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Cordelia was watching television, and Misty was watching Cordelia.
As much as Misty had assimilated into life in New Orleans, life in a real house, life with other people, there were still a few things she had never quite gotten accustomed to.
She still couldn’t stand the sound of a cell phone buzzing on granite, so of course Madison made it her personal goal to text anyone who left their phone on the kitchen counter. She didn’t like the way the orange glow of the streetlights spilled into her window, keeping her awake at night, so Cordelia had bought her blackout curtains to keep the night dark. Sometimes she thought she’d choke on the smell of cigarettes that Fiona, Madison, and sometimes Zoe smoked constantly throughout the day, so she spent plenty of time in the greenhouse where the air felt clearer and the atmosphere seemed less suffocating.
But the one thing she hadn’t really decided whether or not she liked or wanted to avoid was television. The other girls watched Netflix on their laptops in their beds, so the television in the living room was always free.
She and Cordelia had fallen into a routine of watching together after everyone else had gone to bed, and she had no idea if it was the same show each night or even the same episode. All she knew was that she was grateful for the white noise, and for the colours dancing across Cordelia’s face in the darkness.
Cordelia looked so peaceful for those precious hours- no, not peaceful- she looked far away. Free from all the pressures and distractions of the daytime, Cordelia was allowed to relax, to escape into whatever world she experienced through that screen.
Her face would change every so often, sometimes with a laugh, sometimes with a grimace, and Misty would hear the faint difference in the backing music that matched her expression. At the same time that Misty wanted to know what she saw that made her seem so remote and calm, she was much more transfixed by the brown and blue in her eyes, the curve in her nose, the planes of her cheeks, and the gentle waves of her hair.
Without thinking, she leaned forward to nuzzle into Cordelia’s neck, and was received with a “Misty, are you even paying attention?” and a gentle, caressing hand.
“Hmm,” Misty hummed, closing her eyes and snuggling closer, “what’re we watchin’ again?”
“Game of Thrones,” Cordelia answered, letting out a giggle when Misty planted a kiss above her collarbone.
Sighing in response, Misty trailed kisses up Cordelia’s neck until she lingered on her jawline, and Cordelia blinked sluggishly and pawed around for the remote. The younger witch slowly rotated the headmistress until she was lying on her back on the couch, and finally connected their lips in a tender kiss.
“Misty,” Cordelia mumbled between kisses, still searching for the remote, “you have to let me pause it or I’ll never know what’s happening.”
“Okay,” Misty whispered, “and then can we go to bed? I’m tired.”
The hint of a childish pout in her last statement elicited a chuckle from Cordelia, who, with one more peck, answered, “of course, baby,” and switched off the TV.
Exhaustedly, Misty hiked up the stairs and down the long hallway to she and Cordelia’s bedroom, where she crawled under the covers immediately to wait. Not long afterwards, Cordelia slid in beside her, and she rolled over to wrap her arms around her waist and tuck her head beneath her chin.
Even though she stood a good two inches taller than Cordelia and had exhibited far more magical prowess, she still felt small and vulnerable after what had happened to make her seek shelter with the coven, and preferred to be the protected rather than the protector.
True enough, she’d never hesitate to be the one to protect Cordelia and her coven- well, most of her coven- by any means necessary, but in these moments late at night, there was no cause for alarm, no reason to be on guard, no call to be the witch who had survived the flames. She could just be Misty Day.
As Cordelia wrapped her arms possessively, yet delicately, around the younger witch, she whispered, “goodnight, Misty. I love you.”
“I love you too,” Misty answered, feeling herself drawing closer and closer to slumber.
Before she could drift off, however, one thing still nagged her: even if she didn’t know if she liked television yet, she knew that she loved Cordelia, and shouldn’t she share in that experience with her? Shouldn’t she pay more attention to the things that Cordelia liked and needed, like Cordelia did for her?
Sleepily, she drawled out, “Delia? Can you tell me what’s happened so far on your show?”
Too tired to really wait out the answer, Misty fell asleep to the sound of an exhausted, but amused, “oh, god”.