Work Text:
Layla is already slumped over a table in the corner when Yanfei swings the door open, letting cold gusts of wind flow into the coffee shop.
She spots her before then, sneaking glances through the window as she crosses the road; slippery with sludge, a danger sign in the dark of midnight. The cold ghosts at her throat, her lashes. Tries to slip in through the coat she's wearing, her boots and gloves. Mostly fails. (Yanfei can admit that she goes for class over comfort on occasion, but what else is she to do? She has a lady to impress.)
As she crosses the street, her eyes are drawn towards the silhouette. There she waits, the girl behind the glass. Her girl behind the glass.
Her breaths whisk into pale-white smoke.
Yanfei swings the door open, and her senses are lulled into familiar bliss. Cinnamon, roasted coffee beans, silky-sweet herbal tea: the scents are condensed in the little shop, wrapping her up in mellow warmth. The bell jingles when the door falls shut behind her. Yanfei tugs off her gloves and turns towards the table to her left.
There she is, her heart sings. There's our girl.
Layla has a palm over her mouth, stifling what Yanfei knows to be a yawn. She blinks sluggishly, raising her gaze, lilac bags under her eyes; lips curling up into a sleepy smile at the sight of her girlfriend, cheeks flushed pink from the November cold, grinning like a dragon with its sights set on a pile of gold. Yanfei walks towards her, setting her leather bag down on the table. It thuds, in the silence of the shop.
"Hi, sleepy girl," she teases. Takes a seat before her hand goes to cup her lover's cheek, warm skin against the dip of her cool palm. Layla shivers, but doesn't pull away. "Still awake?"
"Mhm…" She blinks, leans into her girlfriend's touch. Yanfei thinks her a rabbit, burrowing itself into the sun-warmed ground. "I mean, I don't have a choice."
"True…"
Layla's fingers come to cradle her hand, bringing it to the seam of her lips; and Yanfei's heart beats hotly when she presses them against her fingertips, lets the warmth of her breath heat them up. She's touchier than most people assume, but Yanfei isn't most people, she's her partner, knows her like the back of her own hand.
Still, her heartbeat sputters.
"Hi." Layla whispers. Smiling. "Thank you for coming, baby."
"… Of course." When her palm is let free— her veins crying out at the loss of contact comfort— Yanfei takes off her coat and drapes it over the chair. Around her nack dangles a silver necklace, a moon-blue jewel at its center. Layla has the other half, its jewel sun-citrine. Yanfei insisted. Call her cliche, but she likes the world knowing they belong together. "I wouldn't let you study all alone, silly."
"At midnight, though…?"
"Even at midnight. Especially at midnight." She cocks a brow. "I'm not letting my girl walk home alone, hello?"
Layla's gaze flicks down to the glow of her laptop's screen, her side of the table cluttered in papers. She hums, acknowledging. Yanfei knows her— knows her better than anyone else, so she knows the loss of eye contact to be a byproduct of shyness. "I don't want you to worry," she mutters, mostly to herself. "The dorms are close."
"It's a matter of principle, though." She searches for her gaze, amber-lit, doesn't find it. "I like looking after you, Layla."
A moment's pause. "I know. It's just…"
She struggles to find the words.
"… Embarrassing?" Yanfei offers, tilting her head with a teasing smile. Layla exhales, short and breathy, half-way to a laugh.
"Kind of. You act so dashing sometimes, it's just…" She shakes her head, soft curls swaying with the motion. "Sorry. We should probably start. Do you want to order anything?"
"Mhm. Should I get something for you too?" Yanfei eyes the empty cup on the table. Layla glances at it, then up at her girlfriend.
"Is that okay?"
"Always." Her answer comes easy. She wants to pinch her cheek and call her silly, so silly for asking, don't you know there's nothing I won't do for you? But instead she stretches her arms above her head and says, "Let me guess. Honey lavender matcha?"
Layla smiles a tired smile. There's fondness in her eyes, watered at the roots.
"Yeah."
So Yanfei orders just that. A tall glass of honey lavender matcha with plenty of ice, cold enough to keep a certain sleepyhead wide awake, and a steaming cup of darjeeling tea for herself; she adds a sweet taro bun and a veggie sandwich, because knowing her girlfriend she hasn't exactly been meal prepping for this study session. Which is just fine, Yanfei doesn't mind. Truly wouldn't mind doing anything for her.
The lights are dim inside the café, mellow orange lighting. It makes for a soothing atmosphere. Something slow and waltz-like plays from behind the counter.
Yanfei stands and waits. Closes her eyes, for a moment. Takes it all in with her senses. The scent of lavender blooming in the open air, the sound of hot water coming to a boiling point. Further away, in some corner of the store; sleepy, murmured chit-chat. The world is on the cusp of sleep. If she looked outside the rain-slicked windows, she'd see only a handful of golden lights from the apartments above.
Her heart is quiet. Lulled to rest.
Layla looks exhausted, she thinks, when she makes her way back to their table. Not just the eyebags, but the way she's sitting, wrists rubbing at her eyes as if to clean up the fatigue. It makes her chest ache, but Yanfei knows there isn't much she can do. With the amount of work Layla is expected to show, with her stubborn, scholarly, all-too charming determination— it's really a wonder she doesn't sleep less. Yanfei knows, but that doesn't mean she can't worry. She puts their drinks down on the table, two quiet clinks. Lets the baked goods fall from where the paper bags are squeezed between her arm and midriff.
When she takes her seat, she makes sure her voice is bright. Hopes her eyes are shining with even half the starlight that clouds the girl's across from her.
"Alright, then. Let's get to work!"
That they do.
With Layla, it's easy to fall into routine. Yanfei is fond of patterns: the kind that come easy, making space for the right pieces to fall into place. She enjoys her girlfriend's company for many reasons, but even before they were dating they had this. Whether it be meeting in the crowded library of their uni or sneaking glances at each other from across this very coffee shop, their eventual study not-dates, totally-actually-dates— they work well together. They both value quiet, peace of mind when they work, as well as the freedom to bounce their thoughts against one another. There's a silent, near ritualistic rhythm to the way they do this. Layla, with her laptop, star-charts, her gruelling thesis— a copy of Book of Generalities of Astronomy and Bases of Celestial Motions neatly tucked away at the table's very edge— and Yanfei with her thoroughly highlighted notebook, overflowing with reference points and case studies, her thick law books and judicial files. Layla's rapid typing, Yanfei's steady flipping through page after page. It creates a cacophony of noises that doesn't dull either of their senses.
It motivates them.
(I want to do good, since you're watching.
I want to succeed, so you'll praise me.
I want to do right by you in all ways.)
There is no other way to study. Not when there's this.
Yanfei leans back in her chair and reaches for her cup. Warmth buzzes at her fingertips, a contrast to the foggy windows, the taste of earthy tea leaves blooming on her tongue. It spreads hotly in her chest. She takes a moment to gaze at her girlfriend when she's too focused to notice: Yanfei wants to admire her without being caught. Thread her image into the nerve-endings behind her eyes, spanning the starry expanse of her face, from the dip of her cupid's bow when she's lost in thought to the gentle furrow of her brows, cornflower curls swaying like rustled starlight when she slumps the fat of her cheek against the heel of her palm. It makes her look like a disgruntled hamster. Yanfei's fingertips twitch with something devastating, the urge to reach— what she imagines is the plight of all astro-physicists.
Who wouldn't like to hold a star?
Amber jumps out at her, liquid gold. Layla meets her stare.
Yanfei blinks. Knows she should smile, or look away, or say something romantic, something like Sorry, it's just so hard not to get lost in you. Which is true. Which is locked up beneath her tongue. She doesn't want to leave this moment, not when her heart feels so at peace, and her girlfriend is just So. Damn. Pretty.
"Are you okay? Did you fall asleep?" Layla tilts her head, nose scrunching up in thought. She holds her palm up in front of Yanfei's face, sways it side to side. Yanfei follows it, absently. "Err, should we stop? Do you want to go back?"
"… No, I'm good."
"Are you sure? You look tired…"
"Not more than you." Yanfei sighs, lifting her hand to thread their fingers together. She gives her palm a squeeze. "It's just nice. Being here with you, baby."
Layla's cheeks bloom a beautiful pink: Yanfei thinks of carnations, of bleeding hearts and paper lanterns floating up into the sky. Score.
"Is it really?" She asks, quietly. "It's helpful to you?"
"That too." Yanfei nods. "But, I mean— it's nice just to sit with you. I've been so busy lately, you know, so I worry. Well, I know you've been busy too…" She chuckles, though it's dry with humour. Being a workaholic was a lot easier back when she didn't have to see what it does to a person, to the person she loves, lilac smudges and sleepless nights. "What I mean is, there's no place I'd rather be right now."
Another squeeze. There's a flame-toothed gleam to her smile, something sleepy with delight.
"Honestly."
Layla stares. Eyelashes fluttering haphazardly, like curtains flimsily drawn shut.
After a moment, she squeezes back.
"Me neither." Her voice is honest. "I'm always happy when I'm with you, Yanfei."
The words are soft-spoken. But they're heavy, they sear, tear and fray at the corners of Yanfei's heart. She wants to cup her face and kiss her silly, buy her a house with pale-blue wallpaper, sit with her like this and bring her matcha after matcha, just the way she likes them. Layla is a star, the star, all-too weightless in the way she says it; like it's just another star chart's worth of coordinates. Xuanwu, she remembers Layla telling her, is one of the four symbols of the Chinese star system. Each one represents a cardinal direction. Xuanwu points North. It's a tortoise, but it's all tangled up with a snake, see? Her eyes, aglow with wonder. Her smile soft. I like it the best.
Since they have each other, I'm sure they're never lonely.
… Well, err, they don't look too happy in this illustration— but it's all just artistic liberty, you know? They could be friends. They're both reptiles, so… Yanfei, don't laugh!
"… Good," Yanfei exhales, ears simmering with heat. She untangles their fingers, trying not to wince at the sudden lack of warmth. "We're even, then."
Layla smiles.
They don't speak much after that. Traded glances, absent questions, sure, but mostly they're silent. Writing. Brainstorming. They don't stop until the coffee shop closes, at the cusp of 2 AM: the pair pack up their notes and notebooks, stuff it into their bags, stretch out their arms and legs before heading outside. The air is wet, cold. Sticks to the exposed skin it reaches. Above their bodies are thousands of flickering stars, like holes needle-torn into the veil of midnight, letting light leak through. Everything is dark, the sky, the streets. They watch it side by side.
A yawn tumbles through Yanfei's throat; she covers her lips with the flat of her palm. Before they cross the street, she links their arms together.
"C'mon, little lady." She smiles at Layla, eyes fond. "Let's get you home."
Layla's blinks are slow, her head swaying with a half-nod. She presses closer to Yanfei as they wade across the street, red-tailed carlights gleaming in the distance, their coats brushing against each other with every step.
Home is a big word, Yanfei thinks. It burns her throat.
"Want you to stay over," Layla exhales, a snow-white breath. "Please?"
She must be on the cusp of falling asleep now, because there's no other time when she's this openly needy. Yanfei can't complain. "I was hoping to." They make a turn, boots clicking against the slippery side-walk. "I'll make you breakfast in the morning."
Layla laughs, then, but it's a breathy thing— scattering into the night and breaking into breeze-stolen bits. Terribly precious. She lets her head slump against her girlfriend's shoulder, her voice a teasing, sleepy croon: "You're so wifey."
Yanfei laughs, too. Delirious with fatigue. "Wifey?"
"Mhm." The girl on her shoulder makes herself comfortable, curls against her like a hedgehog seeking shelter from the cold. "Wifey. My wife."
Yanfei swallows.
If stars could talk, they'd laugh at her.
"Someday," she huffs, but she can't stop smiling, grin too heavy for her lips to bear. She feels like the sun, like something self-destructive, something that'd explode if left unattended to. She feels star-bound, a meteorite. "Wives."
(Someday, someday. It's the hope that keeps her going. Someday Yanfei will have made it, will have the authority to rewrite the rules around them both: won't have to wait for change. Someday, the law will be kinder.
She believes this without question.)
"Someday," Layla agrees. The word lingers in the air.
Yanfei holds her tighter.