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Hushed whispers floating from soft, smiling, painted-black lips. A caress of the cheek and a kiss on the forehead. A mouth against the neck and a trail down to the sharp arch of the collarbone, a suck on the shoulder and lower and lower. Harsh hands kneading the flush of the round. Tainted fingers edging closer and the other holding guidance of the hip. Nearly there, almost. Black smoke wisps across her skin. It is light, a barely-there linger. A manifestation of the hurt turned into comfort.
Then, she jolts. Neon jerks upright, choking on her own (although she dreamed of otherwise) spit, clawing at her throat with a sore red beginning to creep up her neck beneath her own touch. Her eyes had been closed this whole time, through her dream and into this reality. Her eyelids are sewed shut, she craves nothing more than those soft hands on her waist or her hips or her neck.
The loss of her desire hurts more than knowing she could never get what she wanted in the first place.
“You’re jittery today,” Jett jokes, nudging Neon’s shoulder with her own. It makes her stumble a little, more so than usual, and Jett’s lips turn down.
“Dude. You okay?”
Now it’s Neon’s lips that turn down. No, she wants to say. She wants to open her big mouth and talk about everything like she can usually do with her friends, but no it feels too private. Too personal. Like speaking about it will admit some kind of weakness or vulnerability that Neon should not show as a professional agent.
“I’m good,’ Neon replies, moving away to begin another lap of the firing range.
Her footwork is sloppy. Her feet stumble and trip over each other with every step she takes. Her shoes thud against the flooring like they’re too heavy to lift up, and breathing seems more difficult than usual. The only thing on her mind instead of reaching a new sprint time is—
Fade’s fingers ruffling her hair. Fade’s fingers on her waist. Her lips. Her eyes. The way she has to look down to hold eye contact with Neon. The way she pants slightly with overexertion after a long mission—
Neon’s body shudders violently, and she tips forwards, her balance shaky and imprecise when her hands reach out against the ground to catch her unceremonious fall.
“The fuck?”
A familiar voice calls from across the training grounds. It’s quietly-spoken, but there’s a brittleness to it that Neon heard earlier today in her dream.
“What did you do to her?” Fade accuses. Her arms are crossed, henna decorating her hands where they’re loosely holding on.
“Me?!” Jett splutters, “I didn’t do shit!”
Fade scowls, and her eyebrows pinch together in disapproval. Neon stares at her from her position on the floor: hands planted shakily against it, knees knocking together in an attempt to scramble up, and ass up in the air in a not-very-attractive way. Her hair is loose from its two signature pigtails, blue strands sticking to her forehead and some against the back of her neck. Her typical gear—a skintight suit, for some reason— feels uncomfortably tight and irritable against the sensitive surface of her body. It is constricting. She must not breathe too heavily (impossible), for she might not be able to any longer. Jett becomes mere background noise. All she can see is Fade.
Fuck. How embarrassing.
Neon manages to shift up, her calves and thigh muscles screaming bloody mary through her nerves when she sits against them. Her hands are still pressing against the floor.
A dark shadow looms over her slumped body. Neon’s vision blurs.
So, so embarrassing.
“What’s wrong?”
Fade asks this with so little concern. Her tone is blunt, straight-to-the-point. It shatters Neon’s little heart.
“Nothing,” she chokes out.
“Liar.”
She still sounds.. uncaring. Angry. Neon’s lower lip juts out and trembles like a toddler about to throw a tantrum. Her eyes squeeze shut again– sewed shut. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Feel nothing, even when your everything is standing right in front of you.
“I’m okay,” Neon mumbles.
Fade decides then to crouch down. Neon isn’t looking— she won’t look. She keeps her eyes sealed shut, and tries to will her breathing into a natural pattern that is normal for the aftermath of a run and not for the result of thinking about your cravings too deeply.
“You’re lying to me,” Fade reprimands again. This time, her voice is deeper. Even quieter than before— as if it’s for the privacy of Neon’s ears only— and there’s something else in there too. She hasn’t concealed her concern as much, this time around. Instead, she allows this small moment to worry.
“I’m not!” Neon whines. Whines. Neon doesn’t whine, but apparently now she does because her voice is all pitchy and complain-y and she’s starting to sound like a little kid which is so, so embarrassing.
“Tatlım. Don’t use that tone with me.”
Okay. Neon doesn’t know what that word is, she doesn’t, but she’s never heard Fade use it with anyone before. Never. Maybe it’s an insult— but Neon can’t help but feel her insides twist with longing when she hears Fade’s voice say it like.. like that. And why is she so bossy?! And why.. why must Neon crave to hear it again?
Neon thinks that Fade pulls her up. She thinks that she gets cleaned up, partially (okay, mostly) with Fade’s help. But she’s so out of it she cannot register anything besides the fact that she is sitting on the floor of Fade’s bathroom, and her hair is being brushed through with fingers that aren’t her own. And she doesn’t know why this has happened, or how it has come to be. It just feels nice. Good.
Neon feels good, but her mind is cloudy and she feels floaty like she could ascend into the skies because now, instead of her body feeling heavy, it feels awfully, awfully, light.
“You’re okay,” Fade murmurs. It’s soothing. Like a calm wave washing over Neon’s body.
“Why are you so gentle?” Neon grumbles, “You’re usually so mean. And quiet.”
She fidgets with her own fingers, picking at her cuticles and scratching over the surface of her nailbeds.
Fade pauses. Her hand rests among blue and yellow strands now. Still. Unmoving.
“..I care about you,” she finally admits quietly, “And..”
Silence. Fade’s fingers twitch slightly against Neon’s scalp.
“You know I can’t control the nightmares or.. dreams I see when I’m trying to sleep.”
Oh.
Neon swallows tightly.
“Yeah. So what?”
“So. I know you. More than you think.”
Neon’s heart plummets to the pit of her stomach. Her cheeks flush darker, and her head stops feeling light and starts feeling heavy again. She’s not stupid— never was. She knows the implication behind that. Neon knows Fade knows.
Stupid. Neon feels stupid. Never was? Now is. Her throat starts to hurt and her forehead presses to her knees. Her toes curl against the tiles. Cold. It’s getting cold.
“I’m not judging you,” Fade whispers. She crouches down (always leaning down for her) to push a few strands of blue away from Neon’s forehead. The fabric of Fade’s glove feels too foreign against her skin. She feels distant now. Like someone that she used to know well, but has now pulled back. Sinking down, down, instead of floating up, up.
“I promise, tatlım. Tala.”
Her voice is so gentle. It’s so soothing in comparison to the thundering in Neon’s ears and the pounding of her heart against her ribs.
It is not often that someone else talks more than Neon. Right now, her mouth feels dry. Her tongue is sandpaper against the roof of her mouth.
Talking about real things— real feelings— does not come easy to Neon. Not as easy as joking or laughing or making fun of stupid shit Jett did when she drank too much.
“Say something,” Fade urges. Her arms move slowly around Neon, starting at her shoulders then dropping to hug her waist.
“You saw,” Neon states flatly. Like she’s trying her best to not cry by sounding apathetic and impassive. Any shred of her usual excitement and energy is completely gone at this moment.
“I didn’t look on purpose.”
“But you saw.”
Silence, again. Nothing to fill the air besides Neon’s quiet pants and Fade’s soft breaths.
“I’m sorry,” Fade mutters, “But.. I don’t regret it. Honestly. You weren’t going to tell me about it anyway, right?”
Neon shrugs. Obviously not. Fade sighs; a small, sweet sound. She presses closer, lips touching the top of Neon’s head. It’s clear that this form of affection is unfamiliar to her, too.
“I feel the same for you, meleğim.”
Neon stiffens first. Her mind is ringing alarm bells in her mind like this can’t be right, it doesn’t feel right, it doesn’t feel real. Then, she bristles. She doesn’t know why she gets so defensive— it’s not like she wants to push Fade away.
“Don’t bullshit me,” Neon snaps, “You just— invade my privacy, and.. and you didn’t even let me tell you first!”
An ugly snake coils around Neon’s body, constricting her chest and her neck and Fade’s bathroom suddenly becomes much, much smaller. She barely registers the fact that Fade reciprocates her feelings. She can’t. It’s too real. She can’t handle this much right now.
“I know,” Fade mumbles, “It’s okay, Tala. I know.”
Her hand reaches up tentatively again, and her fingers find its home in Neon’s hair.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs again. It’s too gentle. Loving.
Neon doesn’t think she deserves this. Can deserve this. Even when her everything is finally here, to be her everything, she feels nothing but
everything.
“You’re reckless,” Fade breathes into her ear, “But I like the way your eyes look when you’re happy. Like you have something to live for.”
“And I know you don’t feel like it right now. But I’d like to see you happy. When you feel like it.”
A kiss to her forehead. Black lipstick smears slightly, and Fade rubs it off her skin with her thumb.
“Okay,” Neon whispers.
“Okay?”
“I want to.”
They don’t mention Neon’s outburst. It’s too overbearing in this vulnerable, fragile conversation. As if one wrong move could shatter the peacefulness Fade has tried so hard to create.
“Feeling better?” Fade asks, when Neon walks out of her bathroom in Fade’s oversized shirt over her own underwear, and nothing more. Neon’s blue and yellow hair is darker now, soaked with water from her shower and trickling down her tanned skin. It seems too domestic, too intimate for what they are.
“Yeah,” Neon replies. She pauses in front of Fade, fingers toying with each other again. Nervously.
“I want to make you happy,” Fade states.
Not I want to see you happy like before. Like Fade knows that she needs to be the spokesperson for this new relationship, because Neon is so outgoing in every other aspect of her life that she needs a moment to be looked after. Fade can be that person for her. Neon wants it, but won’t say it.
“I want to be happy,” Neon mumbles back, “With you.”
“I’ll try.”
Fade’s hands lift up to hold her hips, thumbs stroking gentle circles into the fabric of her own shirt. Slowly, they reach below cautiously, to instead touch her bare skin. Lovingly.
“You don’t have to talk,” Fade finally says, “Just come here. Rest.”
Fade tugs Neon into her lap, and presses a chaste kiss to her lips.
Neon’s stomach tingles with butterflies. Her eyes shut, and her head leans on Fade’s shoulders in a gesture of finally, trust.
“It’ll be okay.”
It will be.