Chapter Text
“Where did I put my–”
“Right front pocket of your suitcase.”
“And my–”
“Packed with your toiletries.”
“But what about the–”
“In your laptop bag.”
“Right, right,” she mutters, and Cereza watches with exasperated fondness as she flits about the apartment, rushed and scattered and oh so very Jeanne.
“You might try relaxing. I could brew some tea?”
“No time. I have to make sure I have everything.” Cereza suppresses a long suffering sigh. She had done all the packing and she's quite confident she’d not missed anything on Jeanne’s lengthy and convoluted list. “Or else the entire trip will be wasted.”
“Is the conference center not downtown? If you did forget something, you could just sneak out and get a replacement.”
“Impossible. My schedule is so packed I’ll scarcely have time to breathe, let alone eat or sleep or transcribe my notes…speaking of time, where is that imbecile? He should be here by now. If he makes me late, I swear to Sheba–”
“Play nice,” Cereza chides, ignoring Jeanne's eyeroll. "That imbecile happens to be my friend, and your work partner for this thing. I won’t have you biting his head off before the trip has even begun.”
“I won’t have to if he follows simple directions for the week.”
Cereza feels a pang in her chest, and presses gentle fingertips to her witch watch. Jeanne and Luka, both gone for the week, her lover and best friend trapezing around the west coast for some journalism conference while she is stuck at home. They’d won an award for their joint papers on Umbran and Lumen history preservation, and she’s happy for them of course, but still slightly dreading the quiet and boredom that will no doubt pervade in their absence.
She can always bother Rodin and Enzo, at least. The thought is greatly comforting.
A familiar horn sounds from the street, and Jeanne mutters as she makes her way to the door to get her bags and depart. Cereza, admittedly, is a bit miffed at the lackluster goodbye. But Jeanne makes the mistake of crossing in front of her, allowing her to pounce on easy prey. A simple thrown ankle sends Jeanne toppling into her waiting arms, the silk of her dress shirt wrinkling as she is pulled to Cereza’s chest.
“Cereza, I don’t have time for your games–”
“We haven’t been apart since I woke you up in Inferno,” Cereza says with a false air of casualness, “I think I am going to miss you, Jeanne.”
She enunciates each syllable slowly, running warm palms up the center of the platinum witch’s back. She can feel the muscles slowly loosen. Jeanne sighs and settles herself more comfortably in her lap.
“It’ll only be a week.”
“An eternity,” Cereza corrects with a dramatic sigh of her own, nuzzling into her neck. She smells of cinnamon today, and Cereza recognizes it as her own perfume. Perhaps Jeanne was going to miss her more than she let on. Her scent on Jeanne’s skin warms her in the pit of her belly – if only they had more time!
She places a single fingertip beneath Jeanne’s chin to tilt her head up. Jeanne’s eyes are soft, like molten steel, and she brings calloused palms to cup Cereza’s warming cheeks.
The kiss is unfathomably tender, even for them. If Jeanne notices her engaging Witch Time to stretch the moment, she refrains from comment.
“I love you, Cereza,” Jeanne murmurs, pulling away to brush the pad of her thumb over the curve of her jaw.
“I know, darling.”
The horn sounds again, breaking their reverie. Luka’s voice, hollering about boarding times and nonrefundable tickets, is thankfully muffled by the door. They both roll their eyes this time.
“Go on, then. Don’t keep Cheshire waiting.”
Jeanne extracts herself with notable reluctance and makes her way to leave, but hesitates with her hand on the doorknob.
Then, with a huff, she turns and marches back to Cereza, pressing firm kisses to her brow, her cheek, the corner of her lips. Her gaze is so intense Cereza can feel her cheeks coloring, pink rising on her skin like pale roses in a field of lilies.
“No time with you is ever enough, after all our years apart,” Jeanne confesses, and Cereza can feel the tears welling in her eyes – luckily, she is saved from that mortification by Luka’s incessant ringing of the apartment buzzer. Jeanne scowls, devastatingly gorgeous, and gives her one last kiss before tromping out the door, muttering obscenities all the while.
She watches them drive off from the window, fingers pressed to her lips and smiling until it aches.