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(A/N: Accompaniment tracks on Spotify found here)
Physical touch to Carla is what a pen is to a paper. She doesn’t shy away from admitting that she loves to touch people– well, at least the ones she genuinely likes. Like her closest friends, the boys he used to fancy, and of course, the current object of her affection– Berenice.
Physical touch spells out what Carla’s mouth couldn’t. A hand that soothed her friend’s back as she empathized with Berenice’s concern back when the rumor about Teyssier and Anais rounded the campus. Hands that grasped Berenice’s hands, and fingers that felt her friend’s pulse when she noticed the subtle and obvious ways that Berenice panicked during room master lessons under Lisandro. Hands that stopped Berenice from her obsessive-compulsive tendencies of tidying up when she’s stressed, like when she was lagging behind making macarons for Cardone’s test. Hands that cupped Berenice’s face when she kissed her beneath the searing heat of the sun at the marsh.
Carla only ever realized how her physical intimacy escalated to another level when she and Berenice started going out. A hand on her special friend ’s back as she passes Berenice in the pantry. Hand-holding became a must whenever they strolled together, and Carla basked in the glances that passers-by gave them, may it be in the Institute’s hallways or at a local park they frequented. A gentle squeeze of Berenice’s thighs during date nights– when they’re two bottles of wine buzzed or watching a movie at the backmost part of the cinema. And kisses– fuck , especially the kisses. The pecks on the cheek and forehead when they’re parting ways because not all of their classes coincide (a fact that Carla hates but has to tolerate). The tugging and pulling on Berenice’s scarf when their makeouts get a little too heated.
But most especially, the sex. Even the word “sex” feels more of an understatement– as it doesn’t truly encompass the feelings that engulf Carla every single time they do it. As mushy as it sounds, well, to the old Carla at least, she’d classify it as making love. The Carla she once was would laugh at her in disbelief, but it’s true. There’s no better way of describing the need to grip and hang onto Berenice’s shoulders as Carla feels herself be taken into places she’s never been to. The scratches, the marks, the lazy kisses they share as they ride their highs– fuck .
Physical touch is already her love language, and being with Berenice makes Carla more and more fluent at it.
It was an unconscious choice for Carla to never rely on words to convey her innermost feelings. Never one to back down from arguments, Carla’s tongue had been on the forefront of her defense for years. It’s protected her from so many things and people before, and there was no denying it’s kept her guarded so well so far. But words for Carla, apart from being a tool she wore on her sleeves to rid herself from unwanted situations, had never been a good friend at expressing everything else. Feelings that turned her into mush were, quite frankly, revolting. Which is why opening up to Rose didn’t just happen overnight. It’s why telling Berenice she didn’t want to lose her took a little push and shove from her mother to happen. It’s why saying “I love you” didn’t come out as spontaneously as she hoped for, and still took an almost-argument with Berenice to be out in the open. It was scary, to say the least, but a welcome experience from which there was no turning back.
And, oh, the repulsion with words– it’s arguably what she suspects to be the reason why she hasn’t asked Berenice formally just yet. Which is funny, because Carla and Berenice had been so attached at the hip since the very beginning. It was natural to assume they were officially girlfriends– not when Carla’s openly pulling her in for a kiss in the hallway, and Berenice is always staring back at her as if they both have this stupid telepathic thing going on about how much they adore each other.
It’s sickeningly sweet, but Carla likes it. She likes that people know they’re dating– because that’s what they’ve been doing, right?
So that’s about it. They’re “dating” dating, so to speak.
But them being official is still out of the conversation. Yet. And Carla knows – oh she just knows– that Berenice is dying to ask the question herself, but for the fear of pressuring Carla, she’s understandably holding back. And Carla appreciates that. For love, as disgusting as it once sounded to Carla’s ears, is not a light feeling that’s easily handled. It’s quite heavy for a four-letter word. It’s not even an emotion that barely exists on its own. She loves, the same way she trusts and longs, and it’s making her happy and terrified at the same time.
It’s been bugging her for days. Weeks, even. As she’s been feeling the itch at the back of her throat. The urge to just say it and throw a Hail Mary that Berenice says yes. Of course she knows there’s no way Berenice would say otherwise. But still, Carla’s not accustomed to making the first move. She’s used to being the one being chased. Hell, she wouldn’t even run to a class when she’s 10 minutes late. But here she exists, two months in from the kiss that sealed the deal, and so helplessly in love with her best friend.
Heavens be damned, but Berenice makes her want to do such ridiculous things.
So for now, she makes up for it in ways she knows best: touch. Physical nearness is what she could offer, and Carla just wants Berenice to have it all.
“Fine work on the eclair.”
Carla is taken out of her trance while wiping down the counter when she feels a nudge on her side. She didn’t need to turn around to check, as the voice alone was pretty telling of the culprit.
“ Ha ha .”
“I asked Anais for a taste and what you made was good,” Berenice quips beside her, leaning her back against the counter with a mischievous smile on her face.
“You don’t need to rub it in my face that yours was better and I came second,” Carla answers, affectionately rolling her eyes.
“So you admit mine was better,” Berenice pushes, eyebrow raised.
“Can’t say, I haven’t had it,” Carla says, now moving to face Berenice, “Our palates are subjective.”
“I saved up a few eclairs before the taste test. You can bring it home with you… see for yourself.”
Berenice’s voice was mocking and teasing, and Carla, who never really liked it when people bested her except when it’s Berenice, loves this side of her. The playful and confident version of Berenice that surfaced in the past few months had been so refreshing, coming from someone who’s seen Berenice at her worst in the institute. So Carla adores moments like this one– where Berenice knows and recognizes she’s good at what she does.
“You’re really asking me to eat the exact same thing that beat me?”
“Are you talking about my eclair or me?” Berenice innocently asks, tilting her head to the side and enjoying the moment way too much.
“Berenice!” Carla exclaims when she catches the innuendo. She throws the towel she’s using to dry her hands at Berenice, which the other girl effortlessly catches with a laugh, “You know what? The Institute needs to know you’re not an innocent little thing.”
Like a stimulus she just automatically responds to, Carla traps Berenice’s body between hers and the counter. Here she goes again, so desperately a slave to her desire to be near Berenice. To feel her against her body and just freeze time if it were possible. To touch, fill in the gaps and crevices and just stay there.
“Is that so?” Berenice muses, but her arms are already snaking around Carla’s neck as the other girl leans down to kiss her.
They do intimacy like they’re fluid in a bottle. They melt into each other so well that if true, they’d seep into the panels in the flooring and they wouldn’t even fucking mind it at all.
A cough is soon heard in the premises of the kitchen and both Carla and Berenice jump away from each other. Carla is first to turn, only to find a smiling Anais and Salome standing by the door of the room.
Of course , she thinks to herself, as she straightens her uniform and almost by reflex moves in front of Berenice to cover her.
“We hate to interrupt this… lovely moment you’re having, but I have a service to lead in an hour and I have to prepare,” Salome explains, tilting her head to see a glimpse of Berenice but Carla protectively blocks her view, much to Anais’ amusement.
Carla knows her two roommates wouldn’t report them (it’s not like they haven’t done lovey-dovey things with their men within the Institute before), so she just curtly nods and grabs Berenice’s hands to guide both of them out of the door. Carla doesn’t miss the smirk that Anais gives her on their way out, one that clearly means she’s up for a truckload of teasing the moment she gets back at their shared house.
She’ll worry about that later, she thinks.
They reach their locker room, and Carla sees that Berenice is still blushing madly. Embarrassed, but frankly not upset. Carla only ever cares about that. Above all, she doesn’t want to put Berenice in a compromising situation that would trigger her social phobia, so this is a good sign and she’s able to breathe a little.
“Do you want to spend the night?” Carla asks as she goes to change to her day clothes (normal, in the sense that it’s her in her typical fashion choice and her funky brooches).
“If I spend one more night at your place, I’m afraid I’m gonna have to share rent,” Berenice replies, “and Constance booked a dinner for us later since I won’t be around for my birthday this weekend.”
Carla laughs, shaking her head. She turns around and finds Berenice admiring her from the other side of the room. Don’t get her wrong, Carla’s always liked it when people regard her with a particular look. She’s always loved the attention, both good and bad. But Berenice’s attention that’s solely reserved for her is tucked in that huge space in her mind. She likes how she could tell the difference in the way Berenice looks at others and looks at her. Souleymane teased her about this before, how she “turns into a puppy” when Berenice is around– far from that Carla who would break someone’s leg if they came across her in a distasteful way, and Carla wonders sometimes if Berenice is aware of this. Aware of this distinction they both have for each other.
“You could ask Constance to pay for your share. Your sister is quite rich.”
“That’s a very subtle way of calling me poor.”
“Well, you can’t name an expensive brand of bag from Italy if it hit you in the face.”
“Finally!” Berenice exclaims mockingly, “something Carla Furiani is better at. Other than being all bark and no bite.”
Carla is about to bite back when she feels her phone beep. Fuck, right . It was a reminder she set from last night.
“I would love to prove you wrong but I have someplace to be.”
“Oh, where? Do you need company?” Berenice offers, picking up her bag.
“It’s okay. Rose wants to see me. I would love to get the lecturing out of the way for the rest of the weekend,” she responds, which was half a lie, honestly. But Berenice doesn’t need to know that yet.
She walks over to where Berenice is and places a kiss on her forehead. She stays in that position for a good three seconds, and she feels and hears Berenice breathe her in.
It’s a need. To always be this close is a need.
“I’ll see you later, okay? Don’t miss me too much,” Carla leaves her with, chuckling as she walks out to the rolling of Berenice’s eyes.
Carla may have embellished the truth once again when she told Berenice that Rose wanted to see her. For starters, it’s the other way around. Which explains why Rose is a bit startled when Carla casually walks inside her office without prior announcement.
“You could have knocked,” Rose comments, putting away the papers piled up on her table.
“I did, it’s your old-age hearing that’s failing you,” Carla reasons, much to Rose’s amusement.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Carla is here for one reason: to get some sensible knocking off from her mother. Don’t get her wrong, she would have loved to avoid this at any moment, but the inner dilemma she’s been cruising through these past few weeks (exactly the fact that she’s figuring out HOW and WHEN to formally ask Berenice to be her girlfriend) was stronger than she initially anticipated. And, she doesn’t really like admitting it, but Rose gives very sensible advice. Truth be told, it’s their talk from two months ago that really pushed Carla over the edge. The reminder that there’s no knowing if there’s no risking.
So here she goes again.
“I need your opinion on something.”
“Oh, okay,” Rose muses, her attention positively piqued, “I’m glad you value my opinion.”
“Please, just– should I just get out then?” Carla hails impatiently, but Rose knows by now it’s half-hearted.
“Is this about you and Berenice?”
The silence and the sigh that followed was enough for Rose to confirm that she was right.
“I wanna make it official with Berenice.”
That’s it. Laid out simply, like a buffet on a long table that’s ripe for the taking.
Rose waits for more, but Carla simply pauses and raises her brow as if expecting her mother to get what she meant with that one sentence.
“Oh… d’accord . I– I thought you guys are already ‘girlfriends’?” Rose comments, causing Carla to squint her eyes and shake her head.
“I don’t know what it was like in your generation, but younger people these days do what they call ‘dating’. It’s when you hang out and figure things out together?,” Carla sarcastically remarks, waving her hands around in impatience as she starts to think that this is a bad idea after all.
“Well, I’m sorry for assuming, but I think many people think the same.”
“You mean people your age?” Carla says in a low mocking tone, but she retracts it with a sigh and a shake of her head, “Look, that’s exactly the point. We do… couple things. We go on dates. We hold hands at the park. We go for dinners just the two of us. I even watch all those… sci-fi things half of which I don’t get most of the time. We kiss. We–”
A bit of silence follows, and Rose sees Carla’s cheek turn from its fair complexion to a bright pink. She hides her smile with her hand, amused and altogether happy that she’s finally seeing this side of Carla who runs to her for love advice.
“We’ve… done it. Quite a number of times actually and each time still feels like… the first? I don’t know.”
Rose clears her throat, still digesting the last information in her head while readjusting herself in her office chair.
“It seems like you’re already sure about this. I actually don’t know what you need me for.”
And that’s when it shows. The hesitation and fear on Carla’s face that’s been swimming just below the surface these past few weeks.
“It’s her birthday this weekend, and I’m taking her to Montpellier for a day and night with just the two of us.”
“And?”
“I think I’ll ask her there.”
“Are you worried she’ll say no?”
Carla laughs but it’s sad and Rose knows she didn’t quite hit the point.
“It’s not about that,” she answers, her eyes cast down on her lap like she’s a little helpless, “But what if– what if I can’t say it? Or say it the way I mean to. Or the way I’m supposed to? I will look ridiculous.”
Rose nods in understanding, now a little more able to see the true concern her daughter is facing. She hasn’t been present long enough in Carla’s life to be able to read every mood and every gesture, but she’s known her long enough to see that only the people that matter most could get her this vulnerable, this unsure of herself on certain things.
Rose reaches out a hand and places it on Carla’s shoulder to get her attention.
“I know she wants to do the same. There have been… moments. I know there were times before where she wanted to ask me but held back. And I know it’s because she thinks I’m not ready yet.”
“Well, are you?”
“More than ready,” Carla says with clarity in her voice.
Rose recalculates the words in her head, mindful to only say the words that she knows Carla needed to hear.
“Two months ago, you took a risk and that made you happy. Who’s to say this one won’t make you happier?”
Carla smiles, her eyes closing for a moment as if she’s happily recalling the kiss she shared with Berenice in her head.
“I don’t… know how to do this . I can’t just kiss her like I did last time and assume she’ll know what’s inside my head,” she says, in a much lighter tone this time.
“I think you’re underestimating the way Berenice sees you, hmm?” Rose comments, and she stares sternly at her daughter’s eyes that somehow reflect part of her own, “I think, whatever way you say or do it, she’ll know because she loves you.”
Carla nods, and she breathes out a sigh of relief through her mouth as if Rose had just said the validation she only ever needed. She gestures around the room with her finger, and Rose knows she’s back to the usual Carla who just has to say something.
“You really should consider a career in counseling. Maybe put a bigger couch in this room for your future patients ? Maybe an espresso machine?”
“I can try, but this one pays well.”
“All that money and you can’t buy better clothes.”
“You’re welcome, Carla.”
Rose laughs, retreating back to her seat as Carla beams at her.
“It’ll be okay, yeah?” she reassures her one last time as her daughter stands, ready to leave.
Carla sends her a warm smile of appreciation, and before she leaves, reaches out to squeeze Rose’s left hand that’s resting on the table.
She could very well say ‘thank you’, but Carla has always been better at expressing things her own way, and Rose, in recent times, is no different to it.
That night, around 12:30 in the morning (because Carla doesn’t want Berenice to think that she waited until midnight to greet her special friend even if that was kind of the truth) Carla sends Berenice a picture of an empty container with a few crumbs of eclair in it. She puts along a short caption,
“It’s your birthday so I’ll let you win this time. Fair play on your eclair.
Happy birthday.”
A message that Carla should have expected to cause Berenice to hit her up with a videochat at 12:39 AM.
“Really, Carla? Just happy birthday?” Berenice says teasingly, and she’s looking all soft and cute in her PJs and it’s driving Carla crazy because she terribly wishes they were together. Physically. So she could pull her in while they’re laying on their bed in the middle of the night and Carla’s in need of a warm snuggle to get back to sleep. So she could bury her face in the natural curls of Berenice’s hair that only comes out at night after she showers. So she could just hold her, kiss her face, and maybe–
Well, that could wait.
They spend about an hour or so just talking on the phone, up until Carla passes out to the sound of Berenice’s record player softly playing in the background.
They agreed to meet the following morning at the station. Carla brings with her a small but packed luggage that Berenice doesn’t even dare question. They take the early morning transit with one stop, and Carla, who typically hates commuting, doesn’t comment about any of the internal struggles she has because Berenice looks so happy and giddy beside her. The exhaustion from the hasty packing she did about a couple of hours ago gets to her, and before she even knows it, she’s sleeping aboard the second ride with her mouth half open– one Berenice takes advantage of by snapping a quick photo before closing her dear friend’s mouth and letting her rest her head on top of hers.
It was still too early to check into their hotel (one that is quite expensive, Berenice notes with eyes wide open but Carla only laughs at), but Carla manages to convince the receptionist to let them leave their luggage securely (if there were a few folded bucks involved, Carla didn’t want to discuss). Before they leave the premises, Carla takes out a small box that’s a little too big for the Italian purse she has, and she just rolls her eyes at Berenice when she squints at her for the suspicious thing in her hands.
“It’s for later, little thing.”
“Don’t call me that, we’re practically the same age as of today?”
“You’re small,” Carla retorts, smirking as she emphasizes her words by leveling a hand on top of Berenice’s head. Berenice scoffs at her, but Carla makes up for it by stroking her face gently, praying that Berenice knows what it means even without saying the words from her mouth.
I adore you , she means to say. Again and again.
Among the things she’s learned about Berenice in the past weeks they’ve been dating is the fact that she’s a huge art and history junkie. She talks about anything medieval like she’s read every single book ever written about it. That’s why their first deal of business from the hotel is to be at the heart of medieval Montpellier– at Place de la Comédie. The weather at this time of the year could be aberrant, with rains and sunny days here and there, but on this very day, the skies seem to have a bit of pity on Carla’s plans. Even Carla who’s been here when she was a kid took the time to look around and appreciate the views and architecture– like being thrown back in time, and Carla even dares to wonder what it would have been like to fall for Berenice back when people still thought everything revolved around the Earth and not the Sun.
Frankly speaking, Carla shouldn’t be surprised at this point, but she still laughs about it in her head because of how opposite they are. Carla likes movement and fluid things, whereas Berenice likes the serene ones. But as they say, some rivers flow to a lake, and that rightfully sums up the way they work. Hand in hand. Like two separate entities that are good apart, but even better together.
They take a few photos– mostly of the views, some together, but Carla does snap a few photos of Berenice though she knows the other woman hates it. It’s also then that Carla remembers the very thing she was carrying. She drags Berenice to a vacant bench on the city square and hands the black box over with a smile on her face.
“Happy birthday.”
“What’s this?” Berenice asks, but she already takes the liberty of carefully opening the box in her hand. To her surprise, there’s a smaller box inside but with an unmissable label on it. She almost freezes there, her eyes wide open as she stares at Carla who just smiles even wider.
“I remember you saying you used to own a film camera that you lost in a tram in Paris just last year,” she explains, regarding Berenice as nonchalantly as she possibly could– to no avail, “I already put a roll in it last night so it’s basically good to go.”
“Carla, this is not cheap at all .”
Carla laughs a little and just shrugs. If physical touch is her first language, gift-giving is practically a close second.
And frankly speaking, she could have bought a more expensive one, but she wasn’t sure if Berenice would be okay with that or if Berenice is adept in film photography or just a hobbyist.
(She finds out much, much later that Berenice is, indeed, very talented in film photography.)
“You happen to have a rich… special friend .”
Carla’s just about to overthink her words but Berenice laughs nonetheless. Whether it’s about the lack of modesty or the fact that she just referred to herself as Berenice’s special friend , she’s unsure yet.
Before she could decide against it, Berenice leans in and places a soft kiss right along Carla’s jaw. Whether she meant for that to be on the cheek or Carla’s lips, Carla doesn’t know, but Berenice’s smile is so warm and her eyes are so bright and Carla realizes then she doesn’t give a fuck about anything else. Berenice is happy, and it’s what matters.
“Thank you,” she says softly, her hand still cradling Carla’s jaw, “I can’t even remember I said that to you.”
“If it’s early dementia, Berenice, that’s a total shame. I was hoping we’d still have a few good years together.”
And the goddamn word vomit just happens. There’s surprise in Berenice’s face, but she masks it right away with a purse of her lips and the characteristic tilting of her head. Carla’s about to retract it with a joke, but Berenice beats her to it.
“I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that for your sake,” she says, but her smile tells Carla she knows she has the upperhand.
Carla tries her best to sustain the eye contact, but she eventually looks away with a blush on her cheeks.
“Lucky for you, I know exactly how to use this camera,” Berenice claims, tinkering on the device in her hand as she adjusts a few settings appropriate to where they are.
To Carla’s surprise, the first shot was right up to her face, just as she was turning back to face Berenice to ask where she wants to go next in the Square.
“Hey, I wasn’t ready for that!”
“You’re never not beautiful,” Berenice reasons with a shrug.
Fuck . Damn Berenice and her beautiful freaking mouth.
“Well, true,” Carla tries to save face, though she’s sure from the teasing look on Berenice’s face that she’s blushing even harder than before, “Now enough of that.”
“Come,” Berenice says, tugging Carla’s arm and dragging her away, “there’s someplace here that I’ve been dying to visit.”
They visit a few more places near the square before finding themselves filled up on olives and seafood early in the afternoon in al fresco stalls at Marché du Lez. Their conversations flowed like a river ‘round a rock– just organically so. Carla proudly tells the kind server at their table that it was Berenice’s birthday, much to the other girl’s embarrassment. The server beams at them and excuses herself, before coming back with a delightfully made cheesecake that Carla somehow found online to be famous in the area. Berenice widely smiles as she takes bite after bite, carefully and correctly guessing the ingredients, and Carla suspects the head chef would get a heart attack if he were to listen to Berenice reveal the secret recipe one ingredient at a time.
They agree to delay their check in for a couple more hours as Carla reveals after lunch that she booked them a two-hour pottery lesson nearby. They walk the long walks hand in hand, and they talk about the subtle difference in the air in the city as compared to the ones they’re used to in Camargue.
They entered a small pottery workshop that didn’t even look like one from the outside except for the old wooden sign above. The owner is a short French man in his sixties, who looked a lot like a smaller version of Teyssier minus the rudeness. There were two more women inside, all looking about the same age as Carla and Berenice. The two head to the counter as Carla logs their booking for the owner to check.
“You reserved for how many, you say?” the old man asked, squinting down at this logbook that’s stained with dried clay.
“For two. Carla and Berenice. I’m with my girlfriend . It should be there,” Carla coolly explains.
The word comes out of her mouth before she even realizes it. And it should be heavy. Carla expected it to be heavy. But it came out of her mouth like air and Carla’s never ever felt so lightweight.
She knows Berenice is staring at her from her side, but she coolly plays it off and treats it just as normally.
Because it’s sinking in now, and instead of confusion, she’s getting clarity.
She looks at Berenice and smiles, grabbing her hand and tugging her along to their designated areas in the workshop. She knows what she said will linger in Berenice’s head, but so far, Berenice’s face looks just as clear as it was moments ago. And if anything, Carla takes that positively.
Maybe that’s all it should take after all.
Ease and normalcy.
It doesn’t bother either of them for the next hour, apart from the glances that she knows Berenice is throwing her way. They go about the lessons like a breeze. Well, at least for Carla who’s done this before when her grandfather was still alive. Berenice, on the other hand, is struggling to keep the structure of her clay intact. Carla laughs dearly but leaves her wheel to go to Berenice and help her out. She holds Berenice’s hands with her own clay-stained ones and guides her how to gently shape her clay.
“I’m posting about this later,” Carla jokes.
“You’re gloating on my misery.”
“You’re the one who said pottery might be fun.”
“I can suck at something and still think it’s fun.”
“Berenice Leblond. Can’t grow a vegetable and can’t shape clay.”
She gets an elbow to her side which causes Carla to land on her butt on the concrete floor, but instead of getting mad, she bursts into laughter and Berenice follows suit (because let’s face it, if it were anyone else, she’d be foaming at the mouth by now).
“You two make a lovely couple,” the old man, Bastien, comments with a smile on his face.
None of them correct him, and Carla looks at Berenice thinking she’d shy away from it, but she doesn’t.
It gives her hope and it warms her up.
“Thank you,” Berenice even says, and she looks behind to meet Carla’s eyes with the very kind of reassurance Carla didn’t know she needed.
They check into their hotel reservation at around 4:30 PM, exhausted but riding the high of Berenice’s special day. They snack on a few fruits Berenice bought at the flea market and limit themselves to just a glass of wine each as they didn’t want to fill up a few hours before dinner. Carla was first to shower (though she first suggested the possibility of them showering together– a suggestion that got a towel flying her way). Shower time is a religious task for Carla, and it’s not surprising that she steps out almost an hour later. What’s even less surprising to her is the passed out frame of Berenice, sleeping soundly on the bed and curled up to a pillow.
Carla smiles softly to herself, enjoying the view more than she should. She very carefully steps out and tries her best not to make any loud sounds in the walk-in closet of the fancy hotel they’re in. she’s startled the next minute, however, when Berenice sluggishly follows her with a robe hanging on her arm.
“Sorry, I fell asleep.”
“It’s alright,” she reassures Berenice, turning around as she clasps on her new bra (which she may have specifically bought for this occasion). She smirks when Berenice turns away, loving the way she still catches her off guard no matter how confident Berenice has grown lately, “You should sleep some more, we won’t be going out for about an hour more for our reservation.”
Berenice just shakes her head and groggily finds her way to the bathroom, much to Carla’s amusement. Unlike Carla who takes forever to finish, Berenice showers much faster and tidily does so. By the time Carla’s done deciding which dress to wear (she may have brought three different dresses that she’s dearly asked housekeeping to tend to as soon as they arrived– and also explains the packed suitcase she dragged into this one night only trip), she comes out to a Berenice who’s already dressed up and putting on her makeup by the vanity. Berenice doesn’t notice her right away, and so Carla gets the chance to drink in the view before her– one that doesn’t come out too often, if she’s honest.
Berenice, hair down, dressed in a burgundy satin dress with a half-slit (a dress that Constance may or may not have chosen for her the moment Berenice told her she’s going out on a birthday date night at a fine-dining restaurant with Carla, because after all, she has the most supportive sister on Earth). Her look is accentuated by the gold necklace and rings she got as gifts from Constance on her 18th birthday last year.
Berenice finally sees her in the reflection just in time as she’s done with her eye makeup (she’s keeping it really simple– thanks to Constance’s advice once again) and she turns around to a gulping figure in a silk brown maxi dress.
“You take a really long time preparing,” Berenice comments, glancing at the clock that’s pointing to 6:45 in the evening.
Carla gulps again, and she doesn’t know why (she does) but her palms are running sweaty and she feels her sight blur with the doubling of her pulse.
“Do I look okay? Is this fancy enough for that restaurant you booked?”, Berenice asks, still with that trace of insecurity and anxiety laced in her voice.
“You’re kidding, right? Have you seen yourself?”
Carla walks over to her and schemes through the purse she’s left on the vanity. She looks for a particular shade of red that would make Berenice’s look pop even further (because there’s no way she’s not flaunting and rubbing it in everyone’s faces that she’s dating this gorgeous woman). She holds Berenice by the chin, gently so, but before she could open the lipstick in her hand, an idea crosses her mind.
“Can I kiss you before I do this?” she asks, because she believes in the value of consent and she wants Berenice to feel safe above all things.
Carla doesn’t let a second pass the moment Berenice nods at her. She kisses her fully on the mouth. Hot. Languid. And it brings with it all the pent up urges from the entire day to pull Berenice in and just kiss her for as long as she possibly could.
It plays well on the list of things that turn Carla on when Berenice bites back a moan against her lips. Carla curses in her head. Curses Berenice. Curses herself and her failing grip, because she can feel Berenice lifting herself on the vanity and that just pushes all the right buttons– and frankly speaking, they might as well just abandon the reservation altogether.
Berenice seems to be the first one to catch up to her senses, because next thing Carla knows, there’s a hand on her chest gently tapping and telling her to slow down before things could escalate any further. They part and they struggle to catch their breaths, and the moment is just so raw but so amusing that they both end up laughing at themselves for almost losing it.
“That went on a little further than intended,” Carla says, wiping her thumb across Berenice’s lower lip to dry it up (thank God she did this before they applied any lipstick because no no-smudge feature would have sufficed).
“That’s okay,” Berenice reassures her, her hands flying up to fix Carla’s hair that she desperately held onto just a minute ago.
She goes on to help Berenice with her lipstick before applying her own makeup to catch up on lost time– time she didn’t regret losing anyway.
They both leave the hotel at 7:15, and they arrive at Leclère just in time for their reservation. Carla booked their table two weeks before Berenice’s birthday, much to Berenice’s protest because this is a Michelin-starred restaurant and everything in it is beyond a normal college student’s financial capability. She only got Berenice’s approval when she agreed to split the tab (equality, after all), and without further ado, they were sat in a lovely corner with a lovely view of the open cuisine setting of the restaurant. They silently discuss amongst themselves the subtle and loud intricacies of the place. And it’s then that Carla’s grown more sure of Berenice’s understated sophistication in her soul. She blends in quite gracefully– and though it’s telling of Berenice’s background (one they’re yet to delve into), it also speaks of her comfort in Carla’s presence. Because the old Berenice would shake in an environment that’s not her comfort zone. But this version of hers, sophisticatedly assertive even in silence and more confident in her own skin, is a refreshing sight that Carla could surely get drunk on. She doesn’t want any credit for it. This is 100% Berenice Leblond in her elevated element.
They go on a six-course meal paired with really good champagne that Carla let Berenice pick specifically. They talk about the food and service, and it’s amazing to Carla just how the most mundane details that they encounter on a daily basis at the Institute still strike Berenice as interesting and noteworthy. It reflects how they are, honestly. How Berenice notices the small things and Carla’s quite the “bigger picture” kind of person. Just a good example of how well they fit, like jigsaw pieces that make so much more sense when put together.
They leave the premises at around nine in the evening. The night is still young, and the outside of the restaurant is booming with life with bars and cafes still running services until late. Carla is thankful that they both decided to bring coats, as the temperature has plummeted and the weather is rather chilly. They walk in silence, minus the exchange of checking up on each other every five minutes. Berenice’s hand is soft and comfortably clasping hers, and Carla unconsciously finds herself lazily rubbing a thumb against the backside of Berenice’s palm.
They eventually reach an open bar setup at Marché du Lez, where numerous patrons sit on vacant chairs and even the cobblestones as they sing along to acoustic music played by a local band that Carla couldn’t recognize. Berenice gestures for them to come rest on an empty bench at the backmost part of the place, surrounded by fewer people than the much louder premises upfront.
Berenice hums to the tune of the song playing, and Carla silently regards her. Her eyes dart on Berenice’s lips that mutter silent words to the music, her perfectly chiseled nose, her long eyelids. Even in the dark, she sees– more like memorizes– the moles and freckles that line Berenice’s face.
She’s perfect. So perfect that Carla’s positively feeling her throat run dry at the sight before her.
She’s so in love, and for once, Carla could admit that she loves that she’s in love.
The band in front starts playing slow songs, and a number of patrons– particularly couples– slow dance to the beat with their bodies. Carla sees the smile forming on Berenice’s face, like Berenice loves that she’s witnessing love in all forms take up shape before her.
“Wanna dance along?” Carla asks as soon as she hears a familiar acoustic guitar rendition of a James Bay’s song emanating from the huge speakers of the Marché.
“What?” Berenice looks at her in disbelief, “you know I can’t dance.”
“Me neither. And half the people here can’t recognize a tune as well. What’s there to lose?”
“Dignity, maybe?”
“Hey,” she muses, making Berenice’s body turn to face her with a tug on her arm, “I’m 99% sure no one knows us here,” she adds, smiling. “And I really like this song.”
She doesn’t, because Carla doesn’t even listen to slow songs other than for the purpose of making herself sleep, but she’s seen it in Berenice’s playlists and frankly speaking, Berenice makes her want to do ridiculous things.
And if dancing with Berenice in the midst of strangers with lots to say and none to lose is one of them, Carla would forget the world if she needed to.
“I like this song, too,” Berenice says with a smile, and she surrenders to the positively claustrophobic hold of Carla’s blue eyes, “Fine.”
Lose a little guard, let it down
We don’t have to think it through
We’ve got to let go
It starts off awkwardly, as anyone with eyes would suspect, and after a few seconds of laughing at their hopeless selves, the magnetic pull of their bodies naturally brings them closer. Berenice snakes her arms around Carla’s neck, just as the other girl places her hands on Berenice’s waist. Carla gives her a little smile which Berenice shyly returns, and next thing they know, they’re swaying without a care in the world.
I wanna go where the lights burn low and you’re only mine
I wanna give you wild love
“I love you,” Berenice says breathlessly, and while it used to catch Carla off-guard, there’s only ease akin to drunken sensibility left in her tongue these days.
“I love you,” she echoes without hesitation, her eyes closing in reverie.
“How... How you referred to me in the workshop…” Berenice starts again, prompting Carla to open her eyes. There’s traces of uncertainty in Berenice’s eyes, but what surfaces the most is hope, “did you mean it?”
Let’s leave the atmosphere, disappear
There’s always something left to lose
But I wanna give you wild love
Carla feels it then. Sees the truth of Rose’s words unfold before her eyes.
She realizes she didn’t really mind risking a little more.
“Would you mind if I said yes?” Carla asks, though she already knows the answer.
Her hands have minds of their own, and she catches herself drawing soothing circles on Berenice’s backside.
Let’s be reckless, unaffected
Running out until we’re breathless
Let’s be hopeful, don’t get broken
And stay caught up in the moment
Berenice simply answers with a shake of her head, but she completes it with a gentle kiss on Carla’s lips.
And while the song has ended already and the crowd has long moved on to another, Carla and Berenice remained and swayed their bodies to the beat in their heads.
They could do this for a long time, they both think.
.