling back up Elsa’s neck. "I told you how much I like your sex scenes!"
Anna starts laughing again.
xXxXx
“So ‘write what you know’ is legit?”
“Sure.” One of the little café’s large parasols keeps the late-summer sun from completely frying the back of her neck, and Anna takes a moment to appreciate that as she drains her coffee. “I mean, it has its limits in terms of application or fantasy and sci-fi wouldn’t exist, but using your own personal experience where you can is… it does something to the story, you know? Makes it more real, somehow, and that translates.”
“Mmhm.” The last piece of cake goes from Elsa’s plate and into her mouth by way of her fork, and she spends a moment chewing. “Your characters are either incredibly suave, or nervous, stuttering messes around their romantic interests, with no in-between that I’ve ever noticed,” she then points out. “Which one of those is personal experience?”
“Please.” Anna rolls her eyes. “Like I’ll ever stop being nervous around pretty girls.”
From over the rim of her own cup, Elsa sends her an amused look. “So I don’t count as a ‘pretty girl’?” she says, and pauses long enough to take a sip. “I should be insulted.”
She’s teasing, clearly – the glint in her eyes and the tiny, upwards tug at the corner of her mouth make that obvious – but Anna still takes a moment to watch her while she searches for the right response; quiet and serious as she laces her fingers and settles her chin on them.
Then – just when Elsa starts looking like she maybe wants to apologize – she finds the words, and takes a breath.
“You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever known,” she tells her softly; meeting those widening eyes without flinching because all she’s doing is telling the truth. “And I don’t just mean on the outside.”
And Elsa just stares at her; wide-eyed, speechless, breathless, and – at least from what Anna can see – more than a little knocked off her emotional stride. Then she blinks, draws in a long, shuddering breath, closes her eyes, and bends her neck.
Anna bites the inside of her lip, and stacks their empty plates before placing her own empty cup on top of them. “I’m just gonna take these inside,” she offers quietly as she pushes her chair back, because it seems like Elsa probably needs a moment. “Be right back, okay?”
“Oh, honey!” one matronly worker exclaims when the door dings open over her head. “You don’t have to do that!”
“I was raised to clean up after myself,” is her wry answer as she sets her cargo down on the counter, and shoots a quick glance over her shoulder at the tables outside. “So yes, I do. My mother would never let me hear the end of it otherwise.”
The woman laughs. “Well, it sounds like your mother and I would get along just fine,” she decides. “You have a good day, hon.”
“You too.” Another glance out of the windows, and Anna grabs a few, fresh napkins from a nearby dispenser as she heads back outside, weaves her way between the small tables and wordlessly reclaims her seat. Equally silent, she sets the napkins on the table and nudges them forward until they’re in Elsa’s field of view.
“Too intense?” she questions gently, and watches Elsa wipe at her eyes.
The soft chuckle makes the tension in her shoulders dissipate. “No.” Elsa does need to clear her throat a few times to rid it of the hoarse note, but once she looks back up, her eyes are dry and she’s smiling. “Just wasn’t expecting it.” There’s a long moment where she just watches her with a warm, considering sort of look that Anna can’t quite place, and then: “Are you busy on Friday?”
There are several of those little, mental calendars tucked away in the back of Anna’s mind, and now, she lets her eyes unfocus for a second or two as she skims through them. “No,” she then decides; blinking a few times to let her attention zero back in on Elsa and settling her arms on the table. “Why do you ask?”
Elsa is folding one of the napkins into increasingly smaller squares – playing with it, really – and shifts in her seat as she crosses one knee over the other. “Come over for dinner? I came across a recipe I’d really like to try, but there’s no way I’m not going to end up with way too much food.”
“Sure.” She has the distinct feeling that there’s something here she’s missing, but the smile she gets for agreeing makes her concern fade into the background. “Should I bring anything?”
“I’ll handle the cooking,” Elsa promises, and smiles a little wider as she leaves the hapless napkin alone. “So no. Just yourself and a good mood.”
xXxXx
“You read too many romance novels,” Anna grumbles as she secures her car keys, and regrets mentioning Elsa’s invitation for the 17th time today alone.
“And you are astoundingly blind considering how many of them you write.” Kristoff doesn’t actually stomp his foot, but he sure does look like he wants to. “She invited you to her home. On a Friday night. For dinner. Which she is going to cook for you.” There he takes a long, theatrical pause, and crosses his arms. “What does that tell you?”
“That we need to invite her over for dinner because she’s worried about either my cooking skills, yours, or both,” Anna decides, and rolls her eyes when Kristoff actually growls at her before throwing up his hands in frustration and stomping out of the room. “It’s not a date!”
Really, she does genuinely believe that – she has to, because the alternative is sinking into those daydreams all over again, which feels invasive now, somehow – but her beliefs are admittedly put to quite the rigorous test approximately 13 seconds after she knocks on Elsa’s door.
Because Elsa is wearing a dress. A little black dress – specifically a sleeveless one - complete with kitten heels. On top of that, she has definitely pulled out all the stops appearance-wise; from the gentle curl to her hair where it settles around her bare shoulders and arms, to the subtle hints of makeup and the occasional glimmer of understated jewelry, and finally to the pleasant hint of an unfamiliar perfume that slips out into the hall to tease at Anna’s olfactory system.
And no, that probably isn’t much of a ‘casual dinner at home with a friend’ sort of look, is it?
“… wow,” is all Anna can manage, because for all that she makes a living with words, right now she is struck thoroughly and utterly dumb. “Wow.”
Elsa, at least, seems to enjoy her reaction. “’Wow’?” she teases gently; leaning against the door frame on one shoulder and crossing her arms with a small smile that absolutely qualifies as mischievous. “Which one of us is the professional author, again?”
“Oh, shut up,” Anna groans. “I already told you that you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known. What part of that sounds like I expected you to actually break your own record?”
At that, Elsa softens in everything from her eyes to her smile to her posture. “Thank you,” she murmurs, and now straightens enough that she can push the door open fully and gesture to the inside. “Please, come in.”
She does, and immediately notices… several things. Like how the lights have been dimmed, and multiple candles lit and dotted around the space to make up for it. Like the table, which has been carefully and beautifully set for two, complete with a vase of fresh flowers that very much include roses. And like the soft sound of soothing, instrumental music that Anna would probably identify as smooth jazz if pressed.
God, Kristoff is never going to let her live this one down, is he?
“I… feel like the answer should be nosebleed-inducingly obvious by now,” Anna notes quietly as the door closes behind her; shucking out of her jacket and handing it over to the patiently waiting Elsa. “But I’d like to ask anyway just for my own peace of mind. Is this a date?”
Elsa – who has turned towards the nearby coat stand – stills completely for a single heartbeat. “I’d certainly like for it to be,” she then admits, and settles Anna’s jacket into a free space before turning back to face her. “So I suppose that depends on you.” The sound of her heeled shoes is loud against the flooring when she steps closer, but Anna is still surprised she can hear it at all over the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears. “Did I completely misinterpret this?”
“Uh.” Her laugh probably sounds as breathless as it feels, and going by the heat she can feel crawling up her neck, her face is going to about match her hair in ten seconds or less. “No. No, you did not,” she promises, and then presses her face into her hands. “I’m just wishing I was at least a little less dense than industrial grade osmium so I could have brought… I don’t know, flowers or something.”
“You take things at face value, and I’m well aware of that.” Gentle, cool hands catch her own and bring them down, and the look in Elsa’s eyes is warm when she twines their fingers between them. “So I could absolutely have been clearer about my intentions. But…” Briefly, Elsa’s teeth close around her own lip. “Well, I might have been hoping for essentially this exact situation. Just because I think you’re very cute when you’re flustered.”
Anna sighs. “Then I’d assume that you find me utterly adorable right now.”
“And you’d be right.” The lips that brush against her cheek are smiling, and when Elsa then pulls back, turns and starts guiding her towards the kitchen, she actually has the nerve to wink at her over one bare shoulder. “Come on. You can keep me company until dinner’s ready.”
“One thing?” Before she can talk herself out of it, Anna tightens her hold on Elsa’s hand and tugs her to a stop. “I get that this isn’t the order these things usually happen in, but I’d really like to kiss you.” She watches Elsa pull in sudden breath and sees her eyes sharpen, and swallows. “Because otherwise I’m going to be so focused on wondering what it’s like that I’ll miss at least half of what you actually say to me, an—”
There is nothing gentle about the kiss that cuts her off. Elsa crashes into her like a tidal wave into a cliffside; a heady, completely overpowering mixture of soft lips, heated breathing, faintly spicy perfume and a thousand other tiny scents and sensations that have Anna pressing closer, closer, closer, until her hands are grasping Elsa’s waist and she somehow finds herself actually getting to pin this incredible woman against a nearby piece of wall with the weight of her own body.
And Elsa just melts against her. Her mouth is hot and searching and insistent, and her hands grasp and pull at Anna’s hair and neck and shoulders and back like even the width of a single atom is too much space to have between them.
She kisses her, some little corner of Anna’s mind hazily realizes, like this is something she has wanted for a very long time.
“Well.” She has to consciously remind herself of how the whole breathing thing works when they part by however little; mostly due to how close and dark those very blue eyes are. “Now I definitely feel bad about not bringing flowers.”
Elsa’s laugh is barely more than a warm puff of air against her mouth. “Make it up to me next time,” she murmurs, and pulls her back in.