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lambilegs · 2 months ago

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does it happen in a season? (part two: WINTER)

in her senior year of university, lee is ready for nothing more but yet another monotonous cycle of meeting her new roommate, adjusting, then living in separate spheres for the rest of the year. the last thing she's prepared for is: curiosity.

last chapter (FALL) | next chapter (SPRING)

soundtrack: fake plastic tree - radiohead (this is the song I was referring to here :') listened to it a shit ton when writing this chap and I feel the entire atmosphere of it really reminds me of this chapter); linger - the cranberries; lovers rock - tv girl; cherry wine - grentperez; telephones - vacations; eternal flame - the bangles

(contains: even MORE slowburn shit, more pining, 16.4K words (I know... I hate it too), set in the nineties, college!au lee, content warning for: anxiety, depictions of a panic attack, internalized homophobia, religious trauma, religion jokes)

🇵🇸 reading/watch list for palestine + organizations | more media on palestine | decolonize palestine

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WINTER. SOMETIME IN THE 1990s.

when you hear the key clicking into the lock, you immediately shoot up from your lying position on the couch, flinging your legs over the edge and patting your hair down. fuck, fuck. your fingers mindlessly twitch and move for a second, not knowing what to do, before finally settling on leaning into the couch and crossing your legs. yes, this feels natural. at least you hope so.

when lee walks through the door, you feel the entire facade slip. a smile, one that was always inevitable, immediately tugs on your lips. you’re powerless to the urge. especially when it’s been four days since you last saw her. especially when, for once, her hair is in something other than a ponytail, lying limp on her back as a neat braid. especially when, after catching sight of you, she smiles. it’s small, barely there, but she actually fucking smiles. you can practically sing like a canary.

she sets her duffel bag near the door, sliding her shoes off and placing them on the rack. you wince at the sight of your dirty sneakers half-hazardly lying on the floor. you wonder if she ever hates some of your less-than-clean habits. if they make her cringe or think less of you. god, the mere idea makes you shrivel up in self-consciousness.

but, lee says nothing, silently meeting you on the couch and sitting on the other side, tucked into the corner and far from you, as per usual. even when you guys watched the two movies you picked out from the video store, in a back-to-back feature filled with inquisitive staring from lee, attempts at chattering from you, and some eerily accurate guesses as to what happens in The Shining from her, she sat far from you. at this point, you know she’s most likely like that with everyone, and it’s nothing personal. she doesn’t seem to be the most comfortable with touch or intimacy. but, still, you can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to feel the warmth of her nearby.

“so, how was it?” you ask, turning your body to her.

eyes on her lap, she gives you a small nod. “it was okay.”

you cock your head at her. “how’s your mom?”

“she’s alright.” her voice sounds timid, almost as though the admission carries more significance than just a casual report. “she’s been taking walks, which is good for her.”

you smile gently at her little concern. she’s so sweet. “it is. did you enjoy yourself?”

her gaze slides from her lap to the cushion between you two, which almost feels like a threshold in that moment. her lips part for a second, before closing, then parting again. “no. not really.”

you blink in surprise at her brutal honesty. you aren’t an idiot, you know that most college students don’t exactly delight in visiting home. but, most would also have the self-consciousness, or sense of obligation to their family, to lie about it. you wonder if lee doesn’t lie due to her natural tendency to forgo social cues, or if it’s something more. if things are just that bad – so bad that she doesn’t even have it in her to either muster a lie or continue preserving the protective instinct for her family.

you pause to consider how to proceed, before tentatively settling on, “why? is everything okay?”

the corner of her lip pinches into a small twist, eyelids fluttering hard. “um, yeah. we just… it’s complicated.”

you lean your head on your palm, elbow braced on the edge of the couch. “I have time.”

her head darts in your direction for a split second, before turning to the television. “I… I don’t go there often. not as much as I should. I don’t like going there. but, I always do, for one reason or the other. even when it’s not completely necessary.”

“maybe because it’s comforting and safe?” you supply, tilting your head at her. “even if it’s a place that you’re not so fond of, you grew up there, with your mom. so, you always want to return to it.” even you could sympathize with such a feeling. university, and living with a roommate, brings along a thrill of independence. sometimes, it seems so romantic, like you’re the protagonist of a coming-of-age film, making your way in the world. but, sometimes, during the lonely nights, when you’re up studying late, mind whirling with thoughts of your future, you wish you were back home. you wish that on top of the stress and anxiety, you didn’t have to take care of yourself. you wish you could just melt into the hands and care of someone else.

she’s silent, and you know that means she’s taking a few moments to process your words. finally, she speaks. “maybe. but, it’s also about my mom. I spent so much of my life wondering what it’d be like to be on my own, and already feeling that way a lot of the time. then, I left for school, and I’ve spent these four years feeling like…” she continues, her voice lowering to a whisper, “that life followed me here.”

your voice becomes as small as hers. to see her speak about something so personal, with such tender vulnerability, twists something in your chest. you’re grateful, of course you are, but part of learning more about her comes with the ache of discovering the complications of what she faces. it’s surprising, and humanizing, but also stirs a deep sympathy in you. “why do you think you feel that way?”

her voice cracks – it’s so soft you could’ve easily missed it. “I don’t know. guilt, maybe. or obligation. the responsibility that comes from her being my first…” she sighs heavily, eyes clamping shut tightly.

you keep your voice low, almost feeling like you’re approaching a wounded animal. “your first..?”

“friend.” she sucks in a trembling breath. “it feels wrong to stay away for so long. it also feels weird to not talk to her for a while. but, at the same time, I hate going there.”

you pick at a loose strand of your guys’ sofa, lost in her words. you understand her situation acutely. you, too, have people in your life whom you only really call or meet up with for the sake of retaining a past bond you both are just desperately trying to preserve. there’s no true love or fondness – rather, there’s just a pretense coating the entire meeting, causing it to drip in a kind of insincerity that’s bred through necessity.

“I’m sorry,” you gently say, sensing from her tense shoulders that it must be a sore subject for her. “it must be difficult, to have so many conflicting feelings about the situation. especially since she’s your mom and all. it makes sense you want to talk to her, though, you know? you grew up with her. even if logically, you know the relationship isn’t the smoothest, it’s normal you still go back. for whatever reason – comfort, safety, obligation.”

her nostrils flare for a millisecond, and you start with the sudden thought of will she cry? you almost wish she would – maybe if she let herself cry, she’d let herself be held. and maybe if she let herself be held, she’d have some of the burdens that seem to plague her off her mind. you wish she’d just let it release. maybe she does, but just not with you. the thought causes a bit of a sting, but you know it’s ridiculous of you to be upset over it. regardless, you just hope she gets a release.

finally, she speaks, quietly mumbling, “thanks.” her voice raises to a clearer level. “I just… I don’t know.” she blinks back at the television before abruptly standing up. “I’ll just change.” she stills, glancing at your knees. “we can watch something after?”

she may as well ask you if you’re planning to breathe. the fact that she actually enjoys watching things with you to the point of asking for it makes your chest warm. for a moment, such an idea feels surreal. two months ago, you barely got a word out of her, and now, on this cold november night, she’s going out of her way to watch something with you. it feels almost impossible to comprehend.

you nod eagerly. “yes, yes, of course.”

her lips clamp together in a tight, formal smile before grabbing her duffel bag and heading to her bedroom.

and as usual, you look out for her as she leaves.

–

lee knows it probably sounds a bit odd, but if she likes the class, she actually enjoys studying. there’s something in her brain that gets itched and satisfied through letting so much information travel into her brain. she likes how methodical it gets – the research, the note-taking, the reading. it’s a part of the world she can make sense of. there’s a neat, structured process, and she just allows herself to get swept up in it and feel the rush of learning something new.

there’s one particular library on campus, filled with wood and carvings into the wall, that she frequents almost everyday. sometimes, even when she doesn’t have much work to do, she’ll just get started on next week’s work just for the sake of spending some time unwinding there. it’s almost relaxing to focus on one subject and dedicate her mind to nothing but it for a few hours. it’s almost a trancelike activity, like a puzzle – once she gets sucked in, it’s hard to stop.

she rarely studies with other people. she’s fond of her friends, she is, but god, she can’t help but admit (both to herself and their faces) that they are awful study buddies. they always find it amusing to see lee so focused and will ball up the paper wrappings of their straws and throw it at her face, or the two of them will talk and giggle so much they get asked to leave. she’ll usually only put up with them if the work she needs to do isn’t demanding. other than that, she enjoys doing her work in solitude.

which is why she’s so conflicted when she one day sees you approaching her, bright smile and crinkled eyes. she swallows hard at the sight, forcing her gaze back down to her work. when you slide into the seat across from her, she feels her jaw tense, racking her brain for the right thing to say.

“what are you doing here?”

your face falters, and something in her aches at the sight. her words sound fumbling and messy to her, but she forces her way through them. “no, I didn’t… I was just asking.” it’s weird. sometimes, she’s able to catch what she thinks are expressions of hurt or annoyance caused by her flat tone or blunt words. but, more often than not, it feels like even more of a struggle to navigate asking someone about such facial expressions, either by pointing it out or just drawing her own conclusions. even if she feels a twinge of guilt, most of the time, she’s entirely lost in knowing for certain if the other person in question really is hurt, and if so, what is and isn’t okay to do in response. it’s not often that she leans into the immediate urge to clarify herself – anxiety and uncertainty usually prevent that. but, she supposes now is one of those times.

“I just, I don’t want to be bothering you or anything.”

she blinks hard, eyes frozen on the papers in front of her. “no, you’re not.” logically, she’s never properly studied with you, so she truly doesn’t know if you would be a bother. emotionally, though, the possibility that you could be one isn’t enough of a reason to make her decline sitting with you. she wants to say yes. she just isn’t sure if she’s successfully conveying that to you. “you’re not.”

she tentatively looks up, bracing herself for an expression of hurt or anger. but, you just seem worried, lines deepened into your forehead and mouth folded in. at least that's what it seems like to her, especially in the context of your words.

she mulls on what to do for a few seconds before deciding to close her textbook, folding her arms over it. “what… what are you working on?”

you blink up at her, eyes a bit wide. she patiently waits on you, her foot wiggling under the table from where it’s crossed over her other. “I have a presentation for my feminism class.”

she nods slowly. her mind starts stirring with questions about your class, curiosity simmering in her. but, she holds back, wanting to try to assure you in some way that she wants you here. “what is your presentation on?”

“we’ve been focusing on media in this unit, so I’m doing it on the exploitation and archetypes of women in horror.”

she pauses, mind lingering on your words. she doesn’t know much of horror, so she isn’t sure of the many examples that exist, but she isn’t surprised at the notion. in most media, she tends to see caricatures made of women, a practice that itches at her in an aggravating way. she herself has received comments from peers on the type of stereotypes she’s expected to encapsulate as a cop, all because of her gender. comments that irk her so much she could never be bothered to respond.

“that’s interesting,” she muses. “I, well, didn’t realize it happens so much in horror.”

“oh,” you scoff, a bitter shrill ringing your laugh, and despite the subject manner, some of the tension slides from her shoulders at seeing you at ease again, “trust me. it happens all too much.”

“why do you think it happens?” she finds herself itching to know what you think, how you feel. it feels like a soft grip at her throat, coaxing and urging her to seek more of your thoughts.

you tap your pen on your notes. “I think it says a lot about how we find women in horror easy to discard, since they’re not even seen as whole, complex characters. and how we see the violence against them as more thrilling due to the power dynamic if the killer is a man.”

“hm.” her mouth twitches at the information. “almost like they’re not even seen as useful unless they’re just used as a victim.”

“victim to a man, which just further produces the reputation of the killer,” you enunciate, pointing a finger at her, leaning back in your chair with a smile, evidently satisfied by your conclusion.

her lip quirks up. it’s not like she hasn’t picked up on your passion before – the wistfulness in your sigh when listening to a song you like, the way your eyes light up and flick to her (without subtlety) when you show her a film. she knows it exists. but, still, she finds herself feeling respect at the way you eagerly speak of your assignment.

“it sounds interesting.” her jaw shifts as she contemplates on her next words, wondering if it’s too forward. “when is it?”

you flip through the pages of your notebook, finger skimming a page before coming to a stop. “december sixteenth.”

she hums in response, silently willing herself to just do it. just ask it. “in the social studies building?”

“yeah…” the word drawls out, and your lips curl into a wide grin. she blinks at the sight of it. do you suspect her? “room 225.”

okay, so, you probably do suspect her. why else would you willingly supply the room number? she feels a twinge of disappointment at her own lack of secrecy, but you look so happy, so she supposes her failure isn’t too bad. she nods, a stubborn piece of her still not wanting to give anymore information away. “okay.”

you beam. “okay.”

–

you can feel it happening. the slow, dreary days filled with nothing but work piled on top of work. you try to rid yourself of the feeling and just relax, but it’s there, always scratching at the back of your head, like a neglected cat trying to cry out and itch its way through the door. deadlines, exams, quotations to cite in the library, work. so much work.

you can see it weighing on lee, too. she doesn’t talk about it as much, but after two and a half months of living together, you can see the signs of it. the undereye circles that are darker than usual, greying her eyes. she’s yawning more than usual during her morning coffee, which has doubled in the amount of mugs she usually drinks. between that, and the instant noodles you hear her making at 2:00AM, you’re convinced she has a stomach of steel.

sometimes, when you’re awake in your room, listening to music, or skimming your notes, you can hear her on the phone with her mom. as guilty as it makes you to admit, you’ve been more and more curious about her home life since she got back from halloween weekend. she never contacted you during the trip, and her brief retelling of the four days on the night of her return was all you had received. you don’t mean to eavesdrop, but the walls are too thin to avoid her voice, and your ears catch onto things you never noticed before.

there are lots of pauses. the strain in her voice tightens even more than usual, making her voice sound harder, firmer. but, somehow, she never sounds loud or harsh. it’s always just tentative questions of are you okay? or what are you doing in the house? she offers more information to her mom than she does anyone else – or maybe it’s just you she doesn’t offer it to, and she’s like that with anyone else she cares about. you shake off the thought, and will away the bleeding jealousy caused by it.

lee actually tells her mom about how busy she is, how she can’t sleep because she needs to get an assignment done, how it looks like it’s going to snow soon. she asks if it’s snowing in oregon, and it leads to a yeah, I’ll be there in winter break. you wonder what makes her more open with her mom – if it’s genuine love and adoration, even the kind that lingers before the surface, or simply shared history. if her mom who she’s known her entire life receives uncoaxed admissions of her wellness, you wonder how long will you have to know her before she gives you that too?

she sounds like a good daughter. always patient, always gentle and never missing a call. it’s been like that since september. you didn’t always bear witness to it, but you know it’s a constant in her life. she always ends the calls with a promise of another. it makes you feel a softness inside, to see her being so caring and tender. you had suspected for weeks that it was there, that tenderness, but the confirmation makes you all the more glad to know.

it makes you linger on yourself. are you a good child? you try, in your own ways, to be so. sometimes, this small apartment with lee feels like an entrapment of adulthood you weren’t ever ready for, and all you want to do is crawl back home and bury your nose in the familiar scent of your stained bedsheets. other times, the apartment feels like the first time your foot has ever been planted on the grass after years locked away. you don’t even realize how much of a sanctuary independence is until you visit home, and when you do, it’s a bittersweet mixture of sweetly lying in the palms holding your past, but also being reminded of exactly why you pushed the fingers away before they could hold on too tightly.

a week later, you attend a protest happening for Palestine. while your friend was supposed to join you, the november chill seemed to have unexpectedly preyed upon her, rendering her sick and curled into bed. you had only discovered the news by the time you had reached campus and received a page from her, confirming her absence on the payphone. the last minute change left you with no time to call upon any other peers or friends, and so, you stand alone, shyly holding up your sign.

but, it doesn’t feel lonely. even though you’re technically by yourself, the thrum of mutual support for a similar cause feels like a sort of bloodstream, with each participating member being part of the vein. it makes you feel anything but lonely, the string of solidarity tying you to the crowd in a way that’s indescribable. even though you know you probably would have been a bit nervous to have attended alone had you discovered your friend’s sickness earlier, you can’t help but feel it’s a blessing in disguise that the change of plans were reported so last minute. somehow, being alone gives you even more of an opportunity to observe your surroundings, read the other signs, and watch the power burning in everyone’s eyes – an experience that makes your body feel revived, as though a shock was sent through it. the chants are like a defibrillator, pressing into your chest and restarting the life within you after a week of nothing but hopelessness. you can’t help but allow it to lead to another subject of pondering – sometimes. things can feel so hopeless, so fast, just with the addition of another assignment or test. what is it like to have the kind of resilience reserved for conditions that, to you, can only exist in a figment of your imagination? how much strength does it take for that?

the protest leaves you feeling a sense of fulfillment. you know it doesn’t really matter how it makes you feel – what matters is to show up and contribute to spreading the word and making it known what should and shouldn’t be tolerated. but, still, you leave it with a sense of faith in humanity, and community, restored, one that leaves you uplifted and almost running off a high. but, you know that’s not the point. it doesn’t matter what you do or don’t get out of this – what matters is to help who truly needs it.

when you’ve walked through the march for two hours, your toes numb from the cold and hands aching, you step into a pizza shop, stomach grumbling. you stand in line, eyes roving over protestors who had the same idea as you, exchanging polite smiles, and watching the crowd continue to move like wave through the window.

you blink when you see the flash of light brown hair, wrapped into a ponytail.

almost as though it’s some sort of bodily instinct, like breathing or licking your lips, you exit the line and rush through the door, pushing it open and yelling, “lee!”

the cold air immediately whips against your face, white snowflakes beginning to dot along the trails of wind as you make your way to her. even though you knew it was lee from the get go, the soft doe eyes and tough jaw immediately recognizable after nearly three months together, you can’t help the pang of relief from knowing it’s her.

she blinks at you, lips just barely parting as you walk over, nervous laughter beginning to tickle at your mouth. “hi.”

you smile back. “hey.” you look around, the chants of the protest ringing around you both. “are you here for the…?”

she nods. “yeah.”

you pop your lips. “alone?”

“no, um…” her eyes shift to behind you, and you turn to find two girls approaching you both. the same girls you always see lee walking around campus with. you stiffen, nervous butterflies erupting in your stomach. “I’m here with my friends.”

“oh, hi,” you greet, exchanging smiles with the two girls. their eyebrows are raised in curiosity, gaze darting between you and lee, clearly awaiting an introduction.

you glance warily at lee, and that seems to do the trick, her eyes finally lifting to you three and blinking hard. she pauses before saying, “these are my friends, amaya and maria.”

when she introduces you, amaya’s eyes widen. “oh! so, you’re the roommate!”

her open, friendly tone helps in making you feel more at ease, though her words pique your curiosity. your eyes flick from her to lee, teasingly saying, “yeah, why? has lee been spreading rumors about me?”

maria snorts, patting a hand on lee’s shoulder. lee doesn’t pull back or flinch, and just lets the touch happen. something in you softens at the sight. “oh, please, we’ve been trying to get her to talk more about any roommate irks she’s dealt with from you, but either she’s nicer to you than any other roommate, or you’re just that good to live with.”

the words nearly send you into a euphoric bliss, an embarrassingly high-pitched giggle spilling out. “no, no, I think I’m just that perfect to live with.”

lee rolls her eyes, mouth twitching.

amaya nods at you. “so, you’re here for the protest?”

you lift your rolled up poster. “yeah, I came in right after class.”

she makes small talk with you, asking about your major and the classes you’re taking. when you mention your mythology course on tuesdays, her eyes brighten. “oh, I’m in that class, too! don’t be a stranger, come say hi next time.”

you can’t help but smile widely. “yeah, of course, I’ll make sure to.” it’s strange, really, to think that all this time, someone so intimately connected to lee was sharing the same space as you every tuesday. it’s silly, but it feels almost reverent, in a way, to be near someone so close to lee. lee’s such a difficult person to peel away the layers of, and so, seeing and being near someone who has already done that feels like standing next to a champion of some sorts.

maria, who’s been standing near lee and talking lowly to her the entire time, lee’s only response being some hums and nods, pokes her head out to you. “why don’t we all get food together?”

you hesitate, suddenly keenly aware of being the odd one out. “oh, well, only if it’s okay – I don’t want to interrupt or anything–”

“you won’t,” lee softly interjects, eyes locking with yours. the moment has your stomach tightening, and all you can do is nod, your cheeks warming from something other than the biting, feverish cold.

–

lee doesn’t know what she had been expecting for the day, but it definitely wasn’t this. the protest? yes, of course, she had adjusted her entire week’s worth of work to ensure she could attend today. seeing you? nothing had prepared her for that.

she nervously glances at her friends as they seat themselves at a table to save it when you and her head into the line. she doesn’t know how to feel about this unexpected crossover. her moments with you have felt private, in a way, something only involving the two of you. to merge one of those moments with her friends feels a bit surreal after nothing but conversations between you two being reserved to the privacy of your home, and bubbles of separation from your public surroundings.

still, something stirs in her at the sight of you interacting with her friends. it feels like something is off, like something has shifted, but, it’s not entirely unwelcome. it feels strangely nice to watch you interact with her friends, to see the people she cares about interacting. she blinks at the thought. she supposes she really does care for you.

it’s an experience foreign to her. as a child, she sometimes had people over, but as she grew older, and her mother’s grip on both lee, and every item that passed the threshold into their home, grew exponentially, she found herself unable to handle the humiliation of letting people into such a home. in her teenage and adult life, only two or three people had actually met her mother. her high school girlfriend, or well, whatever she was to lee, did come by once. she had insisted on meeting the mother of the girl she was involved with, and with burning ears and a nauseating sense of anxiety, lee had led her through the snow and into their lonely home. the experience had brought both comfort and pain. the conditions of her home had been a private, shameful secret between her and ruth for so long, and to open it to someone else made her feel like any justifications or comfort she could have provided for herself were now shattered. any illusions she could have convinced herself of were broken now that someone else bore witness to the sight she had been forced to become accustomed to. but, still, what she had received were soothing rubs on her palm, tender kisses at the desk while they were basked in the grey shine of winter, and an assuring hug. it had both eased and lengthened her shame in ways she did not even know how to untangle.

when she glances at you, she starts at the sight of you watching her. her head immediately snaps away. she wonders what you see when you look at her.

“I’m surprised you’re here.”

she stares at your dirty sneakers, curiosity burning through. “why?” was it the crowds? the movement itself?

“well, you seem to hate crowds.”

the corner of her lips twitch. the assumption is both correct and fair to have made, considering you had seen her struggle in the subway station. at the entrance of that memory, she can’t help but shift in her spot, insecurity gnawing at the back of her mind – do you think she’s weak? “I do. but, this matters. and I have ways to… manage.”

when she hesitantly raises her eyes to you, she gulps at seeing your small smile. she looks away, something twisting in her stomach at the sight. you seem to do that a lot – smile, that is. is it like that with everyone, or just her? she shakes away the thought. it doesn’t matter. but, still, her mind keeps straying to your hair, slightly disarrayed from the wind, and the way your eyes seem brighter from being outside.

“that’s really decent of you, lee.”

she says nothing at the praise. it’s not decent of her, it’s simply the right thing to do.

“so,” you drawl, the two of you stepping forward as the line shortens, “what kind of things do you guys do to manage?”

it’s too direct a question for her to evade it. so, with a tight breath, embarrassment crawling through her, she mutters, “we, um… stay to the edge of the crowd. it’s less crowded there. and whenever we – I – start feeling like it’s a lot, we take a momentary break by heading inside somewhere.” speaking the words out loud floods her with a sense of gratitude. not everyone was as patient as the two constants in her life. she knows how lucky she is.

you hum in response, the noise neutral enough to give her a bit of relief. “that’s sweet. they seem sweet.”

she quietly nods in agreement. sweet feels all too simple a word to really describe the care they treated her with. it’s the kind of patience and understanding she had learned to not expect years ago. and then, they came in, and insisted – no, demanded – that she tolerate nothing else but the utmost patience. she doesn’t actually put their lessons into fruition, of course, but their insistence always gave her an overwhelmingly appreciative feeling.

“why don’t you bring them to the apartment?”

her mouth tics at the sound of your voice so small. she realizes how it must’ve come off to you. maybe you thought she was embarrassed of your guys’ place, or of you. she sighs at the thought, staring at your shoes. eye contact is always, well, less than easy for her, but knowing you might be hurt makes it even harder. why was she messing up so much lately?

“it’s not like that,” she says, her voice quiet amidst the bustle of the tables and customers. “I’m just not used to having them at my place. I’ve never really done it.” it’s the truth. her past apartments, what with the blank walls, new roommates and seclusion to her room, never really felt like places to invite her friends to. she also often felt uncomfortable with asking her roommates if it was okay, and besides, she preferred going to someplace else where it could be just the three of them, and in a space bigger than her tiny bedroom. with time, she just got used to things being like that, and continued to never invite them over. even now.

and maybe she still isn’t used to the idea of inviting people over to her place of residence. maybe to her, the idea of home will forever be inexplicably linked to discomfort and solitude.

“why have you never done it?”

her thoughts slide back to you, and she carefully ponders how to place her words in the most respectful way. “well, I always just wanted privacy with them. and no place I ever lived in felt… I don’t know, comfortable enough.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t bother you guys.”

she immediately shakes her head, worry seizing her. she doesn’t want you thinking that. “no, I know you wouldn’t. I just mean, I’ve gotten used to it being this way due to past apartments, so that’s why I don’t bring them over now.” maybe at the beginning, she was unsure if you’d be bothersome. but, now, it’s really just something she avoids out of habit, and the additional awkwardness she feels at doing it after having already lived together for three months. there’s also something vulnerable about knowing you’ll see her with her friends. she can’t help but be cognizant of how different she must seem around them.

you shrug, your shoulders relaxing at her answer, which causes her to feel more steadied in relief. “then, get un-used to it. I wanna see what you’re like with friends.”

her mouth twitches, raising an eyebrow. “have you forgotten they’re about four metres away?”

“yes, but we are in a crowded place, meaning someone–” you jab a finger to her arm, which sends her stiffening, “– won’t be relaxed.”

she hums, unable to resist the small smile creeping onto her face. it’s a bit unnerving, honestly, to hear you easily express knowledge about her. but, it also makes things feel a bit easier, more familiar. “so, you think you know me?”

“not fully.” she nods, suddenly freezing at your next words. “but, I’d like to.”

her mouth feels dry. she swallows hard, breaths shaky at the declaration. she doesn’t know why someone would want to know her, and she was used to not wanting to be known. so, why did your words leave her feeling relieved? did she want you to know her? after a pause, she decides that she does.

she glances at you, blinking hard. “um, okay.”

–

you nearly bark out a laugh. she’s so awkward. how can you not be endeared by her? you try not to think too hard about her dry responses. it’s been clear since the get go that she struggles with, and isn’t keen on, social interactions. and one would think that the longer you know her for, the more frequently you witness proof of this insight, the less concerned and paranoid you’d be of what she thinks of you. but, still, you worry every now and then. there’s something there, you know so. you feel something for her. and you don’t want to get ahead of yourself and make assumptions of her feelings, but you desperately hope she at least generally likes you. but, your feelings seem to constantly stir up worries that she might not, especially since you so badly want more of her. more conversation, more moments, anything.

“is that okay?” you wryly ask..

she peaks at you. “yeah.”

your shoulders sag. please, anything.

“we can… both get to know each other more.”

if it’s scientifically possible for a singular sentence to make a person’s heart light as a feather, that’s what you’re experiencing. you whip to her with a cheek-aching smile. “really?”

she flinches at your sudden turn, then tightly nods. “really.”

her voice is firm with the promise of it, and you feel there’s no other option but to believe her. “I’m flattered.”

you could nearly facepalm the moment you say it. jesus, how desperate do you sound?

she scoffs lightly, lips upturning. “it’s not that surprising, is it?”

you give her a pointed look. “maybe it wouldn’t be if I could read your mind, but sadly, all this college education hasn’t given me telepathy skills.”

her tone is lightened with a teasing lilt. “I’m sure they never made such a claim in the fine print, so you have no one to blame but yourself.”

you can’t help but grin, even at her sarcastic comment. “is this your offer to do all my paperwork from now?”

she shakes her head. “no.” she glances at you. “practice makes perfect.”

you snort. “someone has jokes.” not that you minded at all. part of you is always childishly ecstatic when she reveals her comfort around you through a joke.

she stares ahead to the counter, and you can see her mouth twist in amusement. your stomach practically flutters at the sight. it looks so close to a smirk, and that notion only has your mind hurled with images of lee cocky and arrogant. god, what a sight that would be. how would she look leaning over you with her mouth twisted like that, looking down on you? the thought nearly has you shivering.

you look to her again. her eyes twinkle with what feels like mischief. it feels so foreign a sight on her, but you drink it in, gaze lapping her up. “yeah, I can usually supply them around a half-year into acquaintanceship.”

you bump her shoulder, noting the firm strength of it. “I’m getting them after three months only, so does that make me special?”

her laugh lines deepen as her smile widens. she gives you a side glance. “if that makes you feel good about yourself, sure.”

you roll your eyes, muttering, “asshole,” with no real malice laced. malice for lee? never.

when you guys wait at the high tables and stools for your order to be completed, lee nodding for you to take the stool, leaning her back on the edge of the table, you spot her wringing her hands around her abdomen.

“cold?”

she tears her eyes away from the oven. “hm?”

your eyes fix on her hands with raised brows. “cold?”

“oh.” she glances down sheepishly, shrugging. “a bit. it’s okay.”

you really don’t know what the fuck possesses you in that moment, but this sudden need to dote on her surges through you, wrapping and squeezing without relent. you want to do something, anything, to help her in that moment. so, you sigh, removing your mittens, which have kept your hands toasty warm, then tentatively ask, “can I…?” as your hands slowly extend to hers.

her eyes widen imperceptibly, flicking between your face and hands. her lips part, then close, and suddenly you’re washed with the humiliating feeling that maybe it was the wrong thing to ask. you know how she is about touch – shit, what if she feels disrespected?

your mind is whirling in a panicked tornado of these thoughts when her small voice bursts through. “okay.”

her body is stiff, eyes observing you carefully. it doesn’t feel all too okay. “are you sure?”

she nods, to your surprise. despite her tense stature, she seems certain of her decision, and bearing witness to that makes something eager tug at you, wondering at its meaning. “I’m sure.”

with her confirmation, you shakily grab for her hands, nearly hissing when your skin makes contact with hers. this is so different from that time at the station – that touch was some sort of survival instinct, and this was nothing but pure want. her skin is so cold, poor thing. without the push and pull of an agonizingly large crowd, you can truly feel her hands – the smooth crevices of the lines on her fingers, the way her veins protrude at the back, a deep blue, how bony and long she is.

you rub your palms over her hands, focusing on the task of bringing some warmth to her. you avoid her sharp gaze, which you can feel is examining you, distracting yourself with the twists and rubs of your hands.

when you pull back to blow hot, moist air into your cupped palms, you finally dare to take a peak at her. you nearly suck in a breath at the way she’s staring at you. her dark eyes are honed in on you in the same way she does her readings, almost as though she’s studying you to memory. her jaw is set, mouth in a pressed line. but, her eyes – god, her eyes. they’re latched onto you as though you’re some destination on a map, or a pocket of light at the end of a tunnel. or perhaps you’re just succumbing to wishful thinking.

you wordlessly reach for her hands and she quietly lifts them, patiently allowing you to continue your ministrations, your breaths still trembling. “you’re a good patient,” you joke, the words too breathy for your liking.

she hums thoughtfully, eyes still focused on you. “I heard complacency sometimes helps when involved with odd people.” her lip quirks up.

you bite back a laugh. “shut up. I know you’re enjoying this.”

she gives you a small nod, an earnest smile spreading. “it’s nice.”

the two words, albeit as simple as they are, cause a bloom of satisfaction deep in you.

“am I interrupting?”

you both jerk from each other at the third voice, and you swivel around to find maria standing there, arms crossed with a smirk curling her lips.

“we were just waiting for food,” you nearly squeak, whirling to lee, who’s watching the entire interaction with a blank expression. you sigh, turning back to maria. “we’ll be there in a sec.”

maria’s eyes drift to the counter, and the large pizza box sitting on it. she adjusts her glasses, leaning over to read the paper stuck to it. “you mean this order?”

you splutter, wincing. “I… I guess so.”

maria’s smile widens, and she picks the box up. “whenever you guys are ready.”

as she walks away, your head cocks to lee, who’s staring at maria’s departing figure with slow blinks, as though she’s processing what just happened. “um, you should probably get some gloves,” you mumble, trying to move past the awkward moment.

“I have. I just didn’t bring them here.”

you chortle. “okay, then get better survival instincts.”

she softly snickers, lifting herself from the edge of the table. “yeah, those might actually be handy for a future of law enforcement.”

“glad to be of service.”

sharing jokes with her – you can’t help but feel lucky. suddenly, you don’t feel as estranged from what her friends must experience with her when you two sit with them. that, however, changes when you witness their easy banter filled with a shared history you can’t compare to, but still, they never neglect to give you context and keep you in the loop. it’s sweet, and you can’t help but feel glad that lee has such friends at her side. you can tell she feels lucky too, from the way her eyes fondly linger on them when they recall a funny story.

when you feel her gaze shift to you, you can’t but hope it carries even half of that fondness.

–

“lee?”

lee stiffens at your voice. you can’t see her. not like this.

it all started when her forensics class pushed all their reading up by a week, meaning she’d have to do double her usual amount. already, that wasn’t good. lee latched onto her routine like a lifeline, especially when it came to academics. spontaneity never worked well with her. and so, she panicked. panicked over the significant shift this extra reading would cause, panicked over the limited time she’d now have to prepare for that friday’s exam. she needed to study for it, but she also needed to do the doubled readings, since her forensics exam was the next monday.

she felt scrambled for the rest of the week. she tried to force herself to stay up and get as much reading for her forensics class done as possible, but whenever it became apparent just how little progress she had made, that sent a flood of chest-tightening anxiety through her, which would shatter her focus for the time it chose to linger by.

the reading was put aside on thursday in favour of spending the entire day cramming for friday’s exam, even skipping class that day in order to do so. she barely ate anything, and drank copious amounts of coffee, the lack of sleep from the past few days catching up fast with her.

she did the exam, felt satisfied with it, then continued her relentless schedule of catching up on the readings for monday’s forensic exam. she had a long shift at the library on saturday, but still gave herself no break, immediately heading home and continuing to work, the process extended even more by her bouts of intense anxiety and drowsiness.

your eyes were on her everytime she came out for a refill of coffee, or to eat something small with her books by her side. you had asked several times if you could help, if she needed anything, and the soft look in your eyes made her feel like she was on the examination table. it was nice of you… really nice, she couldn’t deny it. but, she wanted to prove something to herself. and in all seriousness, she’s too accustomed to her specific regime of studying that she didn’t want to undergo the process of learning how you study and potentially dealing with the stress and socially-infused situations of realizing your methods aren’t compatible with hers. so, she politely declined. when you nodded in understanding, a slight frown on your face, she was gripped with the desire to forgo studying for a few minutes to make it disappear. but, she couldn’t. it felt like she couldn’t do anything for herself.

on sunday night, it felt like things were finally taking a somewhat positive turn. she only had one reading left, and it was the shortest one, so she would wake up early on monday, skim it, then go over her notes once more before the 9:00AM exam. she went to sleep with those assuring thoughts on her mind.

except, she forgot to set her alarm. and then, she slept in.

this led to her laying on her bed for ten minutes, the struggle to breathe squeezing at her chest, forcing herself to release the air in steady, consistent breaths. her eyes were blown out and her hands were wringing and pulling at each other, body feeling like it was suddenly afloat and not really attached to earth.

after she took a cold, cold shower, trying to make her body feel something other than sheer fear, she dressed and went straight to campus. she awkwardly stood at her professor’s desk, fingers thrumming against her black coat, quietly explaining what had happened and asking for another chance. she wondered if she should beg, plead, list her credentials – but, decided straight and to the point would do better in preventing a waste of either of their time. besides, she could never convincingly do some of those things in the first place, so why try? she felt sure in how she proceeded.

at least, until he said, “you don’t seem that desirous to retake it. and even if you were, I don’t give redos unless there was prior notice or a medical condition involved. if I allowed every student to miss an exam with the excuse of sleeping in, this classroom would be empty on exam day, miss harker.”

she came home. had another… attack, so it seems to be. then, sat on her floor, back braced against her bed, staring blankly at the wall, trying to intentionally even out her breaths.

it’s now been two hours, and her mind is whirling with thoughts. she knows it’s not objectively that big a deal. she took a lighter load for the spring semester, so if she fails her forensics class, she can just retake it then. but, still, disappointment and shame seep through her. she’s meant to do better than this. she’s meant to be a good student, one who people can take pride in. one who she herself can take pride in. her friends, even you, have always praised her for her focus, her responsibility. how will she face anyone? is this what she left her mom in oregon for?

and that – that is the thought that breaks her. tears slip down her face, and she silently lets them roll down. the image of ruth harker in her head, living in their tarnished home, just waiting for her daughter to return home every break, every long weekend. the mother she left to fend for herself, equally parts ashamed of her decision and happy to leave. and here she is, being neglectful of her alarms, sleeping in, missing an exam. she should’ve done better, should’ve made her decision to leave worth something. worth something that at least can carry the same weight of the shame and guilt that plagues her everyday when she thinks of her mother back home, all alone.

she starts when you knock at the door, your voice ringing on the other side. “lee? are you in there?”

she’s always home around this time, you both know that. the question is merely a formality.

“yeah,” she mutters, her voice raspy.

“can I come in?”

she tenses up, eyes scanning her bedroom. it’ll be the first time you’ve seen it if she says yes. it’s clean – no late nights can erase her aversion to a mess.

it’ll also be the first time you’ve seen her in such a state. she wipes the back of her hand along her face. part of her just wants to be left alone, so she can cope with these emotions as she always does. just silently letting them exist, and ride them out in the silence of her room and the chaos of her mind. but, another part of her, a part that’s growing more and more apparent, wants someone here to tell her it’s okay, that things will be alright. she wishes she could call her mom. she wishes she could tell her mom these things, and admit just how lonely she is here, how hard things are.

she’s suddenly struck by such an acute sense of loneliness that she begins to truly linger on letting you in. not solely because of feeling alone – but, also, because it’s you. you, who has seen her panic on the subway. you, who has treated every facet of her with understanding.

she hesitates, then tentatively says, “yes.”

when you enter, your eyes curiously peer around the room and she suddenly feels self-conscious. there’s not much in here at all – no art, no photos, not many trinkets. what do you think of that?

your inquisitive search doesn’t last for long before your gaze finds her, and your eyebrows immediately furrow. “oh my god, what happened?”

she freezes as you sit next to her. “I, um…” her nostrils flare as she inhales a short breath. “I forgot to set an alarm. I didn’t wake up in time for my exam. my professor won’t let me retake it, so I'll probably fail.” the last word comes out as a shaky breath, and she avoids you, humiliation drowning out any other emotion.

“what the fuck?” you hiss. “why?”

her voice lowers. “he said it’s not a valid excuse.”

“yes, it is!” you press, your voice reaching a higher octave. “you’ve been working yourself to death, and it was a genuine mistake, and–”

“I have no way to prove that,” she gently intervenes, finally locking eyes with you. she doesn’t know how she looks, but however she does manages to make you falter. she doesn’t want you to falter, though, not because of her. so, she adds, “but, yeah, I get feeling upset.”

“are you not?”

“I’m embarrassed,” she whispers, eyeing her brown socks. it feels so hard to admit such an honest feeling, and she cringes at it.

“don’t be,” you immediately respond, the words hard and earnest. “we all have slip-ups like this. uni is fucking hard, and you’d be shocked at how many classes I’ve skipped, how many times I’ve missed handing in an assignment and had to weasel my way through it. we all have moments like that – yours just happened to be on an exam day. you’re probably worn out, and the fact you slept in is a clearcut sign you’re overtired. and that’s because you have been working hard. too hard, if you ask me,” you add quietly. “it’s not embarrassing at all. you were just tired and an accident happened. that’s it.”

that’s it. you make it sound so simple. weakly, she murmurs, “but, I should’ve done better or at least more.”

“more than studying every single waking moment of the week?” you question gently, and that makes her mouth tighten, a burst of stubbornness making it hard to accept how right you are. “it was an accident, lee.”

“I should’ve been more responsible.”

“you are, like, one of the most responsible students I’ve met. this wasn’t a case of you being irresponsible. if you hadn’t been so overtired, you would’ve remembered it. meaning that this is just a case of you being overtired.”

she sighs, turning away. you’re right, of course you are, but it’s hard to accept such a weighty mistake without placing the responsibility on herself.

you snicker, poking her arm. “stop being stubborn.”

“I’m not.”

“uh huh.” you pause, and she feels your eyes on her. in the aftermath of her vulnerable confession, she feels like curling in on herself and hiding away. “what will happen, though? if you fail?” the last words are quiet.

she breathes in shakily. “I have enough room to shift it to my next semester.”

a whoosh of air exits you. “thank god. see?” you tilt your head down, forcing her adrift gaze to meet yours. she gulps down at the sight of your smile. “it’ll all work out.”

she nods, eyes fluttering shut, trying to absorb your words. it’ll all work out.

“can I hug you?”

her eyes snap open, surprise coursing through her. it’s a sudden request, but she supposes not totally unreasonable. people usually hug those they’re comforting. she waits for the familiar sense of discomfort to rouse her into a polite decline. but, it doesn’t come. she takes a moment to digest this. it doesn’t come, just as it doesn’t with her friends or her mom. should she give in, then?

partially curious, partially craving more comfort (though, she’ll never admit it), she says, “um, sure.”

you shift closer to her, so that your arms brush together, the fabric of your long sleeves doing nothing to lessen her awkwardness about it. your arms freeze midway, and she braces herself for it. finally, you wrap one arm around the back of her shoulders, and the other around the front of her neck, your grip loose and gentle. you pull her in, and she lets herself lean into your body heat, resting her head on her shoulder, tucked into the curve of your neck. the scent of your soap fills her noses, and she feels the cold of her cheeks lessen against your warm skin and the fabric of your sweater. her body is tense and hard in your embrace at first, but after a few moments of you rubbing her arm, she relaxes, body loosening and sagging into you, the exhaustion of the past few days hitting her with full force.

and so, you two sit like that for a long while, the pale, white light of the winter day filling her room and casting its glow on you both.

–

when you wake up, you immediately flinch at the sight of lee’s face right next to yours. after some bleary, confused pondering, you remember what happened just hours before. you insisting she lay in her bed, then asking tentatively if you can hang out in her room, her just as hesitantly accepting the offer. listening to your walkman as she fell asleep soundly, watching as she curled into the cutest fetus position. and, of course, inevitably, falling asleep yourself, sinking down into her beige blanket.

she’s still asleep, her hands resting by her face, knees lifted to her stomach. you smile at the sight. she sleeps like a little kid, so innocently. her fingers twitch and fidget, and you wonder what she’s dreaming about. you hope her subconscious musings are far from exams, school and the anxiety.

her breaths are deep and steady, long lashes curved in the loveliest way. does she even realize how pretty she is?

your hand practically itches to raise and intertwine your fingers with her long ones. she felt so smooth and right in your hands the day you warmed them. you want more. but, no, you won’t take. not like this, when she’s still asleep.

you slide your most recent mixtape into your walkman, autumn leaves doodled all over the case. Linger by The Cranberries flows into your ears as your eyes take in lee’s room. she’s minimalist, to say the least. it’s not all that surprising, but you wonder why she has such a lack of personal objects. your eyes move to her desk, curiously taking in her copy of the bible. is she religious? from how she made it sound, it had seemed like she was only raised religious. but, perhaps you were wrong and had judged wrongly due to her being a lesbian. she very much could still be religious, you suppose.

you wonder if she’d find your own stances on faith off-putting if it turns out she really is religious. you no longer find yourself particularly attached to any belief system, and the question of whether god exists or not is one you sometimes contemplate on, but still have no real answer for. sometimes, when you find yourself silently praying to some invisible force in a time of need, you’re faced with the question of whether or not that god is someone, or something, you truly want to believe in, or just feel obligated to. like, this silent existence lurking over your shoulder, waiting for you to finally believe in them.

you find yourself so entrapped in the whirlwind of contemplation that you don’t even notice lee waking until she shifts near you, legs stretching out. her eyes are wide as she takes in your figure, which is probably shadowed now from the dim light of the sun setting so early. she seems surprised at the sight of you at first, before understanding seems to dawn on her face. her ponytail is mused, so much of her hair falling out as she rolls onto her back, her turtleneck rising up her stomach. you gaze into your lap, trying not to stare. god, how easy it would be to roll over her in her small mattress, watching her hair become more disarrayed.

you force yourself to speak. “rested well, sleepyhead?”

she releases some indiscernible, mumbled words, groaning.

you laugh. “come again?”

“mm. I slept well.” she rasps her fingers along her stomach, eyes pausing on your knee. “thank you. for before, and for staying.”

“anytime.” and you mean it. you know she’s not one to confide in someone easily, so part of you is immensely honoured she stored such trust in you today.

she sits up, resting her back on the headboard. “you drool in your sleep, you know?”

you immediately reel back, scoffing. “how would you know? you were passed out when I fell asleep.”

her lips quirk up. “I woke up at one point. you were making a puddle all over the pillow.”

you bristle at the comment. “you know, the ‘thank you’ would’ve sufficed.”

she chuckles quietly, sagging back. “just… keeping you on your toes.”

“someone certainly seems to be in a better mood now.”

“I am. thank you.”

the words are quiet, said with genuine gratitude. you soften at them. god. you’re such a fool for her. “you’re welcome.”

you lift yourself from the bed, rising on your toes to stretch long and hard, pulling your arms back. you shut your eyes in satisfaction, and when you open them, you giggle at the sight of lee staring at her wall, pointedly turned away from you. “such a gentleman you are, harker.”

she rolls her eyes. “are you finished?”

“mhm, yeah.”

she turns back to you, and desire stirs in your abdomen again at the sight of her intense gaze, feeling as though it could burn right through you. you’d do anything to have the focus of that gaze sharpened by desire. if you pretend hard enough, you can maybe fool yourself into believing that’s what it is right now.

you force your focus to the window in her bedroom. it’s snowing, the darkening evening flowing with tiny flakes and sending your neighbourhood into a little fairy land. you watch it in wonder for a few moments before meeting her gaze. “do you want to go for a walk?”

the street lamps cast a golden glow on the street, the snowflakes more apparent under their light. the streets are coated in a blanket of milky-white snow, almost like a soft cushion you could fall into. you know you ought to be rehearsing for tomorrow’s presentation, not taking a stroll with lee, but you can’t help but give into this moment with her. besides, after the presentation, you’re a free bird and done with the semester – that knowledge gives you a sense of freedom in choosing how to spend your time now.

you two walk quietly like that for an hour or so, feet kicking up the snow. you stop once at a stall near campus for some warmed donuts and coffee. you joke with her that this is preparing her for her FBI-diet, and she laughs lightly.

“my house back at oregon looks like this. with the snow and everything.”

“it sounds beautiful.”

she nods, eyes roving along the white plane extending from the bench you two are seated on. “it is.”

“do you miss it?”

“sometimes.” she sighs quietly. “other times, I’m just glad to have left. but, around christmastime, it was nice. just covered in snow, only her and I.”

“your mom?”

she nods, lips pursing. “yeah, my mom.” she fiddles with the sleeve of her jacket. “and you? do you miss home?”

“sometimes,” you repeat after her. “I don’t know. sometimes I feel like being an adult is just such a burden, and I want nothing more than to go back home and continue being without responsibility. but, I know with that, comes less autonomy too, so it has its pros and cons.”

she hums thoughtfully. “it’ll get easier with time. right now, it still feels new, but I’m sure you’ll adjust.”

“thanks.”

she nods, letting the silence simmer before speaking again. “it’s easy to miss home when away, even if you know it’s hard there.”

you laugh, no real joy attached to the noise. “yeah, nostalgia just makes everything seem nicer.”

“but, like you said, familiarity too. when you’re always moving and meeting people, constantly dealing with something new, the home you grew up in can feel a lot more comforting. even if it… stifled you back then.”

“yeah,” you agree in a whisper.

she closes her eyes, letting the chilled breeze brush along her face. in the white light of the moon, her cheeks are kissed with the faintest pink, those hard lips softened in the calm of the night. it reminds you of that night at the party when the two of you got high, and you felt like all her worries had dissipated.

“I wish I had a camera, so I could photograph this moment,” you blurt out, your words breaking the silence and sending you slightly cringing.

she keeps her eyes closed. “when do you get paid next? maybe you can find a used one.”

you snort at her practical answer. “it was meant to be a tender sentiment.”

“oh, I see.” she smiles lightly before her face eases back into one of relaxation. “it was.”

you’re suddenly struck with an idea, one that makes your cheeks ache with amusement. you start quietly reaching down to the ground, picking up a ball of snow and patting it into shape.

“what are you doing?” she questions, eyes still shut.

in a flurry of adrenaline, you throw the snowball at her chest. she jerks back, eyes flying open and skimming along her chest in surprise before meeting yours. her face is blank, and you wouldn’t be able to detect even a wisp of the thoughts in her head had it not been for her slowly standing up, idly scooping up the snow gathered on the bench’s arm. “maybe you should start running.”

you don’t think twice, scurrying away through the snow-covered field, laughing in wild anticipation. you turn back, yelping at the sight of lee easily catching up to you. damn her for jogging all the time.

her aim is all too perfect, her snowball smacking right into your back in a whirl of flakes. you stumble at the impact, still squealing in delight.

and so, you two continue like that for a while, until you’re both drenched and tired, the walk home filled with attempts at a rematch from you, and lee trying to escape your efforts.

the next day, your friend in your feminism class is practically shaking your shoulders, encouraging you without a moment’s pause. your stomach is swarming with buzzing bees of anxiety, filling you to the brim with worried thoughts.

“you can do it,” she says, nails tight in your shoulder. “I’ll be watching the entire time, and I’ll clap so loudly at the end, and–”

“ow, ow, my shoulders,” you whine, writhing out of her grip.

“oh, sorry,” she sheepishly says, sliding her hands down to your forearms, clutching tightly. “just know, I’ll be right at the front the entire time.”

“yes, mom.” you drawl out teasingly, your heart flooding with gratitude and affection.

when your name is called by the professor, you smooth down the creases on your shirt, exchanging firm nods with your friend and heading up on the small platformed stage in your lecture hall. your eyes scan the crowd hopefully. you thought lee’s question from a few weeks ago was asked with the intent of attending your presentation. then, again, you had been the one to supply the information about your room number, so maybe her question regarding the building was pure curiosity or just a formality. a small part of you feels wounded at the harsh reality. why did you always get your hopes up so damn much?

shaking the thoughts, and its accompanying sadness, off, you introduce yourself, and say, “and today, I’ll be discussing the portrayal of women and femininity within horror films.” you force yourself to skim your eyes over the crowd, but whenever you make eye contact with someone, you internally wince. nerves are still fluttering in your gut, but you try your best to ignore them, especially after you undergo the mild humiliation of finding yourself distracted by your thoughts for too long a moment, your professor’s clearing of her throat urging you to look back down on your cue cards.

your eyes dart up when the backdoor creaks open, and your heart nearly zips up your throat at the sight of lee. she’s in a button-up and slacks as per usual, her long black trench coat wrapping around her. when some people look to the back due to the noise, you can see her jaw lock, probably feeling embarrassed at being the subject of attention. but, then, she locks eyes with you, and her lips press into a small smile, giving you a nod – whether it’s one of encouragement or acknowledgement, you don’t know. but, she’s here. that’s all that matters. she sits in the back row, arms crossed over the desk, leaning in, eyes focused on you.

you breathe in deeply, feeling as though it’s almost possible to vividly experience the expansion of your lungs in that moment, then continue speaking. “now, we’ll start off by exploring different archetypes…”

as you speak, you intentionally will your eyes to continue skipping along your peers’ faces. whenever you falter in your words, or feel suddenly struck with a feeling of awkwardness, your eyes latch onto your friend, and, of course, lee. lee who watches you carefully the entire presentation, slowly nodding to your points.

when you move to the good representation of women in horror, you add, “an example of a complex female lead in horror is clarice starling from The Silence of the Lambs,” purposely making eye contact with lee, whose lips curl into a soft grin.

when you’re done, and have been sufficiently congratulated and praised by your friend, which triggers a tight hug between you two, you shuffle up the steps to lee, who’s standing up as you approach, her smile wide. “hi. you came.”

she shrugs. “I wanted to see.” she looks up, cocking her head, a stream of hair brushing past her cheek. you want to move it away so bad. “besides, you knew I was coming.”

“no,” you corrected. “I hoped you’d come. but, you had me wondering there for a second.” you feel suddenly bashful at the confession, at letting her know you had truly harboured a desire for her to come.

she seems to feel the same way, hands fidgeting with her sleeve. “sorry. the subway ran late, and I, uh – I brought you this.”

she hands you a chocolate bar, and you could nearly jump her bones right there. you nearly sigh at your own thought – god, you’re deranged. you turn the bar in your hands, rubbing the plastic. “hershey’s cookies and cream?”

she gestures awkwardly at it, movements stilted and stiff. “maria said it was good. it’s a new flavour.”

“we can share it, then.”

her mouth twitches. “okay.”

you drag your friend to the back row, and the three of you sit together for the rest of the presentations. friendly as ever, your friend jokes with lee about any horrible living habits you have, and you know she must be doing a pretty good job, because lee actually jokes back, which incites many well-deserved arm smacks from you.

afterwards, you and lee take the subway, then walk the rest of the way together. the sun is out, shining a warm, golden line on the glittering frost of the snow. you walk together in peaceful quiet, breaking the chocolate bar into two pieces for you to share.

the only interruption is your sudden halt, lee’s shoulder smacking against yours as she stops too late. her eyebrows draw in. “what’s wrong?”

you point at the window display to a stationery store, a mini christmas tree aglow and glittering through the glass. “we should get a tree.”

the lines on her forehead deepen. “why? we both won’t be in the apartment for christmas.”

you pout, the reminder a sad one to you. “I know, but it’ll look festive, plus we can keep it after break.”

“after christmas? what’s the point?”

“it’ll look festive, lee!”

she seems genuinely perplexed. “but, the tree isn’t there just to look festive.”

you roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “is this a catholic thing?”

she snickers softly. “no, it’s just a factual thing.”

“that’s so boring, lee.”

she huffs a sigh, glancing at the tree. “but, won’t it be a waste?”

you continue pouting, emphasizing the act with a kick to the snow. “please?”

she sighs again, staring at you warily.

–

lee doesn’t know how she got herself into this, but all she knows is that she did, and now, you’re being infinitely indecisive about which tree to choose. you’re currently standing between two miniature ones, eyes roving between each thoughtfully. she had agreed to this outing under the assumption it’d only drag her out of the apartment for an hour or so. she checks her watch – between your visit to a cafe and the languid patience at which you’re choosing a tree, it’s been two.

she leans against the wall. “can you pick one soon? I want to go home.”

“please, grandpa, I need silence to think.”

amusement bubbles in her. “I’ve been silent for the past half hour, so I don’t know if I believe that.”

“I have been thinking!” you exclaim. “and you aren’t helping me make the choice, so…”

she sighs, sliding from the wall and picking up the lighter of the two trees, which is a lot more gangly with large gaps in between the branches, walking to the cash register.

“wait,” she hears you softly call out. she turns to find you staring longingly at the rich green, full, thick miniature tree. she supposes it fits more of the traditional standard, but the choice doesn’t matter much to her. “you don’t like this one?”

she walks back silently, swapping the trees and carrying the other one to the counter. as exasperated as she might feel, she finds herself unable to ignore any signs of dejection from you, whether it be a pout or whiny tone. jesus, she even pays for half of the tree, despite your many protestations. but, she ignores you and quietly insists to the cashier to split it in half. she knows you’re just as broke as she is, and she isn’t about to let you pay for it all on your own. and as contradictory as it might seem to her lack of enthusiasm for purchasing a tree, it’s still something you’ll both… enjoy – or whatever it is you planned to do with the tree post-christmas. it doesn’t feel right for you to shoulder the cost on your own.

another hour later of choosing lights (lee chooses golden, while you choose multi-coloured) and ornaments (she chooses one pack of classic, plain ones that are green, red and golden; you go for more more sparkling, ornamental ones for some “contrast,” as you say), you are back at the apartment, decorating it together. lee tried to initially assemble it, but you pushed her to the couch, telling her to relax and let you do it. she isn’t sure how exactly you expect her to relax, with all your stumbling and struggling in putting the parts together. after watching you curiously for a half hour, she finally gets up, silently shuffling in your way and getting on her knees to put it together. you shove lightly at her, begging her to move, but she ignores you, getting to work. she’s good at this kind of stuff – taking pieces of something and assembling it together, putting her mind to work in figuring out something that has a process and structure. in ten minutes, she’s got it done, looking up at you with a small smile, satisfaction and pride trilling through her.

you release a petulant huff, crossing your arms. “you had it easier because you noticed all my mistakes.”

“mhm,” she hums mindlessly, eyes scanning the tree, rearranging the branches.

“look who’s being so picky now, miss what’s-the-point-of-a-tree.”

“if we’re going to be keeping it past christmas, we might as well make it sufficiently nice.”

“‘sufficiently nice,’” you repeat mockingly with a laugh. you, then, bump her shoulder with your hand. “you did damn good, I gotta admit.”

pride swells in her chest at your praise. “thank you.”

you two wrap the lights around it together and she feels like a child having a playdate, the two of you stepping over each other whenever you cross paths when circling around the tree. she can’t remember the last time she put up and decorated a tree with someone like this. maybe it was with her mother back in high school. there wasn’t all that much space in their home, but still, every christmas, lee dragged out the tree from her mom’s closet. her mom would usually watch her blankly for the first few minutes, before eventually joining her, her slow movements stilting the process by an hour. they didn’t talk much when doing it, but occasionally, her mom would reminisce on an ornament she had received from lee’s father, or lee would laugh at her mom dropping something, and for a split second, as short and fleeting as a star winking into oblivion, it’d feel like her and her mother again. her mother who held her as a child and used to dry orange slices with her so they could hang them on the windows together. in those moments, things felt normal again. through those last years of high school, when her mother started fading away more and more, lee wasn’t all that sure why she insisted on bringing out the christmas tree so much. now, on reflection, she’s sure it’s because of what you two had spoken of. she missed the familiarity of her mom. maybe that’s why she hasn’t even resisted going back to oregon for winter break all these years. she wants to spend christmas with her mom, and maybe, just maybe, get to feel like a daughter with her mother again. to have some of the tension, and pauses, and shame, go away, even if just for a day.

“when do you leave?” you ask her, carefully hooking on an ornament.

she stares at you through the branches, your ministrations and the branches both providing her with some subtlety. the soft light of the lights shadow over your face, softening all the edges. she forgets what she’s meant to be doing for a moment, sinking into the sight. when your eyes flick up to hers, she immediately looks down, clearing her throat. “um, what did you ask?”

she feels her face heat up at your soft laugh. “I asked when you’re leaving for home?”

she falters. “two days from now.” she’s known this piece of information for weeks – she planned the trip all the way back in november. but, now that it’s approaching, some sort of discomfort lingers in her. the idea that she’ll be away from the apartment, from you, makes her feel more off than she had expected.

“and you come back on?”

“the fifteenth.” she blinks hard at the tree. it seems like so long, all of a sudden.

“so, you won’t be here for your birthday?”

her head snaps up. she had never told you of her birthday, nor mentioned that she was staying the entire break because her mom wanted her in oregon for it. she doesn’t want any sort of big deal made for her birthday. “how did you–?”

“amaya told me,” you cut in with what she can only describe as a playfully evil chuckle. “you thought you could hide it from me?”

her lips press together. “she shouldn’t have told you. I’m not set on celebrating it much.”

“fine, fine. so humble,” you drawl out with a smile.

she sighs. “it’s not that. I just don’t like… the attention. or people going out of their way.”

“you do realize that if people go out of their way, it’s not because you’re holding them at gunpoint, right?”

confusion seeps into her mind. “what do you mean? I don’t own a gun.”

you giggle, shaking your head. “no, no, I mean, if people do something nice for you, it’s not because you’re forcing them. it’s because they want to.”

“still. I don’t know, it just feels like a lot.” lee has friends, but she still experiences bouts of discomfort at being doted on, especially for something that takes as much effort as a birthday celebration. the gifts, the cake, the balloons. she doesn’t know exactly why it makes her so uncomfortable. maybe it’s a multitude of things. the fact that for most of her life, her birthday was a private celebration with just her and her mom, disconnected from everyone else. or maybe it’s because she’s just generally not used to people other than her mom treating her with such tenderness. or maybe in these recent years, she just got so used to being the one depended on at home, the one to provide the basic care, that it seems wrong vice versa. maybe part of her is still the wounded child who feels connection, and the gifts that come with it, just aren’t in the cards for her. no matter how many people try to prove it otherwise.

“okay, well, will you accept at least one birthday gesture from me? since you won’t be here.”

your eyes have that pleading look, and her resolve slowly wanes. “fine. what gesture?”

you clap your hands, racing to your bedroom. she lowers her hands from the tree, twiddling them together, nerves suddenly spiked in anticipation. she also hates surprises. so, maybe that’s another reason.

you return with a box neatly wrapped in red wrapping paper with shimmering gold stripes, an elaborate bow placed on top. lee nearly stutters at the sight, suddenly overcome with mixed emotions of surprise, awe and discomfort. she gulps, waiting for you to proceed.

“happy early birthday,” you say, head ducked down, thrusting the gift at her abruptly. she easily catches it, ignoring the tingling feeling her fingers get when they brush yours. “don’t open it till the fourteenth, though.”

“I… okay.” she cradles it gently, staring down at it. her fingers skimm over the wrapping, the creases on the paper indicating your repetitive attempts at folding. you did this just for her? she feels all the more uncomfortable under your gaze now, acutely aware of the fact that her face probably isn’t best translating the gratitude pulsing through her. she looks up, intentionally willing herself to stare at you. “thank you.”

she’s relieved when you seem more than satisfied with that, a wide smile cracking through your face. as she puts the gift down, she wonders if she ought to give you your gift now. it’s laying in her drawers at this moment, but she still hasn’t prepared its presentation, which will undoubtedly pale in comparison to yours, but still. she knows you’d enjoy the anticipation of her gift being hidden in wrapping.

she places the present on the table your guys’ tree sits upon, feeling desperate to change the topic to ward off the awkwardness of saying nothing more about your gesture. “when will you leave?”

“the day after you.”

she nods, suddenly feeling a sense of something akin to guilt at leaving your guys’ apartment alone without either of you here. but, obviously, she knows it’s impractical to stay back just because it feels wrong. and it’s just as impractical to ask you to stay back with her. she knows that.

but, still, it feels unsettling to think of leaving, especially as you two finally finish the tree and admire it, then go to the movie store for the tape of Home Alone, then watch it together on the couch. she won’t admit it to you, but you were right. the tree really is nice – a sentiment she can’t help but muse on as it glitters in its corner of your guys’ apartment.

–

the day lee leaves, she plans to take the 5:00AM train, insisting you don’t have to wake at 4:00AM to see her off. but, you do so anyways, groggy and bleary-eyed, watching her as she slings her duffel bag over her shoulder.

“oh, you don’t need your walkman?” you ask, pointing to its spot on the coffee table.

her eyes dart to it, widening a bit. “oh, right.”

you retrieve it and the two tapes next to it. one is kate bush, and your eyebrows furrow at the sight of the Radiohead one. you turn to her, waving it. “you listen to them?”

“no.” her lips fold, eyes hooked onto the tapes. “I bought it after we heard that song at the party.”

surprise surges through you, and a desperation to know more clings onto your next words. “why?”

“you liked them, so I thought they might be good.”

you try not to grin too hard. liking lee is so easy. it’s a thought that suddenly strikes you in that moment. she’s not someone whose fatal flaws you need to ignore or minimize to feel at ease with her. she’s not someone who only gives you droplets of kindness to drink up like a starved man at a lake. she’s not mean, or cruel, or even annoying. she’s just lee. hard at the edge, infinitely soft inside, undoubtedly awkward, and oh-so considerate and sweet.

you hand her back the tapes, still in awe, chest churning with affection. “that’s really… thank you, lee.”

she gives you a single tilt of her head, wrapping the headphones around her neck and tucking the walkman into her pocket. her hand lingers on the doorknob, eyes frozen on your shoulder. “I should, um, get going.”

don’t leave, you suddenly ache to say. listen to the tape with me and tell me what you think of every song.

but, you can’t. it’s too selfish and stupid a request, especially since you, too, are leaving tomorrow. so, you swallow down the words and say, “I hope you get there safely. also, you can call this time, you know? you never did last time.”

“um, yeah. okay, I will.” her gaze shifts to yours, eyebrows drawn in in a steady, hard promise. “I will.”

“good. so, I guess I’ll see you soon? after the break.”

after three weeks. the unspoken words linger between the two of you. you ignore their presence in the air, trying to be encouraging. she repeats, “after the break.”

she gives you one last long look, her eyes roving along your face, and it feels as intimate as a kiss or hug. then, she nods once more, turning and leaving your guys’ apartment.

in your sleep-deprived state, the emptiness you feel in the space as soon as she departs makes you nearly want to cry. you pad back to your room, the silence deafening, wishing over and over again that she forgets something and you can hear the familiar turn of her key.

but, it’s lee, and you know that even if she did forget something, she’d ensure she makes that train for her mom.

you turn on Pablo Honey, curling into your bed and hoping she, too, is listening to the tape. at least then, it can feel like the two of you are listening to it together.

when you wake up again after sleeping in all too late, weeks of packed schedules and due dates compounded into what feels like an everlasting slumber, you lay on your back for a while. lee was just a stranger four months ago. now, she’s someone whose absence makes you ache and the apartment feel abandoned.

you go through your normal motions of the day, making coffee and breakfast, then sitting down to finish the second half of Home Alone 2 that you didn’t get to complete with her the day before. it feels different, and weird, to not have her there, rolling her eyes at your commentary. you sag into the couch, sulking, longingly staring at your guys’ christmas tree.

but, something seems off. your eyes flick down and you leap out of your seat at the sight of a box neatly wrapped in plain brown paper. on top of it, your name is scrawled in lee’s handwriting, a little note on top. you gingerly pick it up, holding it like some ancient artefact.

I know you’ll probably be too excited to wait for Christmas before opening this, so you have the ex-Catholic’s permission to do so whenever you want. I’m not really good with this kind of stuff, but thank you for being my friend. I hope your break and trip home go well.

you laugh at the note, nearly kissing it out of the sheer joy bursting through your body and sending you so much energy that your prior sadness feels like a lifetime away. you set the note down, immediately setting to carefully unwrapping the gift. you’d rather do it alone in the privacy of the apartment, away from any prying eyes at your childhood home, anyways.

when you behold the gift in your hands, your eyes gush with tears, dry lips aching with how hard you grin.

it’s a film camera.

–

whenever lee visits, her mom embraces her as though it’s been years. lee feels both accustomed to and like a craving in her is sated by her mom’s affection. her mom pets her hair like she’s a child again, and she asks after lee’s classes, even lee’s roommate. lee gives her a rundown of the former, but chooses to vaguely allude to the latter. she’s scared of what her mother will see on her face if she speaks of you. most of all, she’s terrified of what she herself will feel if she talks about you. will she feel shame under the gaze of her mother? fear? she doesn’t want to feel those things when talking about you.

on christmas day, her mom has them sit together in the living room, the television softly playing in the background, and read some prayers together. lee knows them all – they’re practically engraved into her memory from all the years spent hearing them in church and having private sessions just like this with her mother. when her mom reads them, lee is torn between spacing out and getting lost in her own thoughts to ignore the numbing words, or soaking up this moment. her mother’s voice, the worn out bible, the childhood floor she used to sit and lie upon when falling asleep with her head in her mother’s lap.

“will you visit church today?” her mom asks.

lee hesitates. “alone?”

her mom slowly blinks at her. “we can go together.”

even if she had been asked to go alone, lee would’ve still done so. one might say that she could simply lie, but there’s something about being in such close proximity to her mother that makes it harder to lie. at the apartment, she can easily tell her mom that she’s still praying. but, when confined to these walls, with her mother’s wide, trusting eyes on her, lee finds that it’s impossible to fib.

and so, they go to church, lee pretends to pray with her mom, and then she sits with her, watching the television, letting her mom pat down her back. when her head is guided into her lap, she has to suck in the tears.

two weeks later, it’s near to mid-january, and lee can’t wait to leave her house. she’s started to take extra long walks through her old neighbourhood, and spend long hours in the library, just so she can escape the walls of her mother’s home, feeling like they’re closing in on her with the stacks upon stacks of items. her mom at least has the consideration to never store anything in lee’s bedroom, so she finds herself there a lot of the time, reading and listening to music. she can’t evade the guilt that doing these things causes her. she’s finally here for more than a few days in what’s been over a quarter of a year – and already, after two weeks, she can barely stomach staying inside for too long. how did she ever live here?

the guilt is made even stronger by how much her mom clings onto her. lee knows that she is missed when she is away at school. it had always been just the two of them in their pale, white home since she was born. no family, no friends. her mother had grown to distrust the world a long time ago after she had gotten brutally cut off, so as a child, lee had always been used to their isolated life. but, after enduring a lot, perhaps too much, during lee’s childhood, her mom had started to pull back from what was once normalcy. she stopped throwing anything away, and got upset if lee tried to. she started to have this haze veiling around her, and so often, got lost in her own thoughts – but, in a way that made lee feel like she was lost and couldn’t escape. she latched onto lee tighter and tighter, for now it was not just solitary and a rejection of the world driving her to grasp desperately at her daughter, but paranoia too. fear of being alone, stranded, and fear of lee being out there, with people.

sometimes, lee wonders if the hoarding is her mother’s way of trying to go back to a time before whatever happened to make her this way. maybe it’s her way of trying to go back to when lee was still a kid, and she didn’t have to watch her leave all the time.

when it’s the twelfth of january, she gets a phone call when cooking mac and cheese in their kitchen, trying hard to not focus on the mess surrounding her and just how crowded in and disarrayed she feels from it. it’s such a contrast from her bedroom in the apartment that she always, relentlessly keeps empty and pristine.

she picks up the phone. “hello?”

“hi.”

it’s your voice. the tension in lee’s shoulders loosen – but, just a bit. “hey. all okay?” it’s not all that bizarre that you called. she’s spoken to you a handful of times over the break, the first call initiated by her to tell you she arrived safely. the rest were interchangeably done, her initiating the one on christmas, and you wishing her happy new year’s.

“um, not really.”

she stiffens. “why? what’s wrong?”

your voice is small, timid. “well, I came to the apartment today, just to prepare some stuff for next monday’s classes. and I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’ve never come back to our place empty after time away. but, I feel kind of scared.”

her eyebrows furrow, worry burning through her. “why, did you hear anything? did something happen?”

“no, no. I mean, I checked every room. but, I don’t know, I still feel anxious.”

her eyes flick to the cat-shaped clock in their kitchen. her mom’s car is just outside. “should I come back?”

“lee!” you gasp out with a laugh. “it’d be hours of driving for you.”

“yeah, but you’re scared,” she says flatly. suddenly, that’s all that matters. that, and the fact that she can get to you. even if she drives back for her birthday, she’ll manage.

“no, no, please, don’t leave your mom. I promise, it’s okay. I just – I just wanted someone on the phone.”

lee softens at your insistence. you could be nice – so nice – sometimes. she sets the keys she had retrieved back on the kitchen counter. part of her itches to ask, someone or me?, but she resists. it shouldn’t even matter to her. yet, still, the curiosity gnaws at her. “what made you call me?”

“I don’t know. I just thought of you.”

she wants to ask more, but decides against it. it’s too much, too open. “okay. well, what do you want to do?”

you yawn loudly, and she smiles at the noise. “I’m kind of tired. but, that’s what made me scared. the apartment is so dark and it feels so isolated right now.”

she racks through her brain for a few seconds, trying to find a solution. “I have some lamps in my room. they’re dim enough to sleep with. unplug whichever you want and take it to your room.”

“really?”

“mhm.”

after a few minutes of rustling and soft clattering, she can hear the shuffle of fabric and can picture you curling into bed. she wonders how you look tucked into the blankets on this winter night. “are you in bed?”

“yeah.”

she hesitates, another idea sliding into her mind. it’s more intimate than her last, so she pauses, taking a moment to carefully choose her words. “we can… stay on the call for a bit. I’m talking on a wired phone, so I’d have to hang up later. but, I can stay till then.”

your voice crackles on the other end, but still, she can hear the softness. “really?”

“mm,” she hums.

“okay, yeah, that’d be nice. what time will you sleep?”

“not for another few hours.” it was only 10:00PM – she knows she still has a few hours left in her to spare. “I’ll be right here.”

“thank you, lee.”

she nods, even if you can’t see her. “yeah.” she feels a bit embarrassed at how grateful you sound. it really isn’t that big a deal.

when your breathing evens out, and melts into soft snores, she sets the receiver down on the counter, continuing to cook. when she’s done, she drags a creaking, wooden chair to the counter, seating herself there, and remains in place, just as promised.

when the clock hits 1:00AM, and her body begins to sink into a tired, bodiless feeling, she tightens her hold on the receiver. she doesn’t want to hang up. but, why? you two aren’t even speaking on the call.

she stares at the phone, perplexed. why? why did she want to remain on the call? why did it feel so wrong to hang up? the pondering only leads to more questions. why did she not want to mention you to her mom? why did bringing you up feel more weighted than it was with any of her other friends? she knows with them, there’s no romance involved, so logically, she doesn’t need to worry about bringing them up. which means, if she was hesitating to bring you up, that’d naturally indicate…

she gulps down, staring at the phone, her breaths getting shaky.

shit.

----

tags ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂)⸝♡ @allofyourthings @mykaelaaa @bloshik @drain-bby @makipedia

#lee harker x reader #lee harker #lee harker fanfiction #longlegs fanfiction #longlegs 2024 #maika monroe #s.writing #does it happen in a season?

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