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Even though Grace will never admit it out loud, she knows she is a cuddler. The physical contact of having another person near you, holding your form, soothes her to a degree it almost scares her a little. The soothing press of fingers gliding through her hair, the warm tingly feeling in her chest that blooms when she feels a smile pressed into her shoulder, the involuntary shiver that comes with a hand tracing circles into her back; she loves it all.
Grace remembers one of the various moments that sparked the gigantic crush she had – or has – on Freddie. It was during tenth grade and she was struggling with the pressure of midterms and her own mental health, and ended up breaking down in the school bathroom. The panic that filled her throat as she stumbled and tripped over her own breath was horrifying. The blurriness of her vision, her racing mind that she couldn’t quiet; she was freaking the fuck out.
But it was the noise of her phone buzzing against the tiled floor that broke her partially out of the trance she was in. The two tone vibration that pierced through the silence of the stall and the gasping that was her breath. She remembers grabbing her phone out of her pocket with her shaky hands and swiping open to reveal the concerned messages of her best friend, asking where she was, what she was doing, if she was okay.
Grace remembers the hesitancy of her thoughts in that moment. The option to close off like she’s used to, to hide away from her and pull up the fallen down walls of her heart herself; deal with it alone like she's done all of these years. Or to open. To finally accept the offer both of them gave to each other all those years ago when they both agreed they’d be there for the other if they needed anything. To ask for help.
And in that moment, she felt the panic override the controls of her own brain. Fear overwhelming her detest for embarrassment. The shiver of her fingers as she typed out a message. A bathroom stall and dyspnea, just a mess of letters typed into a keyboard clumped together that made up her cry for help.
And she remembers the concern thick in Freddie’s voice as she called out to her as she walked in, a soft knock on the door of the stall she shut herself into. The reach of her arm, hand trembling as she unlocked the door. And that look in her eyes, the flowing worry off of her face just made her break even further. How Freddie wrapped her up in her arms on the floor as she sobbed. Her knees pressed into the tile with her hand on the back of her neck, as she whispered comfort into her ears. And how she was so gentle with her, and how she continues to be so, so gentle with her, throughout everything they’ve been through together.
So as she lays here on their couch, breathing in the scent of the candle that flickers and dances on the shelf that houses their collectibles over the years, Grace smiles. There are photos adorning the walls that project their journeys they’ve taken, the bowls in the sink from the meals they’ve shared together, the scent of Freddie’s body wash and perfume still lingering on the cushions.
Grace feels loved;
and it's not an uncommon thing she thinks nowadays. The mornings, which were normally spent grumbling about the light in her eyes at the wink of dawn and moaning about how she could hear every noise outside, are now dotted with forehead kisses and an arm wrapped around her waist and the whispered voice of her girlfriend. Even though the noise of morning traffic never left and the sun still shines in her face with the rise of the sun, she now spends it sipping coffee in bed and listening to Farishta ramble about whatever.
Grace wouldn’t have this any other way.
“Hey.”
Coming back down to Earth, out of her thoughts, Grace looks up at the source of the voice. Freddie smiles, her hair flowing down as she leans over the top of the couch to really look at her, — she’s done that since childhood, it’s always been one of Grace’s favorite quirks of hers — and her eyebrow tilts as she hums, “You alright? Ya seem pretty deep in thought there.”
“Just thinking.”
“Hopefully good things, aye.”
“With you?” —Leaning up to kiss her, Grace smiles into her lips— “Always.”