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Quintagon lay curled on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Her shoulders felt heavy, the day pressing down on her like a weight she couldn’t shake. The door creaked open, and Marcle slipped inside quietly, immediately sensing the gloom in the room.
Without saying a word, Marcle climbed onto the bed and slid beside Quintagon, wrapping an arm gently around her waist. “Bad day?” she asked softly.
Quintagon only nodded, her throat tight.
Marcle pressed a kiss against Quintagon’s hair. “Then let me take care of you.”
She turned Quintagon toward her, cupping her face with warm hands. For a long moment, she just looked at her — eyes steady, full of care — before leaning in to kiss her lips, soft and unhurried. Quintagon responded slowly, but when she did, her body seemed to loosen, as if melting into the warmth of it.
The kiss deepened, Marcle’s thumb stroking along Quintagon’s cheek while their mouths moved together in an easy rhythm. Quintagon let out a faint sigh against her lips, pulling Marcle closer, clutching at her shirt as though needing to hold on.
Their kisses grew longer, sweeter, filling the room with nothing but the sound of soft breaths and the rain against the glass. Marcle gently pushed Quintagon back into the pillows, hovering over her, her hair brushing Quintagon’s cheek. She kissed her again, slower this time, savoring it.
When they finally broke apart, Quintagon’s lips were slightly swollen, her cheeks flushed, but her eyes were softer than before. She whispered, almost in disbelief, “You make everything feel lighter.”
Marcle smiled and kissed her forehead. “That’s because I love you.”
And in the quiet glow of the bedroom, tangled together, the world outside no longer mattered.