#why are lesbians like this

[piscespetals]

summary: in which sevika becomes your roommate. read part one here and two here

content: angst, more lesbian disaster

word count: 6k

Chapter 4 should be up next weekend!

Chapter Three

Apologizing is hard for you...

You have too much pride—too much ego.

Apologizing displays a depth of vulnerability that you've never quite been good at.

With Mel, it's easy. Because besides your parents, she’s the only other person that's been a constant in your life. Besides your parents, she’s the only person that has stayed—that has loved you—despite all of your flaws. 

You haven't known Sevika for long. In fact, you can argue that she probably knows you more than you know her.

From the very beginning, you made an effort to show her all of your faults. She ultimately gets on your nerves at times, the Monica situation excluded, with her being bossy and too clean and too nit picky. In the past, she’s voiced her opinion of you being slightly loud, and easily bothered, and easily distracted. There’s fundamental differences between the two of you—differences that you picked up on within the first week of living together. Differences that should make you want to chew each other’s heads off.

Yet she still wakes up every morning and eats breakfast with you.

She still listens to your endless rants about your workplace drama. 

She still shows you grace when you forget to unload the dishwasher, during the times you accidentally play your music a bit too loud, and during the moments you disrupt her sleep for an ice cream run. 

Apologizing is hard for you, but when it comes to Sevika, it's easy.

She makes a lot of things easy for you, even when you don't want to admit it.

Even when you know that you make everything so much harder for her.

That's why you're overcome with guilt for the rest of that night. 

Every atom in your body screams for you to march across your flat and make things right. After all, you've had many disagreements with Sevika but never this. Never something so hurtful.

So that's what you do. 45 minutes have passed since you’ve stormed into your room, and 45 minutes is how long it takes for you to wipe your tears and open your bedroom door. You're trying to calm your breathing and unblur your vision when you stumble through the pitch black apartment.

You stub your toe on a piece of furniture, which causes you to curse and halt your steps before you force yourself to limp the rest of the way.

It’s only when you reach Sevika’s bedroom that you realize her door is halfway shut, and her lights are off. Your knock is met with dragging silence. Then you knock again and there’s no reply.

Frowning, you crack open her door, “Sev?” Your voice echoes off of the walls. 

Switching on the lights, your heart plummets when you see that the room is empty. You check her bathroom—also empty—and her balcony with rising panic. But it's to no avail.

When did she leave?

You're usually able to hear the closing and opening of the apartment door from where your bedroom is located. You're certain that you would have heard her. There's never a time when you don't.

“Sev?” 

The answering silence makes your chest hollow.

And it's only when you're swallowed by soul-crushing despondency when you realize the true weight of tonight’s quarrel.

When you text Sevika, wondering about her whereabouts, she takes her time to reply. The message marks as read for 42 agonizing minutes before you receive a simple word:

Out.

Your stomach tugs and your heart drops, because you know that there’s not much else you can say before overstepping boundaries. 

Sevika is receptive to almost everything that you dish out, but you aren't quite sure she'd handle clingy as well as she does your other traits.

It’s barely been two months.

You don't want to suffocate her.

Similarly, sending an apology text seems low. Disingenuous. 

Not only is that cheap but it’s the last thing she deserves. You’ll apologize in person, when she’s home and (hopefully) in better spirits. You’ll make a whole ordeal out of it: order her favorite pizza, some beer and butter her up with nauseating kindness.

Yes—that’s it.

That’ll do the trick.

For now, you’ll allow her to cool off. You’ll give her the night. You’ll give her space.

And when dawn strikes, you’ll push away your pride and make it your mission to win back her good graces.

But the issue is that Sevika never returns.

When you wake in the morning, you're greeted with the chirping of birds by your window. Your bedside clock reads 9:16 AM; an hour that Sevika is usually awake for. 

After washing your face and teeth, you expect to see her hovering over the toaster while the kitchen television streams the morning news. You've grown accustomed to that kind of morning. During these past two months, you've caught yourself wondering how it's taken nearly two decades for you to find that kind of peace.

But today’s not that.

The toaster sits untouched and unplugged, kitchen lights off as well as the television, and apartment Sevika-less.

Your mouth twists as a low huff escapes you.

Okay. Maybe you were being unrealistic to think that she’d return first thing in the morning.

Lunch time is more practical.

Except noon rolls around and she’s still gone. You have to leave for work in a few hours, and you begin to feel uneasy by the shrinking window of Sevika’s arrival. You feel like you’re running out of time. You feel like you won’t be able to make things right if she doesn't return before you leave. 

You don't want to do this tomorrow.

You don't want to experience the agonizing misery of waiting for each hour of your shift to tick by tonight; wondering, hoping, that she’s already home.

And maybe that's a little selfish—because you shouldn't be apologizing for the sole reason of lessening your guilt. You should be apologizing because it’s the right thing to do. Because that is the least she deserves. 

So, you swallow your guilt and head towards your balcony. Maybe some fresh air will help clear your mind.

It’s 11:45 PM when you hear jostling from the entrance door.

You pause the movie on your laptop, craning your neck to get a better listen. 

That familiar click resonates through your room before you hear the creaking of the hinges. Your breath hitches, eyes widening and chills running along the hair of your spine. 

She’s home.

Suddenly, your pre-planned speech is thrown out the window. 

Your feet are taking you across the floorboards before you can fully register what is happening.  You think that you are about to throw up from the amount of anxiety currently flowing through you right now. You don’t believe you’ve been this worried about someone’s absence throughout your entire adult life.

“Sev?” You call.

There’s shuffling in the hallway, which spikes your heart to an unprecedented rate. 

There she stands, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder and beanie on her head. She's toeing out of her boots, breathing slightly labored and hallway filled with her cologne. There’s a chilling presence about her, probably from the cold temperatures from outside, but it makes you freeze nonetheless.

The only indication that she’s heard you is when her movements slow upon your approach. But she doesn’t look up.

“Sev?” You call again, this time quieter. 

Where’s that impish smile that makes you want to roll your eyes and hug her breathless at the same time? 

She begins to shrug off her coat.

“I was worried.” You add. Tentative. Scared.

You watch apprehensively as she hangs her coat on the garment rack. Her back is facing you. It stretches upon movement; broadening and flexing through the material of her peach button up. 

You didn’t know that she had packed a bag. 

The thought creates layers of unsettling emotions.

“....Nothing to be worried about.” Sevika replies. But despite her reassurance, her tone remains unwelcoming. Your eyes fall shut momentarily as you fight off a wave of remorse. There’s the slightest bit of warmth that spreads across your shoulder. When you open your eyes, you realize that she’s brushed past you. 

Her footsteps travel towards the other end of the apartment, where the kitchen resides. 

You follow after her, desperate to say anything–to do anything that will relieve this tension.

“I’m sorry.”   

Your apology wavers; the crack of an iceberg. 

“I really am,” You continue, rounding the corner of the kitchen. Her arms are folded as she leans her weight against the counter. “...I was being so ridiculous. I mean truly, Sev. I don’t want…” You’re shaking your head. “I don’t want something like this to come between us.”

Her gaze remains planted on the floor. She purses her lips, expression purely contemplative. Then, “Why don’t you like her?”

“I never said I don’t…like her.”

That’s when she peers up at you, lips twisting into a scowl and eyebrows furrowing. 

Your hands raise defensively and you sigh. “Okay, okay.” You shift your weight, struggling to recover from the ice in her stare. “Sev, I’m sorry for how I acted. Truly. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t bring her around. I want you to feel comfortable. This is home. Your home.”

Her glare warms by a small degree. But she doesn’t relent. “Why don’t you like her?”

Your lips part. You’ve been backed into a corner.

You have to answer. “I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know,” She parrots, voice low and disbelieving. Accusatory. Her head tilts, grey irises inspecting every inch of your face. “I don’t believe you.” She shakes her head. “Try again.”

“I don’t know if I can tell you.” You rephrase. “If I should tell you.”

Immediately, she pushes off the counter and grows closer. Her hands fall into the front pockets of her jeans, neck hanging to look down at you. Your jaw locks shut, keeping you from speaking and saying anything more. Sevika stays that way for a long time, never really moving any closer but also never pulling away.

When you break your gaze, you notice that her hands are working their way in and out of fists. 

“Will you let me apologize to you first?” You ignore the bobbing of your achy throat and the burning of your eyes. You can't cry. That won't solve anything.

“You already did.”

“Well, I truly am sorry.”

“I heard.”

“And I’ve missed you.”

The corner of her lip twitches. “It’s barely been 24 hours.”

“Still missed you.”

She hums. Acknowledgement. That’s a good sign. 

“I have a tendency to, uh, overreact sometimes.” You clear your throat. “I was being really fucking ridiculous. An idiot. I mean, really, I realize how unnecessary this all was and that we’re too old for this.”

Another moment of hesitation lapses into the conversation. It’s not as heavy as before, but still intensifies the standstill that you two have reached. 

“I’m sorry.” You add. 

Those words, a cry in your throat, have been haunting you all day.

You’ve never been the sort of individual to apologize easily.

But right now, as you stand in front of Sevika, you realize that it’s as effortless as blinking. 

You’ll apologize for the rest of the night if she asks you to.

“You’re an idiot. You know that right?” There’s a smile playing at Sevika’s lips. She reaches forward and pinches your nose; something that she likes to do to annoy you. You groan as you try to breathe through your mouth. 

“I’m the worst idiot ever,” The tone of your voice is now disgustingly nasally. “Who's incredibly sorry and will do anything to ma-”

“If you keep apologizing, I’ll burn your toast tomorrow morning.”

“Oh no. Burnt toast. How frightening.”

In the morning, your toast is warm and spread with butter. Your tea is sweeter than usual too. 

The 9 o’clock news plays on the kitchen television.

You hold onto your mug tightly. Sevika is beside you, the sound of her even breaths reminding you of the beauty in sweet, suspenseless mornings. 

You blink through heavy eyelids, muscles still fatigued when she turns to you and says, “Will you apologize to Monica too?”

And you’re slightly gutted by that. 

It’s a question that you knew she’d ask. 

It’s a reasonable thing to want.

But still…

You’d be lying if you said that this entire predicament didn’t make you feel sick.

But you have no one to blame other than yourself. 

This is the sensible solution.

“Yes,” You respond, giving her one short nod. “I’ll apologize to her.”

And you do.

The first half of the apology begins with a terrible pot of Chili that you try to make as a peace offering. You manage to botch it half way through. 

Sevika ends up helping. Everytime she peers at your face, she snickers. At one point, you catch her muttering that she, “Doesn’t know what to do with you.”

When Monica arrives, it’s awkward. You stand off to the side as Sevika hugs and kisses her. Then, when Monica turns to you, you give her a small smile and wave. Her greeting isn’t nearly as cordial, which says a lot. But you figure that you deserve it. After all, you haven't been very welcoming to her.

When Sevika leaves momentarily—to buy some beer from the store—you take that as an opportunity to apologize. Monica is scrolling on her phone silently, sitting in one of the dining room chairs.

She peers up at you with large eyes when you approach her. “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot, which is mostly my fault. And I’m really sorry for that. Do you think, maybe, we can start over?”

She regards you for a few moments, jaw clenching and unclenching before she says, “I accept your apology.”

Your smaller smile stretches into a bigger one. 

“But,” She adds. “I think that it was truly unfair that you didn't give me a proper chance to know you. At first, I thought it was me. I realize now that it has everything to do with Vika, and I think that's sad. I think that she probably shouldn't be staying with someone who is willing to impede on her happiness so much. But I also think,” Her lips tug into the ghost of a smirk. “That if I was in love with my roommate and had to watch her find happiness with another woman, that I too would become bitter.

“So, yes, I accept your apology.” Monica continues. “But I hope you can understand that I have no desire to be friends with you. We can be cordial on Vika’s behalf. But only that.”

Your thumb absentmindedly fiddles with the plate of your belt. You wonder, for the umpteenth time, how you've gotten yourself into such a predicament. And it almost feels like a flock of self-wallowing birds are surrounding you at that moment. You bear through the pitiful feeling nonetheless and give her a curt nod.

“Okay,” You respond. “Cordial is fine with me.”

Later in the night, when Mel has left and Sevika bolts the door shut, she asks, “How did the apology go?”

You hesitate for a moment, brain replaying all of the words that Monica spewed. You feel a familiar weight press into the center of your chest, and your skin prickles as realization dawns on you. 

But you can't allow Sevika to pick up on it. You can allow her to see you like this. So you clear your throat and blink through blurry vision.

“It went well.” You pull your blanket up to your chin, stretching your legs out on the living room recliner. “She accepted it.”

The fridge opens. You hear shuffling.

“That's great!”

Yeah.

Great.

“You know I love you,” Mel begins. “But what the fuck.”

You wince, bracing yourself for the reprimanding that is sure to come. This is the very reason why you’ve been avoiding telling Mel everything that has happened. Usually you are able to talk to her about dilemmas that you’ve put yourself in. But something about this feels different. Besides the fact that you almost royally fucked up your friendship with Sevika, there’s another emotion lingering within you–something heavier–that’s been making you want to avoid the topic altogether.

You take another bite into your pizza, allowing your silence to be an answer within itself.

“I think we need to address the elephant in the room,” Mel says. 

You're shaking your head before she can even finish her sentence. You already know where this is going. 

“There’s nothing to address.”

“From the first night I introduced you to Sev, when you were giggling with her on the couch like a schoolgirl—”

“Oh my god.”

“I spotted it from day 1, that you two being roommates would either end really great or…really badly.”

“Mel,” Your eyes squint shut once more as you grimace. “No. It’s not like that.”

“How else could it be? You put two lesbians that want to fuck each other in the same apartment and all hell breaks loose.”

“She has a girlfriend.”

“Which just makes it worse!” An incredulous chuckle leaves her as she begins to rub her temples. She’s sitting in the recliner chair in the corner of the living room while you’re sprawled out on the loveseat.

Sevika is at work, which has given you the perfect opportunity to catch up with Mel. And despite the fact that you hate how candid Mel’s being, you know that you need to hear it.

She’s always been your voice of reason.

“Are you going to say something to her?” You mumble, gazing up at the ceiling.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see her shift in the chair. She hugs her knees to her chest. 

“Of course not. You need to figure out whatever the hell this is without any meddlers.”

You shrug. “I wouldn't mind a little bit of meddling.”

“You're doing that thing where you ignore your emotions until you absolutely can't anymore.” Mel sighs. “Unless you want shit to blow up in your face for real, I suggest you come to terms with your feelings towards Sevika and find a way to deal with them. Healthily.”

She’s right.

A huff leaves you. “I prefer my way, you know…”

She snorts. “Your way will have you roommate-less and heartbroken.”

“...You really think Sev would leave? Permanently?”

“Well, I don't know.” She feigns shock, palm sprawling across her chest. “It's not like I haven't known Sevika through the in’s and outs of her parents death and real estate issues, and divorce. No—I totally have no idea that she’s been through enough—”

Your body shoots up. “Wait.”

“...You're right. You should asolutely continue to terrorize her girlfriend and be, quite possibly, the worst roommate that could ever happen to her. For fucks sake babe. Wake up! I mean, truly, after everything she’s been through, don’t you think she deserves—”

“Mel.” 

“...If I was her, I would have packed my bags too. I love you. But do you realize how infuriating you can be? I thought I psychoanalyzed you enough in our friendship but clearly it hasn't been very eff—”

“Mel!” Your voice cracks, embarrassingly so, which causes you to clear your throat. 

Your brain begins to short circuit as you try to hold onto the remnants of all the information she's just fed you. It processes and processes, and your world spins around you. You feel like you’ve just found the last wedge of a 500 piece puzzle; the full picture is finally complete.

“Sevika’s divorced?”

You never would have thought that Sevika was a romantic. Not romantic enough to be married, at least. And surely, not a divorcee. She’s tight lipped about a few things, her past relationships being one of them, but you always chalked it up to the possibility of her being reserved. 

It's a weird feeling to be shocked by such a revelation. It's merely a divorce. 

But you feel like that piece of information holds weight. 

Because Sevika has told you a lot of things, including the intricate details of her parents death, yet has seemed to leave out the entire fact that she’s been married.

For some reason, she hasn't wanted you to discover that part of herself.

That's all the more reason why you feel guilty. Because, not only have you found it out, but Mel is the one to have told you. Surely, that wouldn't make Sevika feel the best.

“You didn't know that?” Mel looked at you with an odd expression.

“No,” You were feeling self-conscious under her scrutiny. 

Mel’s response was delayed. She gazed at you further, eyebrows furrowing and lips frowning, before she muttered, “Oh.”

Then she dropped the subject, probably because she didn't want to accidentally spill any more of Sevika’s secrets to you.

Later that night, Alicia is invited over for dinner. She walks in with two bottles of wine and a cheeky grin. She hugs you obnoxiously tight.

“I see that you and Sev finally made up!” She exclaims. This calls for a celebration! Hip! Hip-”

“Ugh,” You groan. “Really, A?”

“Yeah, seriously, hun.” Mel interrupts. “The energy’s a bit too much. Can you lower it a few notches?”

Something bad must have happened.

There’s that feeling in the pit of your stomach materializing again; a horrible mixture of panic and existential dread.

And that feeling spikes when a loud horn sounds. It's painfully close; close enough to split your eardrums in half.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

“Hello? Oh my god. Are you okay?”

For some reason, that question isn't enough to alert you. You're too focused on the blur of colors you're seeing. 

“Hello?”

You lean back against your seat and the blaring horn comes to a halt. You had been laying on your steering wheel.

Then you remember it all at that moment.

You were supposed to be going to the store. You had convinced Sevika to stay home because she had been doing the bulk of the chores lately and that was making you feel guilty. It had only been three weeks since the two of you made up, but you found yourself still wanting to apologize to her in the smallest ways.

You were driving with your window down and had come to a four-way stop. A butterfly fluttered towards you and perched itself on your nose.

It was a vibrant orange butterfly, with bold black stripes and white dots. After that, everything began to grow fuzzy. Were you supposed to be moving? Your foot was on the gas but you hadn't remembered moving it there. You must have been moving. You weren’t paying attention. You should have been, but you weren’t. The butterfly had distracted you.

Pretty soon, a car was hurtling towards you on your right, too fast to be able to slow down. The both of you crashed.

Now, the driver is standing right outside your vehicle, trying to gain your attention.

“Are you okay?” They call again.

You blink once more. Subconsciously, you try to bring your right arm up to your face. Nothing happens.

You lift your left hand to your face, sighing in relief when a pair of callused fingers fall directly onto your eyes. You’re still alive.

“Are you alright? Please answer me.”

Another knock.

“I’m calling 911.”

You don’t like hospitals.

One time, your mom had taken you to the ER due to severe stomach pains. You were 12 years old. It felt like someone was trying to slice your belly open with a machete. You spent hours in the waiting room doubling over and clutching your stomach. Your mom sat beside you, lips permanently pulled into a thin line. She went on about how much of an inconvenience this night had been; that she was tired from working a 12 hour shift and was hungry. She also threw in a comment about how much this ER appointment would financially cost.

The longer you both sat in the waiting room, the more agitated she became.

“I can't catch a break.” She had muttered. You struggled to understand if she was angry at you or anxious for you. Or maybe she was projecting due to the long day she had at work. You didn't fully know. All you could recognize was that she was in some kind of distress. “I just hope nothing serious is going on.” Then her hand fell to your back, lightly rubbing circles into it.

Your eyes prickled with tears during that moment. But you didn't know if it was due to the pain or the immense guilt you felt for incurring a hospital bill.

The stomach pains eventually began to subside after that. Once a health professional was ready to see you, the pain was quite tolerable. You even struggled to push away the fit of giggles you felt every time the doctor skimmed her fingers across your tummy; feeling for “tenderness.”

After being questioned by her, she told your mom you had trapped gas and dismissed you.

Your mom had been angry. It took a few weeks before she stopped berating you about the amount of money her and dad would have to pay the hospital for “something as simple as trapped gas.”

You weren't sure if she was mad at you or the hospital. Your mom often grew upset like that but you could never quite understand who she meant to direct her feelings to. After those weeks passed, you began to assume yourself as the fault for most of her moods.

The following month, you dealt with really bad stabs of pain in your legs. Everytime you wanted to open your mouth to tell your mom, you were instead flooded with memories from the night you had trapped gas. Then you would close your mouth and count to 50 to try and block out the pain. 

Any health concern after that was something that you tried to ignore. Whether it was illnesses or crying spells, you often hid in your room until you could collect yourself. Then you would re-emerge in the living room where Mom and Dad often were.

By the age of 14, it took you a while to notice your body cues. It was sophomore year of highschool when Tasha Koshman, one of your classmates, accidentally broke your left ankle during the soccer unit of P.E. She was 6 foot and 2 inches.  Tasha had one of the strongest bodies you had ever seen—pure muscle—and was one of the star players on the varsity football team. During the soccer game, she tried to kick the ball into the goal. But instead, she missed and her foot slammed right into your ankle. You heard a snap. There was a sharp pain—and then nothing at all. You fell to the ground.

Tasha carried you–bridal style–to the nurse’s office. She wouldn't shut up the entire time. Her eyes swimmed with worry, and a combination of sweat and tears dripped from her chin and onto your shirt. 

You supposed it was a bit freaky for her to know that she could do such a thing to another human without even trying. She apologized profusely during that 8 minute walk across campus.

“There, there.” You mumbled. You used your left hand to pat her shoulder reassuringly. This was how you often saw TV characters consoling one another on shows. “Don’t worry. The bone will heal back together eventually.”

The creases in her forehead deepened.

Tasha cried harder.

You knew it was bad that you didn't feel much of the pain. But finding out the reason for that meant another healthcare visit and therefore another bill. 

Your parents definitely wouldn't appreciate that.

You were 22 when you met Mel. She worked at the same elementary school that you were volunteering at. She was one of the administrators in the front office.

The work relationship between you two developed into a budding friendship, and then a perfect roommate dynamic.

Throughout the ten years of Mel being your roommate, she never made fun of you for crying. In fact, you have her to thank for identifying your emotional constipation.

Mel also was the one who’d take you to the doctor whenever you’d fall ill. She was annoyingly maternal the entire time and probably lectured you a bit too much. It was something you were skeptical of at first. But you soon grew to be fond of it because you knew that it came from a place of love.

She'd usually never leave your side until you felt better.

You never told her, but gestures like that meant the world to you. 

"Does this hurt you at all?" The doctor asks you. She's staring at you with big and round brown eyes. Her eyelashes are coated with electric blue mascara. Pretty.

Outside the room, there’s a rush of loud screaming sounds. The word intubate gets passed around by a pair of voices. The interruption fades just as quickly as it comes.

You hum unintelligibly. Your blinks are slow as your gaze drags down to the way her pudgy fingers delicately feel for injuries.

"Hm." You pause, thoroughly thinking through her question. Are you hurting? "I'm not sure."

There’s a couple of cheesy posters on the walls about the importance of mental health. A bottle of soda sits on a countertop beside the sink. 

"Okay." The doctor stares at you for a few more seconds. “Well nothing is broken. All of our scans have come back with no results of serious trauma. Your body is in shock right now. Sometimes I have patients that feel absolutely nothing during a crisis. The brain is able to block out the signals that the body sends during those moments. Isn't that remarkable? Anyways, the adrenaline will probably wear off soon. Victims of car accidents usually encounter some fatigue and muscle aches for a while afterwards. You'll need to have pain medication for then."

When Mel comes flying through the door, she’s sporadic, seemingly out of breath and frazzled. 

Tears stream down her cheeks as she rushes towards you. "Oh my god!" 

“I’m okay.”

Despite your reassurance, she wraps her arms around you and pulls you into a bone crushing hug. “I was so worried.”

“I’m okay,” You parrot, this time gentler. You can’t blame her. 

You had called her on the way to the ER and briefly told her what happened. You couldn’t say much because you were still so shaken up, so she was only able to understand a generalization of the car accident. If the roles were reversed, you’d be just as frantic.

“Nothing’s broken,” You continue. Your voice wavers but you figure that’s a normal reaction in a situation like this. “I’m waiting for the doctor to come back. She had to get something… I can’t remember. It was so much information.”

Mel pulls away, cradling your cheeks with the palms of her hands. Her eyes are bloodshot and her bottom lip is split from being chapped. “You scared us so badly. Do you have any idea what Sevika is putting herself through right now?” Then she grimaces and stops herself, gaze unfocusing from you.

Your breathing falters. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…’ You struggle to blink away the tears. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone. I wasn’t in the right state of mind when I had called you. I just knew that I needed to reach out to someone in case it was serious, I didn-”

“I know, I know.” She pulls you in for another hug. “I didn’t mean to yell. I’m sorry. You just,” Her voice grows thin and she tightens her grip around you. The squeeze almost knocks you breathless but you don’t have the heart to say anything. “I was scared.”

“I get it.” You swallow thickly, hoping that it’ll help to dissolve the lump at the back of your throat. 

The door opens and an ivory-white lab coat comes back into view. The doctor smiles at the pair of you, greeting you by your full name once more. She’s carrying a clipboard in one hand and a ballpoint pen in the other. She mutters a small hi to Mel when she reaches your bed, then she begins jotting something down on the clipboard. “I’m going to send your paperwork over to your GP so they can review everything. I want you to do a check up with him next week, just to make sure everything is okay.” Swiftly, she places the pen back into her coat pocket and sets the clipboard on the edge of the bed. “If you start to feel any excessive sleepiness, confusion or troubles with balance, please come back immediately.”  

When you’re released, Mel helps you walk back to the waiting room where Alicia and Sevika are apparently waiting. 

You’re grateful to have a friend like her by your side. You don’t quite know what you’d do without Mel; you don’t know how you would have gotten through life if you hadn’t met her at all. 

Her arm around you is firm as she guides you through the hospital traffic. Nurses are rushing back and forth between rooms. Curtains are being drawn unexpectedly and there’s even a distant screech from someone. The air reeks of bleach and despair. 

You want to get out of there as soon as possible.

“Just down this way.” Mel croaks. Her voice is hoarse from crying so hard. 

“Mel,” You begin. “I want to thank you.”

“Not here.”

“You know I don’t have anyone else. You’re my family. You know that, right?”

The door squeaks as she pushes it open. Her eyes are swimming again, gaze avoiding yours, and throat bobbing from swallowing thickly. “I know.” She squeezes you once more. “You’re mine too.”

You rest one of your hands over hers and return the gesture. 

The waiting room is filled with people who display similar variations of distress. Alicia is the first one that you recognize. She’s wearing one of her trademark flannels, leaning against the wall while staring up at the ceiling. Her foot is tapping exceptionally fast; hands balled into fists. That’s when you realize that this is the first time you’ve ever seen her look so…grave.

Sevika sits beside her in a chair. At least–the figure looks like Sevika. It’s hard for you to know for sure. The woman is hunched over, head in her hands, and body cloaked by a black trench coat. The coat is familiar. Her hands, which cling to the roots of her hair, are what stand out to you the most.

Alicia see’s you before Sevika, and pushes off the wall with a heavy exhale. “Thank God.”

Mel let’s go as the two of you draw closer to them. Sevika’s head shoots up upon your arrival, eyes locking with yours instantly.

They’re bloodshot red. 

Just that sight alone causes something to unwind within you. The knot between your shoulder blades loosen and that ache around your ribcage dissipates. That nagging feeling of danger withdraws and is replaced with unbearable tugging. 

Your eyes flood. 

Sevika reaches for you, as if she knows, as if she senses the tugging herself. “Fuck.” Her lips barely move, voice laced with sickening horror and relief. “You-” Her breathing stutters.

She stands to her feet, hands wrapping around both of your wrists and pulling you towards her. Your heart refuses to calm down. 

Her voice is so quiet that you barely notice it, “You’re here.” When she embraces you, your ear presses against her chest. She’s firm. All firmness.

“I’m here.” The burning in your eyes return and the tears threaten to spill over.

This time, you let them.

Chewing your tongue, you hold your breath and fiddle with the material of your comforter. 

You’re hanging on the edge of panic. The air around you feels too thin. 

Your forehead gathers with pools of sweat, as well as the back of your neck. And a shiver runs through you, despite feeling pure heat all throughout your veins.

“What the fuck, Vika!”

“It just…” Sevika mumbles. There’s a small lapse of silence. Then, “It’s just not working out.”

Your nerves are shot.

You want to bang your head against the wall. Not that it will help. But you want to do something–anything. This is not what you expected to hear when Sevika told you that Monica would be stopping by for a brief visit. She had slipped into your room to tell you, barely giving you a chance to respond and barely looking you in the eyes, before leaving and closing your bedroom door. 

It’s only been a day since the accident and you've never seen Sevika so frayed. She barely left your side last night. And when you finally went to sleep, you’d wake to the sound of her occasionally peeping into your room before she’d subsequently head back to her own.

Sevika is a pretty caring friend.

But she never hovers.

Well–not until now.

“What has changed?” You hear Monica ask. Her voice is muffled from the thickness of the walls. But you’re still able to pick up on how rigid it sounds. “Have I done something wrong? Is it because of what we talked about the other night? If so, I was just joking. Kids are only something I’d want if my part-”

“It’s…” Sevika’s voice is lower than Monica’s. Quieter. You try to crane your neck to hear better. “I would like to explain it all. There’s a few reasons why-”

“Is it because of her?”

Your blood runs backward at the accusation. 

Shuffling happens from the other room.

The sound of footsteps draw closer to your room.

“Don’t.” You hear Sevika say.

“Is she here?”

“Monica–”

“Don’t fucking bullshit me, Sevika! I can’t…I won’t do this with her here.”

More shuffling. 

The footsteps direct their pace away from your door. You hadn’t even realized that your muscles were tensing until they relax.

“This is unbelievable,” Monica adds. Her voice has raised several decibels, borderline yelling. “Are you fucking her?”

“I’m not–Jesus Christ. I’m not sleeping with her. Let’s talk and I’ll tell you all the reasons–”

“I’m not talking with her here.”

“Then let’s go somewhere else. I’ll drive?”

There��s no reply.

“I’ll explain it all, I swear.” Sevika continues. “I just…I need to be honest with you.”

Dust swirls the air around you as the sun shines through your window. It’s only 10 A.M. It’s only a Tuesday morning.

Two days into the week and so much has already happened.

You sigh, pulling your blanket over your shoulders some more, as you try to register everything that you’re hearing. Sevika wants to break up with Monica? So suddenly? 

You’d be lying if you said that you aren’t surprised. 

If you were Monica, you’d be gutted. 

You jump, completely startled, by your door barging open. Sevika stands in the doorway, dressed fully in her coat and boots. She’s clipping her carabiner to one of her belt loops, brows furrowed and eyes searching yours desperately. Words have run out.

She knows that you’ve heard it all.

“Sev,” It’s a broken mumble since you’re still groggy. 

She shakes her head. “I’ll explain when I come back.”

You watch her slip her phone into her back pocket. It makes no sense, the way that life has seemed to flip upside down for the both of you; the way that this past month consisted of more chaos than you’ve ever experienced before.

And yet that tugging from yesterday still remains. But this time, tenfold stronger. So strong that it’s a separate being within itself. Rather than a feeling, it’s become second nature. It takes every fiber in your being to ignore it.

“Why today?” You find yourself countering.

Her lips part, irises burning a silver-fire. The kind of silver that you’d bury yourself in forever if you could. 

“I’ll be back soon.” This response is all that she can give for now.

It’s the respectful thing to do.

Monica deserves to hear the answer first; she deserves to hear it without you there.

You understand. “Okay.” 

She hovers again. For a few more seconds. “Okay.” She echoes.

You can only stare when she leaves.

And when the apartment door slams shut, you're left to sit there and ponder over what the fuck has just happened.

[butchfalin]

the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

[napping-sapphic]

take your clothes off and get on the bed what no we aren’t having sex right now we’re cuddling and pressing every inch of skin together as close as possible for the next six hours

[nataliescatorccio]

"Originally it was not called 'Good Luck, Babe!', it was called 'Good Luck, Jane!", but my co-writer and I kept getting in arguments about it, so it became 'Good Luck, Babe!'." CHAPPELL ROAN on 'Good Luck, Babe!'

[hinamie]

10 years later

[triceratopsgirlypop]

Sobbing

gay people never flirt normally it’s always gotta be shit like this

[that-butch-archivist]

"Dyke March 1994" by Morgan Gwenwald

source: The Wild Good: Lesbian Photographs & Writings on Love, edited by Beatrix Gates

[manny-jacinto]

Bend It Like Beckham (2003)

[caruliaa]

does anyone else remember when glados was like btw get out my facility its too hard to kill you so just leave. then she immediately puts u in a situation where it wld be very easy to kill u but instead u have a song sung to you that she wrote abt u being her precious darling beloved babygirl then after u left gave u back the one thing u had any attachment to in the facility that just so happens to have a heart on it. gay ass.

[theunholyvirginemilyprentiss]

A compilation of Emily Prentiss being too gay to sit properly:

[stripysockxx]

Yurifies your regretevator

[invisible-pink-toast]

one of my favourite genre's of music

[aroacegundamalex]

I mostly think this poll is hilarious (and some people are taking it way, way too seriously) but it’s starting to get really weird how often people on the opposite side are dismissing Gundam — a giant of science fiction that remade a genre in its image — and quite literally lying about Suletta and Miorine. I’ve seen people claim they were canonically married to men, people claim the show’s ending was rewritten by interns, claim they never hugged, and other claims regarding them not being canon.

While Bandai and Kadokawa did censor one interview, and Bandai released an “open to interpretation” statement, these no longer hold true. Official material has henceforth referred to them as married. One instance of censorship and a statement they’ve clearly walked back on does not erase the fact that the show itself heavily emphasizes their wedding rings, refers to Miorine as Eri’s sister-in-law, and makes it abundantly clear that they are married.

“I knew I was going to make an epilogue, but it was a while before I decided upon the exact number of years that should pass in-between. The ending itself follows “The Tempest,” and depicts Suletta and Miorine getting married and becoming partners.”

- Hiroshi Kobayashi

They are completely and unambiguously canon, and arguably were never decanonized to begin with given the literal text of the show.

An addendum to this: I’ve also seen a strange dismissal of the history that G-Witch pulls from.

The original Gundam inspired Revolutionary Girl Utena, with Lalah Sune in particular (the creator of an iconic Gundam archetype) serving as the inspiration for Anthy Himemiya. Gundam has had a queer fanbase for decades, and has had gay characters (with Yoshiyuki Tomino himself confirming this) since the 1990s.

G-Witch draws from Gundam’s extensive, genre-shaking history, classics like Utena and Rose of Versailles, and Shakespeare’s The Tempest. It brings Gundam and Utena’s connection full circle, and is in conversation with every Gundam series that came before it.

It’s unfair to dismiss it as just some random show, or — as I’ve seen some do — credit its open queerness to the influence of completely unrelated American media, as if Japan is utterly devoid of gay people.

[mimimar]

finally completed my comic based on the song ivy by taylor swift!✿ please zoom in to read the text and see the details~

✿.✿.✿

you can get the digital zine pdf here! it includes extras like character profiles, costume design, more art of willow and ivy, zine-exclusive sketches and an illustrated guide to the symbolism of all the flowers in this comic.

you can also get prints of individual pages here!

✿.✿.✿

[bulbabutt]

sometimes you just need somebody else to point out the obvious. thank goodness for mikey and her gender collecting habit!

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if you like my work consider tipping me so i can keep making it ❤️

[moth-brain]

somebody posted this on fb to be homophobic about pride month but i think it's incredible