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If anyone was to come up to Zani and ask her to describe how she's been feeling for the past two hours, she supposes she could come up with a few words.
She'd been a mess at the start, a bundle of teetering nerves in the shape of a six-feet-tall woman walking back and forth Ragunna's busybody central of a plaza. Someone like her did not normally have the privilege to worry—anxiety long having been stripped out from her arsenal of emotions ever since she donned the gold-plated pocket watch by her right and the emblem of the Montellis on her left—but the situation she'd been in wasn't normal, not even in the slightest, and isn't that how troublesome problems normally start?
(Well, then again, the term 'troublesome problem' feels too much—too overwhelming, even. A dramatic, over-the-top way to describe an outing that a good chunk of Ragunnesi would have gone through at least ten times or more by the time they'd reached the ripe age of twenty or so.
Troublesome problem, romantic appointment, something she really should have found herself doing at least once before she hit the age of twenty-five three years ago, but unable to no thanks to all her long hours at work. It doesn't matter what Zani decides to call it at the end of the day. If she was forced at gunpoint—and she feels like her Ladyship might actually do so tomorrow, on her next business day—to use a most simplified word to describe her outing today, there would only be one word that would come to mind.
A date. No more, no less. Distilled into one, singular word, with just one syllable in its four letters—and yet the word 'date' held so much weight on her shoulders that she could barely even splutter it out two days ago, in the middle of her lunch with her terminal right next to her ear.
Just… a date.
[I know we both have quite the busy schedules—she remember saying, chewing on a half-eaten sandwich as blood rushed into her ears—but I think it's been rather long since we've met. You have your duties with the Cathedral; that I know. I've been preoccupied with my responsibilities at the Vault as well, and I wouldn't want to burden you any more than the world and its lovely inhabitants have thus far, but…
Zani had taken a breath to steady herself, thumbs twiddling along the grains of her fingers. The heat on her ears was starting to feel tangible, key-shaped earring swaying lightly with the air as her mouth opened once more. Her next statements rush out without much halt.
The last time we did meet… you mentioned that you had feelings for me, no? But you ran off so quickly right after that I had to pinch myself to wonder if I was dreaming, and it was only after ten relentless trysts on both sides of my face and twice on my arm for safe measures that I'd convinced myself your confession was real, and that I wasn't dreaming.
Even now, as I'm saying this to you, I don't know what was in your head when you decided to run—no, no. Please, don't apologize. You did not wrong me in the slightest, bella. I don't think I'd have known what to say either, back then. What? That's surprising, you say? Oh, you don't even know how long I stayed still blushing like an midwit after you left.
…Yes, I timed it. Ten minutes, at least.
Nevermind that—there's still a lot I have to learn too regarding these things, about romantics and the like, even though I'm sure you see me as a reliable and dependable person in every meaning of the word—but if there's anything I'm sure that I do know, it's that I'd like to court you if you'll have me… stubborness and overworking tendencies and all.
What I'm trying to say is, Miss Priestess—I like you a lot as well. Romantically, that is.
So, will you go out on a date with me?]
Gosh. If Carlotta just knew about how red she'd been that day, even after her intended's equally shy acceptance, tail trashing around and all, Zani's almost sure she would never have heard the end of it. She did say that Zani should take a break, for awhile. If she knew of this, she'd probably even insist on the break. )
She's not so worried anymore, now, the anxiety that once plagued her entire mind having been chipped away slowly as their date went on; bit by bit, step by step—all that's left coursing through her body now is a solemn type of courage. A courage that leaves Zani's hands no longer jittery as they walk together side-by-side through the Order's sacred grounds. Even with the cold, nighttime Ragunna air piercing through her charcoal colored gloves.
And it's that same courage, Zani thinks, that opens her mouth next.
"May I hold your hand, Phoebe?"
Phoebe blinks, slowly. It's apparent in the way how she nearly stopped in her steps that she's confused, her rate of two steps per second slowing down to one-and-a-half for a brief moment, before returning to the former pace soon after.
Phoebe doesn't shy away with her hand, but she doesn't inch it closer either. Instead, she offers a question of her own.
"Why are you asking?"
And that's a fair inquiry on Phoebe's part, in all honesty—why was she questioning her, anyways? She's fairly sure that most people wouldn't even bother asking such a silly question. They would've gone straight to the point, held their date's hand without wasting a breath, and all would've been fine. It certainly would not have been the end of the world, even though having someone like Phoebe Marino cast a disappointed gaze towards her direction would also certainly feel like the end of the world.
Funnily enough, facing such an all-powerful deity like Leviathan back then did not strike this level of anxiety in her heart.
Nevertheless.
Phoebe must be waiting for an answer. It would be impolite of her to keep her waiting, and so her mouth opens.
"I didn't want to make you uncomfortable." Zani says first, as she feels her tail slowly whipping around from the slightness of unease, "I know you tend to keep your distance from most people unless it's to bless someone from your congregation, that much I've also noticed about you." Does that sound a little stalker-ish? She hopes not. "I wouldn't want to impose anything on you as well, since this is our first…"
It's here that Zani pauses for a moment, throat going inexplicably dry. She gulps before finishing her awfully drawn out explanation with a simple, meager: "…date."
Even with its simplicity, the words is still so difficult to say even now, even though the past two hours could be seen as nothing but a date. They'd agreed to it as such in their phone call and yet, here she is.
It isn't even a word that rarely comes in her daily life. The word date had many uses in the office, too. Date, like the edible sweet fruit that the Montellis often supply to their workers every other week as an healthy and nutritious snack; date, as in the day of the month specified through a number, stamped on every document for the accounting department to do their due diligence through future verifications. It had a good amount of definitions, but only one that rendered her out of her element, incapable of being at ease with that damned word when she considers it to be the one used with romanticism in mind.
Date, date, date.
Zani thinks she'd rather deal with that particular dilemma some other time.
Back to the point, Zani finds herself asking once more, still waiting for her confirmation: "So, Phoebe," she stops in her tracks this time, extending her own hand out, "may I hold your hand?"
Phoebe stops as well, eyeing her hand carefully, attentively. The tension has Zani almost gulping, tail snapping back and forth a bit more frantically then before.
And then: "Oh, Miss Zani."
Zani does not know what oh, Miss Zani is supposed to mean. Frankly, she's never heard anyone say such a short and succinct sentence with such an endeared voice before. Most of the time, her coworkers would have followed it up with something like You saved the day again! after she beat some criminals up, or You're too good at this job, after finishing a stack of paperwork in an hour when they'd expected her to finish in two.
So that should mean that she's endeared with her, right? The same way that Zani finds herself falling just a little more whenever Phoebe smiles so brightly that it would put the sun to shame, right? That can't possibly mean she's embarrassed, or disappointed, or—Imperator forbid, and even Zani herself knows how ridiculous this sounds—doesn't want to meet her ever again, right?
Her mind blares loud with the possibilities. It's probably why she doesn't notice it: how Phoebe's hand slips into hers so easily like they were two puzzle pieces interlocking into one as she urges them to walk once more.
…Definitely not that last, excruciatingly long tangent, then.
"You really didn't have to ask." Phoebe mutters, soft. Zani's reverie breaks, she can feel her heart skipping a beat at the sound of her melodious voice, "You can hold my hand anytime, Miss Zani."
They have a rather huge difference in their proportions, and that extended to almost all of their other body parts as well. The gap in their heights was the most noticeable, so was the difference between the size of their… nevermind that—but their hands, too. Even though this contrast was one that barely anyone would have known about, now that Zani could finally, finally hold her hand, it really just feels… new.
It's new in the good way, though. She's never really held anyone's hand and thought about it before, so she has no prior experience to compare this with, but it feels… nice. Nicer than she thought it would be, even though her hand envelops Phoebe's entirely, even though she's not directly touching her hand since they're both still wearing gloves, but it's still nice, nonetheless. It's nice that she'll most definitely use that offer Phoebe gave her, of being allowed to hold her hand anytime she wants.
And Zani's going to want to hold her hand a lot, she knows that much.
"It's nice holding your hand." She admits, unwittingly. Why'd she have the urge to say that, this is something she doesn't know as well. "Just like how the pizza we had at Margherita's was nice."
…Now what kind of correlation was that, she doesn't know either.
Still, it manages to make Phoebe giggle, so she guesses that doesn't really matter.
"You think it's nice, Miss Zani?"
"The hand holding or the pizza? Because I do mean it for both," Zani looks away, somewhat embarrassed, "But pizza was nice for you too, wasn't it?"
"It was lovely, indeed. I find being able to hold your hand lovely as well." Another giggle for a pause, "Though, I am surprised you didn't order Tropicale."
"And offend my beautiful, fair lady with my controversial pizza topping choices?" Zani looks back at her, barely able to conceal her huff. She'll have to apologize to her own standout preferences later, but for the time being, she has only one goal in mind, "Nonsense. I would gladly sacrifice my crownapples if it meant for us to not end things after the first date."
That particular utterance of the word Zani shall not name flows out much smoother than she'd expected, much to her surprise. Nonetheless, she can't dwell on her success for so long—not when Phoebe grumbles at her statement, pouting, "I should stress that I wouldn't have ended anything over pizza—!"
"So you say." Out comes a chuckle. "But you'd have thought about it at least once, wouldn't you?"
"Absolutely not!" Phoebe interjects, a little louder than usual. "I—I mean, maybe I'd be unable to hide my distaste in general. Perhaps even a tad bit incensed considering it's rather—not the point—but at least, I wouldn't have taken such measures with you, Miss Zani."
With her, huh? Then again, it isn't like the Ragunnesi would ever not coil at the sight of such a 'monstrosity', or so they claim it to be, so it's not like Phoebe would be extending such grace to anyone else.
Still, if it's only for her…
"Such esteemed privileges you have granted this humble office worker, tesoro." Zani chooses to hide the giddiness for now, even though her tail's whipping back and forth by her back. That can come much later, on another one of their outings, maybe. Maybe then she'll take the chance and actually order their pizzas half-and-half and snap the look on her face when Margherita brings the dish out. "Perhaps I'll really order Pizza Tropicale the next time we go out."
"Oh, Miss Zani." There's that endeared tone again, along with those exact same words that had her trailing just a few moments ago. Phoebe clicks her tongue, seemingly amused, "Quite confident of you to think there will be a next date."
"Will there not be one?" Her voice cracks, just a bit. Well, she can get a bit confident at times—but did they not have an awfully good time together thus far? Surely, Zani hadn't gauged the situation wrongly, unless there's a secret Acolyte's code for saying my feelings have changed in the manner of seconds due to your questionable pizza choices without one having to say it straight that came in the form of tongue clicking… "Have I not enchanted you enough, Miss Priestess? Must I recite the newest rendition of the Order's codex from top to bottom to guarantee myself the chance at a second?"
Phoebe looks at her direction, lightly intrigued. She tilts her head, "Would you really do that for me?"
I'm really not one for extensive religious spiels, Zani wants to say. Alas: "I'm quite used to read lengthy pages from the Montelli's book of conducts and the Order's commerce regulations. I will if I have to."
Even though she really, really hopes she won't have to.
Phoebe giggles again. That's the third giggle she's given ever since they strayed from Margherita's, and Zani thinks she can call that a victory. Why else would the girl just give out her laughter so freely, after all? Even her Ladyship barely lets out a hint of rambunctions glee when she's in public, save for when she's in the presence of the Matriarch who seems to also share her affections—so this too, must be a good sign.
It is, it must be, because Phoebe then says: "That won't be needed. I'd hate to force you to do anything you'd rather not." Which is good, really, because underline the point once more: Zani really, really hoped she wouldn't have to, "I already like Miss Zani as she is. You can have my second date, and third, and fourth, and all the other numbers that come after that."
"You'll have to ready up your schedule then." Zani's getting used to that word, she must be, because the next time she says the word—pluralized now, no less, is a much easier feat than the ones before: "Because I do plan on taking up all of your numbered dates, whenever possible. That's a sure promise."
Phoebe surely must not find that idea absurd, nor is she planning to take up another lover, because then she goes: "I'll make sure you live up to that, too." She makes a promise of her own, "You don't have to ask to hold my hand next time, though. I wouldn't be repulsed if you wanted to be close to me every now and then, considering the developments in our relationship."
And it's that word, that last word, that nearly has Zani stopping in her tracks.
Relationship, Phoebe says. It's a generally used term, of course, but Zani still finds herself feeling vindicated. They're not strangers—they haven't been strangers for a long time, and Zani thinks she could say they're rather past acquaintances as well. Not just once-every-other-time-interorganizational workmates either, and yes, they are friends at the base of it, but then Phoebe would've said friendship instead of relationship, wouldn't she?
And again, they are going on a date. A date, sometime after Phoebe confessed to her, which Zani responded to with a confession of her own; romantic connotations alluded to and then explicitly included. Sure, they haven't kissed because that'll probably come much later down the line but this…
She's a bit lightheaded for some reason, and maybe that's getting in the way of her being able to think rationally, even though the Montelli's book of conducts states that decisions must always be made under a rational pretext—but this should make it rather official, shouldn't it?
And it feels like Phoebe's read her mind, her voice tinted with an awfully timid inflection. She shrinks beside her, she's almost too silent to even be heard.
"I—It wouldn't be presumptuous of me to say that, right?" She goes, as her dainty hand starts shaking within the grasp of Zani's own, "To think that we're not just friends anymore?"
It's strange that Zani can feel blood rushing up to her ears, but she does. She releases a breath she didn't even know she was holding in, too—that explains the lightheadedness she was feeling, probably. "Of course not."
Of course not, of course not, as if it was obvious. But if Phoebe's asking, then it must be the opposite. It must be not obvious to her, maybe it even isn't obvious to Zani if she'd been hesitating on whether or not she could hold her hand. Isn't that also why she had to ask first? Not just because Zani doesn't want to make her uncomfortable even though that makes up the basis, but also to see that yes, she does want this too—this evolving relationship, the simple things that come with said relationship, the skinship within the relationship, and then everything after that?
Zani doesn't even know who she's trying to convince when she says it again. A repetition, an emphasis: "No, no, of course not." As if she hadn't been clear the first time, "We're on the same page. Not just friends anymore."
The noise that comes out of Phoebe is high-pitched, rather indiscinerble. A squeak, she guesses she can call it that. Then, Zani can hear her inhaling a fistful of air, before exhaling it right out.
"That's…" Phoebe pauses. Inhaling again, then the following exhale, "That's good, then."
Phoebe lingers. If Zani hadn't just been feeling dizzy, she thinks she would say with a hundred-percent certainty that she'd just seen the corner of Phoebe's mouth lift upwards out of the corner of her eye, her face lighting up with a mirth so bright that would still put the sun to shame, "Really, really good."
Even with the lightheadedness plaguing her thoughts, Zani knows that to be true just as much. It's good to have her feelings returned, it's good to know Phoebe likes her the same way; this, Zani knows she can say with one-hundred percent certainty.
Her tail starts to slither around Phoebe's leg, circling around, pulling her close. A smile paints Zani's face, too, mimicking the one that she can now start to make out on Phoebe's own, "It really is."
Phoebe inches herself closer at her beckoning, giggling. Grips her hand a little more tightly with sureness, a little more conviction than she did before, and Zani returns the gesture all the same.
"We're here."
Phoebe pauses, doesn't let go of her hand even now; even when they're supposed to part. An uneven exhale leaves through her lips instead, as she gestures to her place within the Order's sacred grounds: a quaint dorm on the first floor, strikingly similar to the multiple other buildings fitted around the Cathedral.
"This is my spot, Miss Zani." Phoebe says when she regains her voice, "Kind of takes some time to get here, I know, but it's been my own place ever since I grew out of the orphanage."
It did take quite the effort for them to reach her place, considering how the Acolytes' and Priests' housing lie beyond the Cathedral's walls. Still, even despite that, Zani thinks she's roughly memorized the footpath she'd need to take to get her place with confidence—what can she say? She's a part of the security team, she's used to scouring areas for logistics. At least now, she won't have to worry about getting lost and asking for directions if she ever wanted to surprise Phoebe at her home.
Well, not that she's planning to say it anytime soon. It's going to have to be a surprise after all. Zani opts for something else to say instead.
"Yeah," she agrees. Nods too for another bout of agreement; for an extra, added effect, "this is your spot, alright."
Which is a fact that doesn't need repeating, which is another empty line considering this is something they both know, because why else would they stop by the front porch of a house that would belong to anyone else but Phoebe? That would just be too suspicious, something that would warrant the calling of the La Guardias, and Zani has not built her foundations through being a career criminal, for Imperator's sake.
Which should also mean that this is the endpoint of their date; two hours worth of time well spent together coming to a close, marked by her chauffering Phoebe back to her house before she too, was to return to her own desolate abode of an apartment.
Her lonely, lonely desolate abode of an apartment with a population of one. A lonely, alone Zani Montelli by her lonesome, and certainly without a Phoebe Marino around to cheer up her lonely self.
What a nightmare. What a lonely, lonely nightmare that she aptly knows as her own reality.
But it has to happen at some point, because the next day will not wait for them, no matter how much Zani's wished for it over all these years. There's a reason bags lie beneath her eyes, after all. If she really could control time, those eyebags wouldn't have existed in the first place. She'd have her eight hours of sleep everyday, then, and she clearly doesn't.
And it's because she clearly doesn't, that they should go on their separate ways now.
"Well." But Zani doesn't really know what to say either. What do people normally say at the end of first dates, anyways? Her mouth just opens up again, inadvertently, "You should go in first."
Phoebe, for some reason, looks shocked at her statement. "Um…" There's a shyness to her stammer, a shyness that feels reminiscent to just a few moments ago, when they'd so bashfully confirmed their relationship: "I—I was thinking that I'll go in after you leave, Miss Zani."
"Oh." That's not much of a surprising request, but Zani still feels herself taken off guard. She starts blabbering her understanding: "Right. Okay, right. I can do that too."
She can do that, right. That's something Zani can most definitely do, if only her hand and her tail will just unstick itself from Phoebe, and if only her feet will start moving to the direction from which she came—which for some reason it doesn't want to—and get her walking back to her place at the Montelli's Quarters. She could test it out, anyways, that aforementioned route she's carefully planned. So she should just get moving, damnit.
But wait, just wait. She hasn't expressed her enjoyment for today, hasn't she? Phoebe has to know that too, at least, even though she's sure that she's made that clear from the fact that she plans on taking all her numbered dates, and that they're basically dating now; girlfriends, to say the least, because they're not just friends anymore, and this date has gone smoothly, and—
—Stick to the point Montelli, for goodness' sake.
So, "I enjoyed my time with you today." Zani says. Curt, short, to the point, just like how she always is."I hope we can do that again, soon."
"Me too." Phoebe nods, still shy—she hasn't let go of Zani's hand either, "Let me know when you get home, Miss Zani."
"Of course." Zani pauses, thinking. Right, she can do that as well. She'll have to check her email for any messages and she'll have to turn her alarm on anyways, so that's two separate occasions she could use to make sure Phoebe knows she's gotten home, "Sleep well." Another pause. Unnecessary, this time, considering there's not much to think about. She's just biding her time, at this point. "I'll go now."
"Okay, Miss Zani."
She should be going, she really should—but her feet and tail are still unmoving, and her hand, still gripping onto Phoebe's, still refuse to budge, too. It's as if her whole body was saying that the past two hours weren't enough for her, that two hours were so much less than what she wanted, that she wanted to spend even more time with Phoebe, even if it's just to lay by her side or listen to Phoebe chortle about while she explains the contents of the Codex with a patient smile.
Two hours should be enough, two hours are normally more than enough when contexted into her daily, dull meetings; her once every other week midnight patrols and so, on so forth. If she normally found herself drained after spending two hours guarding another one of the Montellis' clients, then surely, Zani should be exhausted now, too.
(But there's something that overpowers her exhaustion here. Something—a part of someone that doesn't exist within the Montelli's walls: Phoebe's warm fingers still intertwined with her own, Phoebe's soft hand still holding onto her, palms still pressed on Zani's own. Her Phoebe—she thinks she can say that now—who still hasn't shown a sign that she wants to enter her own home, even though she's just a few steps away from the comfort of her bed. Even though Phoebe really should rest now because they both still have pressing duties in the day to come, and Zani should really start on her way back to her own place too, which means that she should really, really make the initiative to leave as she did take the initiative to ask her out in the first place…)
I'll go now, Zani wants to say again, but her mouth refuses to open. Tries to move her feet around once more, but even that part of her body that's normally oh-so-compliant to her mind finds itself glued to the ground. The fact that Phoebe's holding onto her, looking at her expectantly—with a gaze that don't even seem to want her to leave, with eyes that's more sweetened than it is soured—isn't helping her case, either.
(…God, Zani really doesn't want to leave her, not just yet.)
"Sorry, I—" It really is embarrasing to be asking Phoebe to do this, but she might as well get over it, "Could you let go of my hand, Phoebe?"
That takes Phoebe by surprise too, seeing how she nearly jumps in her place. But she does, belatedly, her fingers slowly untangling themselves from Zani's, which does make it a just a little easier to go, a little easier to leave—who knew a simple hand could do so much to her normally unwavering psyche?
It's still difficult to leave, it's still difficult to turn her heel and look away from Phoebe, her Phoebe, who's starting to look flushed under the moonlit night. Had that been a byproduct from her request? Maybe, maybe it is, because Zani can feel herself heating up too. Goodness, she'd never imagined that she'd be stilled by such a simple act of skinship, but she guesses she learns new things about herself everyday.
When she'd first turned into a resonator, her tail had been difficult to control—oh, she should probably unslither that, too—and then when her horns started to growing, it had been difficult to take care of them before they got too coarse. Then there were here first days in the Montelli that led her to her trusty pocket watch, and—
"Miss Zani, w—wait!"
Phoebe calls out for her and right, that's probably to ask her to remove her tail. She'll have to apologize for that, she thinks. That surely can't be too comfortable.
She turns around at Phoebe's voice, unwinding the appendage from her leg, an apology ready to be uttered, when a soft presence makes itself known on the corner of her lips.
It's a blur—Phoebe's a blur when she comes up to her, teetering and nervous. She's a blur when she lifts herself up on her tiptoes, hands steadying herself on both sides of Zani's shoulders. She's a blur when she reaches up, lips brushing briefly over near Zani's mouth. A soft blur, made up from soft shades of yellow and white, and her own lips are equally as soft too—so soft that Zani almost feels like it's a dream she's conjured up in her mind. So soft that Zani thinks she'll slip and fall anytime soon, only to be greeted awake by a loud, blaring alarm.
But… she doesn't.
She's still there, still within the Cathedral's grounds. Phoebe's there too. Not an illusion, not a mirage. Maybe she could pinch herself to be extra sure, but she's almost one hundred percent sure that this is real.
…Did Phoebe just nearly kiss her?
"S—sorry, I didn't know what came over me." Phoebe stammers, drawing herself away a step or two. She lifts her hands off Zani's shoulders, and the relieved weight just confirms everything for her. She'd nearly kissed her. Phoebe Marino nearly kissed her. "Goodnight, Miss Zani…!"
And Zani really should have just let that go, she really should just have stuttered out her own Goodnight, Phoebe, and gone away into a sleepless night. She should go and test that route while thinking of how soft Phoebe's lips had been near hers, she should leave because they've said all that should have been said.
There's no good reason for her to turn right back on her heel to reach for Phoebe, there's no good reason to grab her by the wrist and prevent her from running away. There's no good reason for her to hold Phoebe by her cheek, to watch her face fall victim to a range of red and pinkish hues, to see her unable to look her in the eye, even after she'd so stealthily stolen a kiss so fleeting that even Zani hadn't been so sure if it was true.
There may be no good reason for either of those actions, Zani knows. But she also knows there's a need for them, somewhere inside her thrumming heart. A really, really good need for them that simply won't die until she can see her like this, blushing bright under the moonlit night.
Phoebe is quiet, almost too quiet when she calls her name.
"Miss Zani…"
Zani's voice comes out equally hushed, "…Can I?"
Phoebe nods. Shy, but certain, as her hand trails its way onto Zani's tie for a tug, and everything suddenly clicks.
It's all Zani needs for a confirmation, it's all Zani can feel before she leans in, closing her eyes halfway as Phoebe does too. Her tail slithers its way back around Phoebe's thigh, pulling her so close that she can hear a thump as the distance between their chests shortens to nil. She's kissing her, her lips feel just as soft as she'd imagined them to be, just as she's felt them when they grazed the corner of her mouth.
She's kissing her in public, Zani comes to a belated realization as she corners her to the front door of her home. In public, which means that someone can spot them out if they were to go on a midnight walk. In public, which means that some unfortunate Acolyte could see them here. In public, which means that they could also possibly be listening to the small whines that Phoebe's making, and look at the pretty blush on Phoebe's face, and interrupt her while she's kissing her Phoebe. She's really kissing her, oh God, Zani's actually kissing her—
Which, would be much nicer if she could do in private—this, another realization Zani comes to as she slowly pulls away, catching her breath.
Zani blinks her eyes open, "That was…"
"Good?" Phoebe finishes for her.
"More than just good." She keeps on panting, keeps on heaving. Their kiss hadn't even been that long. "But yes, good can suffice, I suppose."
Phoebe giggles again. Goodness, she's awfully giggly today—not that Zani minds, she'd gladly hear that giggle over and over. Until the end of time, even.
"I know I should have let you leave, but every time I tried to make myself let go of your hand, I just… couldn't." She admits, and Zani's heart skips a beat at the thought: the thought that Phoebe had felt the same way, the same desire for closeness that she did, "I don't want you to go just yet. That's strange, isn't it? Isn't it just so horrible of me for wanting to be with you a little longer?"
It isn't. Really, it isn't. Zani wants to say, but she ends up chuckling instead at her rhetorics, "If you're horrible, Miss Priestess," Again, for the record, Phoebe clearly isn't , but she'll go along with it for now, just to play along with her untrue claims, "then I surely must be the worst person alive."
”You’re not bad at all, Miss Zani,” Phoebe mutters, then gestures to the door behind her, reaching out to hold her hand. “Would you like to come inside, still?”
And Zani knows that she shouldn’t. That she does have work, she still has piles of work to go through. Still has documents to look over, still has contracts to authorize, which is why she should've gone home in the first place—but, well, Carlotta did say she should take a break, didn't she? The Vault should be able to handle itself for a day without her. It'll just be a day, after all. A day that she'll likely wake up to by Phoebe's side, and not by her lonesome.
Not by her lonesome for once in her life, huh. Zani does rather like the sound of that.
She chuckles, endeared. Grips Phoebe's hand once more, before kissing her forehead, soft.
"I'd love to, Phoebe."