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Beatrice was a lightweight. A few shots in and Beatrice’s words were already slurring, her sweatshirt long abandoned, Ava barely holding her up.
Ava slung Beatrice’s sweatshirt over her arm, her other holding Beatrice up as they stumbled out of the bar, Beatrice was all smiley and giggly, hair flowing behind her.
The door clicked open, Ava supporting Beatrice’s body weight as they stumbled into the house.
Ava deposited Beatrice’s sweatshirt onto a chair, focusing her attention on getting Beatrice onto the bed without her falling.
“Easy easy,” Ava uttered, holding Beatrice’s hips tighter as she deposited the nun onto the bed. Beatrice flopped dramatically, her legs hanging off the length of the bed as Ava huffed above her.
“Shit, you’re heavy, all that lean muscle huh?” Ava chuckled, poking at it until Beatrice pulled her down, “They tickle. Stop poking,”
Ava fell next to her with an oof, Beatrice opened one eye to look at Ava lazily, “You’re beautiful.”
Ava stilled.
“Bea, you’re drunk,”
Helpfully or otherwise, her brain reminded her that drunk words were usually the truest.
“Yes, I’m drunk, and you’re beautiful,” Beatrice whispered, gazing longingly at Ava as she pushed herself up, as if to study Ava in her entirety.
Beatrice’s eyes mapped Ava’s face as she plopped her head back down onto the bed. “And tomorrow morning, I’ll be sober, but you’ll still be beautiful.”
Ava giggled. “You’re a sap when drunk,”
“Only for you, only for the prettiest girl in the world.”
Ava smiled as she watched Beatrice’s eyes slope, blinking tiredly until they were closed, her breath evening out almost as quickly.
“…Why do you only say these when you’re drunk?” Murmured Ava, as her hands came up to trace the galaxy of freckles on Beatrice’s face.
Beatrice blinked her eyes open, still dazed but her eyebrows furrowed, “You’re so, so perfect, and I’m sorry I can’t say them without alcohol in my system.”
Beatrice’s words were slurred, and her eyes blinked closed, her words became softer as they went along.
“I think you’re pretty too Bea.” Ava replied, “And I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait for when you don’t need shots and booze to tell me you think I’m pretty too.”
When Beatrice didn’t reply, Ava dropped a chaste kiss on her forehead.
“And I’ll wait for the day you tell me you love me too, because I really hope it’s true.”
Ava loved her all the same, even if she never would tell her how she felt when she was sober. Beatrice was (and still is) a repressed nun after all.
The next morning if Beatrice seemed to have no recollection of the night, only a pounding hungover to remind her, Ava still loved her and clung to those very drunken words instead.
You’re beautiful.
Many years later, when Beatrice uttered those same words to her at the altar – sober this time too – all Ava could do was cry.
You’re beautiful.
And so are you.