Everything feels hot. But cold at the same time.

Her body has gone to war with itself and Jennie is the collateral damage. She’s sore everywhere. She doesn’t have muscles, why are they sore?

She hasn’t left her couch since yesterday morning, huddled in a mountain of blankets yet still shivering. Falling in and out of sleep, it escapes her what week it is, let alone day or hour. There’s no light out to help her tell the time.

On a scale of one to Mensa, Jennie’s level of cognition is at an all-time low of negative double digits.

Everything hurts and there’s been incessant pounding that sounds like it’s coming from outside of her head. Jennie scrunches her eyes closed hoping to will the jack hammering away.

Next thing she hears is the turning of her lock and possibly a faint calling of her name. Jennie can’t quite tell but is glad the pounding has at least stopped.

The sound of her name comes nearer causing her to smile hearing the familiar click of the consonants.

“Jennie?”

The next time she opens her eyes, standing in front of her is a beautiful woman looking chic in a midnight blue coat and cream-coloured cigarette pants with a leather briefcase in hand. Her hair is half tied back in braids, a scarf wrapped regally around a slender neck. She looks like a vision rising out of the piles of tissues on the floor.

Crisp among the crumble.

“Pretty,” Jennie voices aloud despite the scratch to her throat to get the word out. She cranes her neck for a better view. Seeing the struggle, in one swell motion, her visitor falls graciously down to her knees bringing them eye level. The briefcase is carelessly set on the ground and keys dropped next to it. When the figure crowds in closer and reveals deep green eyes Jennie feels whatever little air is left knocked out of her. “Wow, prettier.”

“Jennie,” is repeated again, a softness breaking at the end of her name, and Jennie can’t understand why worry lines are etched in the pretty lady’s forehead. She feels her body sway forward, hand reaching out to grasp at the vision, wanting to smooth the lines out, but her feeble pawing merely meets empty air causing her to stumble a little off the couch.

An arm immediately shoots out to steady her and delicately shift her back in place, then one hand cups her face while the other feels her forehead. The worry lines deepen. Jennie leans into the palm, somehow comforting despite the temperature difference. She practically whines when the hand is gone but abandons her protest when fingers card through her hair, sighing into the soothing touch. Her unexpected nurse doesn’t seem bothered by the slight dampness.

“S’nice.”

“Jesus, Jennie. You’re burning up.”

Jennie shakes her head to refute. “Cold.”

“You’ve got a fever, babe.”

Jennie rubs her eyes, the pet name breaking through her stupor briefly.

“Lisa?” She asks meekly, shaking her head in an attempt to clear the haze. “Has it been two weeks already?”

An endeared smile graces Lisa’s lips as she brushes her thumb across the hinge of Jennie’s jaw, below her ear, while her fingers play with the baby hairs at the nape of her neck. Jennie wants to melt into a puddle, she’s halfway there anyways with how soaked her shirt feels.

“No. It’s Thursday. You were supposed to meet up with Jisoo and Hyuna.”

Jennie nods and abruptly sits up, a big mistake as the room starts to spin. “Ok, let me get dressed,” she says anyways, intent to keep her social calendar appointment, attempting to stagger to her feet and fight against gravity. “Lisa, stop moving. You’re making the room dizzy.”

Lisa gently pushes her back on the couch, ignoring her plea to remain still.

“Your coffee date was last night, you missed it,” Lisa explains patiently as she adjusts Jennie into a sitting position, settling her against the back of the couch and rewrapping the blankets around her.

Jennie wracks her brain trying to put the pieces together but then feels exhausted from the effort to concentrate on anything other than breathing. It feels like being drunk but not drunk enough to numb the insistent throbbing pain. “Are they mad? They wanted me to talk about Lisa,” she asks, tipping her head back atop the couch cushion, closing her eyes. She’s hot.

Lisa laughs and shakes her head but Jennie doesn’t see it, nor does she realise her last thought was said out loud.

“When you didn’t show, Rosé cancelled on me to go hang out with Jisoo for an impromptu date night. O was happy she didn’t have to change out of her mom sweats.”

“Ok,” Jennie sighs, relieved as much for her friends’ nonplussed reactions as for her own desire to remain in home clothes. But the temporary peace soon washes away. When she opens her eyes again they immediately widen in alarm, “Who punched you in the neck?”

Jennie’s suddenly lucid. She feels herself getting upset, a frown and fist forming at the sight of a small purplish patch just above the collar of Lisa’s silk blouse. She reaches out to clumsily hook her finger in the collar for a better look, jerking Lisa forward.

Lisa wordlessly wrests her hand away. Jennie can’t quite understand the blush and sigh she receives, or the mumbled, “Who do you think.” She struggles to make sense of her culpability because she’s too busy declaring, “I’ll fight them!”, and punching her fist in the air. Or so she thought, but is then doubly confused to find her arm still lying listlessly by her side. Her throat suddenly feels like sandpaper from the rasp of her mini-roar.

“There’ll be no war,” Lisa whispers and unwraps her fingers, tracing soft lines in her palm to calm her.

It comes to Jennie when Lisa next goes to smooth out her pout, the pad of two fingers flattening the downward curve of her upper lip then lingering on her beauty mark. She recalls in one moment of clarity the jumbled events of only a few days ago, the dinner, the storm, the revelations, Lisa kissing her, making love to her, running away, Jennie running after her, the snow and chill. So that’s why I’m cold. If she had her full wits, she’d realise it’s also likely that her body finally buckled under the weight of the emotional juggernaut of their weekend.

As the events replay, Lisa shuffles out of her coat and lays it over the couch’s arm. The cushion shifts next to Jennie and before she can question the movement her head is lifted off the couch and then pressed into a warm chest, Lisa’s arm coming around her shoulder and rubbing her back in soothing circles. Jennie re-closes her eyes folding herself into the warmth and indulging the comfort.

“They hadn’t heard from you today either so they worried,” Lisa says softly into her hair. Then a beat after, “I worried. Jisoo gave me her spare key to check in on you. Why didn’t you text me?”

Her question is greeted with silence as Jennie dozes off for the next few minutes. When it seems like it will go unanswered, Jennie speaks up, eyes still closed.

“Space.”

“What?”

“You … need … space,” Jennie labours to explain but her chest feels suddenly heavy, each word a mountain climb to convey, “I … give … space.” She lifts her head off and leans her upper body imperceptibly away from Lisa as a gesture to respect the wish for distance.

She doesn’t get far, Lisa tightens her hold, bringing Jennie even closer into her chest.

“I think recent history will show that my words and actions are inconsistent when it comes to you,” Lisa says, likely more to herself since her answer only confuses an already cognitively-compromised Jennie.

Jennie starts to vigorously shake her head, which is hurting as much from the tight elastic band as from the complexity of Lisa’s sentence. “Less words,” she breathes into Lisa’s neck.

“I can’t stay away,” comes the quiet reply and a hitch of breath as Jennie’s parted lips graze her skin.

“Ok.”

Another kiss to the top of her head and then Lisa asks, “Jennie, when was the last time you’ve eaten? Showered?”

“Ok.”

Lisa chuckles. “You’re the worst with the flu.”

Jennie isn’t given a chance to defend herself. Lisa gets up off the couch and gingerly lays her head back against the cushion. That startles Jennie awake, she feels tears suddenly prickling and the pout returning, “Are you leaving?”, she asks with a quiver to her lip.

“Be right back,” Lisa reassures her, retracing a thumb across her pursed lips and placing a feather kiss on her forehead.

Her tenderness mollifies Jennie into another catnap.

—

“No, Lisa,” Jennie whines turning her head away from the spoon, “I don’t want grape juice.”

She doesn’t care if she sounds petulant. It’s disgusting.

Lisa sighs deeply as she mutters, “Well, if you had something other than children’s Tylenol in your cabinet.”

“Hyuna,” Jennie simply says without followup while continuing to side eye the offending liquid and sealing her lips in a thin line, her only defence against its pungent strength that breaks through even her congestion.

“I’ll grab stuff from CVS later,” Lisa tells her before the spoon and the taste of grape returns to Jennie’s lips. “For now, please?” A head shake. “You’ll feel better.” A huff. “For me?” Jennie opens her mouth.

It’s been like this, minutes of micro-negotiations of Lisa trying to administer medicine and fluids as Jennie refuses and retreats. All she wants to do is sleep, she doesn’t understand why Lisa is torturing her. But then when she feels soft lips lightly land on hers after swallowing the latest disgusting spoonful, the scowl disappears to collect her reward, Lisa’s version of a dangling carrot. For every acquiescence, she’d receive a kiss, a bartering system Lisa had developed to counteract Jennie’s uselessness and stubborn aversion to sickness self-care.

(“Medicine is for the weak. I’ll just ride it out.”

“Jennie, that’s ridiculous. Your mother is a doctor.”)

During one fit of a terrible cold in senior year, to Lisa’s delight and Jennie’s embarrassment, they had learned that Jennie would do just about anything if Lisa’s lips got involved. Apparently her kisses were the elixir guaranteed to make Jennie bend like a willow to her caregiving demands.

Because of this ingrained call-and-response Lisa-reflexivity, and with currently lowered defences, that is how Jennie finds herself falling prey to Lisa’s ploy.

After the fourth of Jennie’s objection, Lisa had muttered under her breath, “Fine.” But Jennie still had enough wherewithal to know better than to prematurely celebrate her victory, squinting at Lisa as she put the medicine down on the coffee table, her movement slow and deliberate.

“Fine?” She asked suspiciously, if not hoarsely.

“Uh-huh,” Lisa answered nonchalant. “You’re going to be so mad at sick Jennie when you regain full consciousness.”

Lisa’s preamble and the determined look in her eyes evaded understanding until, without further notice, she braced a knee on either side of Jennie’s thighs and settled herself on top of her lap, careful not to put weight down. The new proximity didn’t help Jennie’s already laboured breathing while Lisa the tactician stared intently at her, calculating her next chess move. It got worse when two hands went to cup Jennie’s face, worser when her nose was booped in affectionate passes, and worstest when Lisa tilted her head and leaned in to give her the softest kiss.

Lisa is the best at being the worst.

At first it was only a light moistening effect as Lisa traced the contour of Jennie’s lips with the plumpness of hers. But then her teeth gently bit down on Jennie’s bottom lip to draw it out and part the seam of her mouth. All Jennie could do was whimper and let her in. Like a pliable drunk, she chased the high of their mouths moving together. With her flu-addled inability to tell time Jennie didn’t know for how long Lisa kissed her but the fire of it left a soaking warmth in her fevered state.

“Jennie,” Lisa murmured against her lips when they drew for air.

“Hmm?” Jennie inquired, her lips remaining parted after Lisa pulled fully away. She didn’t get an answer and was too caught up in the buzzing daze to question why when a grape flavour splashed on her tongue.

Her eyes immediately scrunched in distaste but then shot open in betrayal when understanding dawned. She glared at Lisa who looked unapologetic, self-satisfied even. Before Jennie could launch into reprimand Lisa gave her another soft peck.

“Quid pro quo,” Lisa proffered. “This,” she lifted the spoon and fed another drop to Jennie’s still open mouth, “for this,” and then kissed her again.

Jennie had no fight in her to combat such unfair grounds for trade. “Fine,” she lowly husked in defeat even as she hid her smile seeing the radiant, triumphant grin her capitulation had earned.

Now, six teaspoons and six kisses later, her tongue purple and lips rosy to match the flush of her cheeks, Jennie has consumed almost half of the evil bottle, forced to take four times the dose for adult effectiveness.

“I doubt Tyro would give me this much trouble,” Lisa says after the last of the teaspoon, not without a hint of fondness seeping through, giving a final kiss to Jennie’s nose before rising from her straddled position. “Alright, let’s get you cleaned up. I’m going to run the bath.”

By the time Jennie grasps what she means Lisa’s already out of the room and she hears the start of water flowing. Any protestations die in her throat as she finds herself falling asleep to the distant sounds of rummaging. Does children’s Tylenol really work this fast or is she just really tired.

“Jennie?” Lisa prods gently when she returns, waking her up by sweeping her matted hair away from her face. “Hey,” she smiles when Jennie opens her eyes at the dulcet tone. “Think you can stand?”

The headache and sore muscles are screaming no but Jennie nods wanting to be helpful and makes a valiant effort to join Lisa on her feet. “I can do it,” she psychs herself.

She cannot.

She nearly falls from pitching off the couch too eagerly. Lisa immediately catches her. Jennie pants heavily against her chest, winded by the attempt. Lisa rubs her back anew, making broad strokes with one hand while the other grips her waist to prevent further swaying.

“Stay here,” Jennie decides after amassing enough air to utter a belated challenge to Lisa’s agenda, “No clean.”

“Yes clean,” Lisa insists. “It’ll do you good.”

Jennie moves her head against Lisa’s chest in silent disagreement. Lisa lightly scratches into her scalp to soothe her. Jennie folds into the touch, and considers maybe Lisa’s the one with the ailment, how could she think any place else would be better than here.

“You smell.”

Jennie is too stuffed up to argue the veracity of the claim, so instead she pleads for mercy, “I can’t, Lis,” and wants to cry at the weighted feeling as if someone has tied cannon balls to her feet and is asking her to run the marathon. She looks down to scowl at her body’s treachery.

Before any crocodile tears have a chance to form, however, she looses contact with the ground only to find Lisa has swept her up in her arms, bracing her under her knees and neck. Then they’re on the move, Lisa heedful not to jostle her too much. Once in the master bathroom she’s gently deposited down to stand near the edge of the bathtub.

Lisa has one hand on her hip to keep her steady while bending to check the temperature of the drawn bath.

“I think it’s ready now,” she determines, and then rises again to face Jennie. “I found some epsom salt under the sink,” she says sheepishly realising it might sound like she was snooping. She distractedly, subconsciously, brushes her thumb at the slip of skin between Jennie’s shirt and bottom as she rambles on, “I didn’t put too much in because it’ll dehydrate you but there’s enough to help loosen and relax your muscles. In any case the steam should clear your airways a bit.”

“Thank you,” Jennie says simply, quietly.

“I’ll leave you to it then. You’re okay to take it from here?”

It’s doubtful she can. Jennie already feels her strength thinning from the strain to stay upright, but not wanting to disappoint she nods with more conviction than she has.

Lisa looks unconvinced. She shifts on her feet with a torn expression whether she should leave after all, not trusting Jennie to undress and bathe herself. But she lets her trepidation go to say, “Ok, I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

Jennie nods again. After a final squeeze to her hip, she receives one last worried look and then the door softly clicks closed.

She sighs. Her shoulders slump, her chest tightens. Her body aches.

Jennie breathes deeply as she taps into her reserves to power through. If she can do this then she’ll be less of a burden on Lisa who won’t have to stay much longer. Lisa should be focusing on healing her own pain rather than thinking about Jennie’s.

So she tries her best, she does.

Her body has other ideas. Jennie finds even lifting the hem of her shirt feels like an impossible task. She pushes past the small tears welling in the corner of her eyes to manage an arm out of one sleeve. Exhaustion wins out however when the second sleeve isn’t as cooperative.

Jennie braces a hand against the wall for support and then leans her side fully into it. Her mind swims for anchor as unrelenting waves thrash against her. She rarely gets sick but when she does, it’s forceful and vengeful as if making up for lost time. This go-round feels doubly intense for how her body has also physically succumbed to the emotional tumult of their reunion. A heaviness clouds her head, a taxing effort to hold herself up.

“Lisa,” she feebly calls, more out of self-comfort initially than a desire to be rescued from a losing battle with her shirt. But then, in light of recent revelations, she thinks of her misplaced martyrdom to suffer alone. “Lisa,” she tries louder and with greater intent, taking the first step to put her pride aside to ask for help.

Lisa is in front of her again within seconds. She must have been waiting closely by the door because the sound of Jennie’s weak plea would not have traveled as far as the living room. Maybe the urgency in her middling rasp broke through drywall.

“Jennie,” Lisa inquires, worriedly scanning for injury that couldn’t possibly have occurred in the five minutes she stepped away.

“The shirt won,” Jennie tries for a joke to sound less vulnerable than she feels. She looks at Lisa with what must be the biggest, wettest, bluest eyes and asks, “Help, please.”

Lisa nods and smooths out her wrinkles with a thumb, understanding the layered meaning underneath. “Ok.” An unbidden tear spills over that Jennie can’t keep back and that Lisa is quick to wipe away. “It’s ok,” she whispers. The unsaid I’m here rings between them.

It’s intimate and gentle, Lisa’s movements are patience embodied as she removes Jennie’s shirt and delicately disentangles her limbs from the roguish fabric. Sweatpants and underwear are next and Lisa respectfully looks away to grant her privacy, crouched on bended knee and allowing her shoulders to serve as anchor so Jennie can keep her balance while stepping out of the garments.

When she rises again, Jennie’s breath catches in her throat at the renewed closeness and eye contact. Lisa keeps their gazes locked as she reaches behind and unhooks Jennie’s bra then gingerly pulls the straps down and away from her. Ever the gentlewoman, Lisa’s focus never once falters below her neckline.

She helps Jennie into the tub into a seated position and all Jennie can do is sigh at the relief of heat on her skin, wanting to submerge completely underneath. Instead she looks up at Lisa with a question in her eyes that she’s not sure what they’re asking.

There must however be a helplessness to her gaze that gets tacitly picked up.

Lisa hesitates for but a moment, a bite to her lip and the flicker of a war of emotions in her eyes, and then to both their surprise she begins to undress. Her silk blouse and tailored pants are promptly discarded. Jennie turns her head to let her remove the rest without an audience.

She stares at the water, flat and smooth and motionless, its calm a contradiction to the quickening beat of her heart, the flutter in her stomach. Just when she thinks she’s slowed her breathing to a matching tranquility, the stillness gets disrupted when Lisa settles in behind her, bracketing Jennie between her legs. Her body thrums once more.

Lisa sweeps Jennie’s hair over her shoulder and then gently urges her to bend forward. Jennie gets the hint and wraps her arms around her knees, pillowing her head atop and exposing her back for washing.

A gasp falls into the fold of arms when Lisa’s fingers trace the outline of her spine, sending a shiver along its length that Jennie feels travel to her toes.

After a few beats of fortifying silence, they fall into an old rhythm. In long passes interspersed with circular movements, Lisa scrubs and cleans. Jennie softens and melts.

In the past, the roles tended to be reverse. In high school, Jennie worked out Lisa’s knots after games, in college she smoothed out Lisa’s tightness from hunching over her drafting table. A steaming bath and essential oils and Jennie’s aftercare were the only things Lisa allowed herself to indulge in outside of her ascetic inclinations. Conversely, as an aesthete, Jennie gladly lets the strong and beautiful back serve as canvas for the brushstrokes of her fingers.

The infrequent times that Jennie sat in front rather than behind was when she was sick. A steaming bath and warm hands and Lisa’s tenderness were balms to Jennie’s aches and pains.

When Lisa pulls Jennie back into her chest and bares Jennie’s weight against her wiry frame, she thinks of how much she has missed Lisa’s strength and warmth and wonders how she had survived the last two bouts of illness without. The tears then had nothing to do with how unwell she felt. The soft unseen tears now has everything to do with how she feels in Lisa’s hold.

Lisa leans forward, her chin resting over Jennie’s shoulder as she turns her attention to her arms. She moves the bar of soap from shoulder down to elbow then to forearm, wrist and hand before journeying back and repeating the lathering routine on the other side. Jennie is practically liquid happiness when Lisa returns to rinse off the soap with a small wet towel, rubbing and kneading into her sore muscles.

Lisa chuckles, “Jennie, you’re purring.”

“Am not.”

“Uh-hmm,” Lisa insists as she works around her elbow, pressing into the hollow cove and working the cloth around its bend.

“Mmmm,” she does indeed purr, “so good with your hands.”

“I’m not even touching you directly.”

“That good,” Jennie answers, earning another laugh.

The bliss ends too soon as Lisa hands her the soap and towel to tend to her front herself. She’s given no room for complaint however when Lisa shampoos her hair and massages into her scalp. If Jennie was purring before she’s vibrating now with unguarded contentment.

When they’re both finished with their respective tasks, Lisa drains the tub and helps her to rise, turning her around to face each other.

When their gazes meet Jennie can’t help but notice Lisa’s eyes flicker to her lips, distracted from her next plan of action. There’s a momentary stalemate as Lisa looks to be battling dragons not to kiss her, armed with only a plastic sword and a heightened sense of propriety. Jennie feels the pull as much if not more. The thumping of her heart sends reinforcements of pink rushing to her already rosy cheeks, its beat reaching an unexaggerated fevered pitch.

The spell is broken however when Jennie shudders like a shaken leaf, her teeth lightly chattering from the temperature difference out of the bathwater. The movement refocuses Lisa.

“Close your eyes,” Lisa whispers as she reaches behind Jennie to turn on the shower head. She does as told and allows Lisa to work fingers through her hair to wash out the shampoo while water gently pelts against the back of her head and upper torso.

Exhaustion overtakes her again and she cants into Lisa who swiftly catches her by the waist. Lisa readjusts to complete the rinse with one hand while the other keeps Jennie close and steady. Jennie loses self-awareness that they’re standing naked breast to breast as the medicine seems to be kicking in, its effect sitting heavy on her eyelids.

The next moments become a blur.

She faintly registers Lisa turning off the tap, helping her out of the tub, and towelling her off. Somehow she ends up seated at the edge of her bed protectively wrapped in a towel while Lisa scrambles to find appropriate sleepwear.

“Here,” Lisa says softly when she returns with an oversize t-shirt and loose comfy shorts. In her hurry to dress Jennie she must have forgotten about her own state of undress.

Jennie’s head is halfway through the neck opening but enough of her face is visible to expose a deep blush when her line of sight catches Lisa’s perk nipples. She averts her gaze and tries to communicate her gratitude to Lisa through glassy eyes that are fighting to stay open.

“Sleep, Jennie,” Lisa encourages as she shifts her up on the bed and into the sheets. Jennie wants to tell her that shouldn’t be a problem but she’s already being pulled under by the time the sentence finishes forming in her head. The last thing she hears is Lisa moving about tidying up.

Jennie falls asleep enveloped by happy domesticity.

—

An indeterminate time later when she opens her eyes, Jennie is greeted by green and gold and gentleness.

“Hi,” is softly expelled.

“Lisa?” Jennie looks at her confused, then unbelievably happy to see her. She ignores her dry throat to say, “You’re here,” though given her disorientation, she isn’t quite sure where here is. “Have you been here since Sunday?” She asks perplexed to have somehow acquired a new roommate.

Lisa doesn’t answer but her gaze is open and waiting for Jennie’s mind to catch up. It takes Jennie a second to realise she’s lying in her bed and Lisa is seated on the edge, leaning over her with an arm braced against the mattress. It takes her another second to feel the headache, the pain duller than before but enough to remind her of her body’s decommissioning. It takes her several long seconds to prop herself up into a sitting position, wincing at the pain of protesting muscles.

To her right she sees a CVS bag on the night table next to a plate of sandwich. Jennie licks her lips at the mouthwatering sight of avocado toast but then grimaces feeling how dry and chapped they are.

Lisa is quick to ply a glass of water with straw into her hand. Jennie eagerly sucks down several mouthfuls. “Thanks,” she says shyly.

Lisa still hasn’t said anything making Jennie wonder if she’s a figment of her fatigue. Lisa provides evidence of her realness when she reaches out to wipe the overflow of water from Jennie’s lips, then place a hand over her forehead. She seems somewhat satisfied with what she finds.

“Still hot but better,” she finally speaks up.

“How long have I been sleeping?” Jennie asks.

“A little over an hour,” Lisa answers smoothing out the crease between Jennie’s eyebrows.

“I’m sorry if sick Jennie has been a handful,” Jennie ventures. Though she’s still trying to piece things together she’s well aware of how simultaneously stubborn and defencelessly needy she can become when her immune system is under attack.

“Only sick Jennie?” Lisa teases pointedly.

“Well, I hope she didn’t cause you too much trouble,” Jennie tries to gauge but Lisa’s non-committal hum has her worried, “God, did she do or say something stupid?”

Lisa smirks with an endeared twinkle to her gaze. “That’s between me and sick Jennie, doctor patient confidentiality,” she says. “And nothing a little grape juice and epsom salt didn’t fix.”

Jennie’s eyes widen. Foggy flashes of the couch and the bathtub sends a rush of pink to her cheeks and ears. Lisa laughs prettily. Jennie groans but also feels slight relief. It can’t be so bad if Lisa’s joking.

Before she has a chance to excuse her incapacitated state her stomach grumbles. “Is that for me?” Jennie asks hopefully, needlessly, as she looks forlorn at the plate.

“No,” Lisa deadpans, “I thought I’d eat in front of you while you’re dying.”

Jennie has regained enough energy to glower at her.

“I didn’t think you’d have much of an appetite but you should at least eat something,” Lisa says, placing the plate on Jennie’s lap and then surprises them both by settling next to her on the bed. Their shoulders brush together and Jennie gravitates to the bolstering touch.

She looks down at the toast and then at Lisa and back again to the plate in awe as if Lisa had just procured a Michelin star dish. “Thank you,” she says softly and turns to reflexively give Lisa a kiss on the cheek.

“Sorry it’s not chicken soup but I figured this would be less gross than avocado soup,” Lisa rambles, sidestepping her blush from the kiss. “I only lightly toasted it so hopefully it’s not too hard to swallow.”

Jennie squeezes her hand then proceeds to take nibbling bites from the sandwich. She eats in silence for the next few minutes while Lisa absently fiddles with the loose thread of her oversize shirt. Jennie is partway through one quarter before it occurs to her to ask, “Have you eaten?”

Lisa’s non-answer is answer enough so Jennie gives her the other half. She cuts off Lisa’s anticipated refusal by reassuring that she can’t finish it. Lisa nods and gratefully accepts.

More time is stretched between them while they share the late meal in comforting quiet. Jennie doesn’t know what time it is but by the darkened sky and the muted activities of the street it must be late evening after dusk. She feels marginally better than she did this afternoon though her body is still thermally indecisive between hot and cold. Her limbs still ache.

By the time her half is eaten, the pull of sleep calls again, and she has to fight off slumber to get a few more greedy minutes with Lisa. She lays her head on Lisa’s shoulder, not able to hold it up any more, inviting herself into the crook of her neck.

“You’ve been reading Calvino again?” Lisa asks.

Jennie’s brows furrow momentarily until she remembers the thin paperback sitting on the other night table by Lisa’s side. After their weekend and talk of London, Jennie’s mind has been ruminating on invisible cities and of being lost and searching for unseen possibilities.

“Yeah,” she says.

“Still one of my favourites,” Lisa tells her picking up the book and reading the back summary.

Within a slim 165 pages, a young Marco Polo describes to an aging Kublai Khan fifty-five cities that the Venetian explorer has supposedly visited, and Lisa has read them all to her on numerous occasions, sometimes cover to cover, sometimes at random. Tales from Cities and Memory, Cities and Desire, and Cities and Sky were some of the bedtime stories Lisa would weave in and out of her own imaginaries about concrete utopias or sky gardens or fabric fortresses. Jennie clung onto the Italian writer’s words because it gave her insight into the dreaming that fuelled the type of architect Lisa aims to be.

(Jennie had loved it so much and dog-eared it so affectionately that Lisa had ‘accidentally’ left it behind)

“Which city?” Jennie asks, knowing the answer already but wanting to hear it again. She doesn’t expect for Lisa to turn to the page and read out loud.

Those who arrive at Thekla can see little of the city, beyond the plank fences, the sackcloth screens, the scaffoldings, the metal armatures, the wooden catwalks hanging from ropes or supported by sawhorses, the ladders, the trestles. If you ask "Why is Thekla's construction taking such a long time?" the inhabitants continue hoisting sacks, lowering leaded strings, moving long brushes up and down, as they answer "So that it's destruction cannot begin." And if asked whether they fear that, once the scaffoldings are removed, the city may begin to crumble and fall to pieces, they add hastily, in a whisper, "Not only the city."

If, dissatisfied with the answers, someone puts his eye to a crack in a fence, he sees cranes pulling up other cranes, scaffoldings that embrace other scaffoldings, beams that prop up other beams. "What meaning does your construction have?" he asks. "What is the aim of a city under construction unless it is a city? Where is the plan you are following, the blueprint?"

"We will show it to you as soon as the working day is over; we cannot interrupt our work now," they answer.

Work stops at sunset. Darkness falls over the building site. The sky is filled with stars. "There is the blueprint," they say.

Jennie hums when Lisa finishes reading. She can’t deny how poetic it is for a city’s plan to be mapped to the constellations and considered incomplete until it reaches the stars in height if not breadth, how through incremental addition ground and sky won’t be so far apart anymore. Her mind is cloudy still but it feels like the same could be said about love and its scaffolding. It builds and builds and it is forever unfinished. Endless construction so as to be no destruction. She wonders if maybe that’s the key to finding her way back to Lisa. One beam and cross brace at a time until the ruins are rebuilt.

“That’s how I see New York,” Lisa says picking up a parallel thread. “It’s always under construction. But as annoying as that is, there’s something infinitely hopeful in it.”

Her words are a familiar refrain. Lisa has told her in the past that while most people find construction sites noisy and disruptive, she’s always found them to be beautiful places of possibility.

“Yeah,” Jennie repeats.

“When I first got to London and was missing New York, I’d look for cranes in the sky,” Lisa notes quietly.

The tinge of melancholy tugs at Jennie’s heart, imagining Lisa staking out some rooftop perch for an unobstructed view of the skyline. When she doesn’t continue, only staring blankly ahead seemingly mulling over other words and memories, Jennie shares in an equally hushed tone, “For awhile, after you left, I’d go on these random walks around Brooklyn but always somehow ended up in front of a construction site. I’d stand for hours just staring. I guess it made me feel closer to you.”

The air crackles between them of their mutual sorrow. Two lonely souls searching among different streets and spires but carrying the same sadness. Instead of a direct response, Lisa gently asks, “Another?”

Jennie nods into her shoulder. Opposite to her intention, Lisa puts the book down. Jennie watches curiously as she removes the plate and sets it on the side table. She has to suppress her small shock when Lisa returns to shift their positions to sit behind Jennie, nestling the invalid between her legs.

She leans Jennie back against her chest and gives them a moment for heartbeats to adjust in time. Lisa’s shuddered breath sends a different chill down her body. “You can feel closer to me now,” Lisa whispers in her ear, but sounding like she needs the comfort more so than Jennie.

Lisa picks up the book again and rests it lightly atop of Jennie’s midsection. The book, the warmth, the fragile affection are all a callback to when Jennie was torn and restless after the hospital. She thinks maybe Lisa is subconsciously recreating this small moment to re-feel and better understand Jennie’s vulnerability then. Wishful thinking perhaps but whatever Lisa seeks to find Jennie aims to have a different outcome this time.

Lisa lays a hand flat above Jennie’s chest over her heart. Nothing is said as she lets Lisa simply feel her and the steady rhythm their co-presence induces.

Then, as Lisa reads, staying awake proves difficult. Jennie ultimately gives into her drowsiness, cradled in the soft timbre of Lisa’s voice reciting the weaving of the city of Ersilia and its labyrinth of strings.

(Just before consciousness slips away, Jennie makes a mental note of another thing to add to her growing amends list, take Lisa somewhere high.)

(But as she drifts off she misses a kiss to her head and Lisa’s deep sigh and her quiet words, “I wish I knew what to do.”)

—

She dreams of Lisa.

Wading in and out of sleep, Jennie runs the weekend reel on endless loop, thinking of the soft press of lips, the feel of their bodies moving together. Lisa inside of her, being inside of Lisa. A visual repair to the physical if not emotional hurt.

The next time Jennie opens her eyes, the warmth is gone. She’s huddled in blankets and the sun is streaking through partially drawn curtains but neither of which is the kind of heat her body craves.

At least her headache has been reduced to simply an unpleasant buzz and the aches a low-grade inconvenience.

Her cognitive awakening also happens faster this time, and the memories are more forthcoming, reminding her of the who responsible for her better health and making her acutely miss the source of the empty warmth.

There’s no room for sulking however when Jennie spots a bag of popcorn beside a refilled glass of water. She can’t keep the smile off her face reaching for the sticky note underneath the glass:

Plenty of rest, lots of fluids. Doctor’s orders.

There’s a second sticky note on the popcorn that widens her smile to rival the sun:

Don’t use the microwave.

Jennie grabs her phone to text Lisa.

(Jennie) 09:20

Thank you Dr Manoban

(Lisa) 09:24

Feel better?

(Jennie) 09:24

Much

(Lisa) 09:25

Take it easy on the popcorn. I know how you like to inhale it but be kind to your throat.

Her concern reactivates the butterflies in Jennie’s stomach. They exchange some quick texts before Lisa has to rush off to a meeting and Jennie is in need of another nap. For a split second, it must be the flu talking, Jennie considers adding a heart eyes emoji to her sign-off. She’s saved from herself when Lisa offers up her own, more subdued emoticon.

(Lisa) 09:29

Ttyl :)

Only four letters but the small promise of continued communication is enough to etch the smile permanently on Jennie’s face for the rest of the morning. Her heart flutters in anticipation for ‘later.’

—

Later turns out to be a strange sequence of events.

After two movies of mind-numbing plotlessness, Jennie’s impatience to return to full form bests her. Wanting to rid the lethargy and expel the last dregs of her illness, she perhaps increased her medicine dose more than she should. It knocks her out and when she wakes up, groggy and disoriented with Lisa still on her mind, Jennie decides to leave her a voicemail.

Her dreams had crystallised for her what a near future with Lisa may look like and ways forward to make it happen. Unfortunately, she spectacularly misjudges the clarity of her thoughts.

“I know you asked for some time and you’re still processing and deciding what you want, deciding about me. But if you need help figuring me out, I could be your direct source. Who knows me better than me, I mean other than you who would know me better than me. You know?” Jennie trails off realising she sounds insane. “Ok, well, um … when you’re ready, I’d like to take you on a date.”

Her eyes widen, noooooooo, that was not what she means to say. She can’t believe she just asked Lisa out, how more obtuse could she be. That is so far from the concept of giving Lisa space. She wants to launch herself into the sun. But the words have already travelled across the wires and she can’t take them back. So she bucks up and commits to them with verve.

“Yes, that’s right, I said a date. It was not a slip. Romantic or platonic, it doesn’t matter. You can pick the type of onic or antic you want. As long as it isn’t anything like the panic that I’m currently experiencing, I’ve got us both covered in that department.”

Jennie doesn’t know how to conclude the call after that, imagining smacking herself wouldn’t translate well over voicemail. She decides to go with politeness instead, “Thank you for your time. Regards,” and swiftly hangs up before further damage can be done. It’s a battle of will not to call back and append her full name and credentials as if terminating an official correspondence.

Jennie Kim,

BA, MA, Idiot.

The burst of energy it took to self-sabotage finally runs out and Jennie collapses back into the couch. She re-burrows into her blanket fort and hopes this has been a dream.

Hours later, Lisa confirms indeed it is not. Jennie is in the middle of re-heating the takeout pho soup that Lisa had thoughtfully left in the fridge for her when the text comes.

(Lisa) 7:42 pm

Was that sick Jennie calling?

(Jennie) 7:42 pm

Maybe

(Lisa) 7:42 pm

She’s adorable.

(Lisa) 7:42 pm

I like her hearts.

That’s odd and something Lisa would not text unless a few glasses of chardonnay are involved.

(Jennie) 7:43 pm

Wait, is this tipsy Lisa?

(Lisa) 7:43 pm

Maybe

(Lisa) 7:43 pm

After work drinks. Never trust three-for-one shots.

(Jennie) 7:43 pm

A bit early for shots?

(Lisa) 7:43 pm

Big celebration. Yay.

Dots animate her screen for a long beat.

(Lisa) 7:46 pm

Where is the gay emoji Jennie? I think someone stole it from my phone.

Jennie laughs at the typo. Cheap alcohol and fatigue have always been Lisa’s undoing. She wishes she could hug her right now and kiss away the pretty pout she knows Lisa must be sporting while she scrutinises her keyboard to locate the occasion-appropriate emotional shorthand.

Jennie helps her out by sending her own rainbow, party popper and confetti.

(Jennie) 7:47 pm

You can borrow mine

But Lisa seems to have already moved on.

(Lisa) 7:48 pm

I must go play darts. They found out I can throw things.

(Lisa) 7:48 pm

But between you and me, I would not trust me with a sharp object right now.

The confession pulls another chuckle out of Jennie. She imagines Lisa decimating the competition with her missile accuracy even while under the influence. (No one let her play beer pong in college.)

Jennie’s amusement stays with her until she tucks into her late dinner and catches up on email. Her smile fades however when Lisa’s next texts pop up and the tone has decidedly shifted.

(Lisa) 9:24 pm

You confuse me. I am confused.

(Lisa) 9:25 pm

We were together for twelve years. You broke up with me because you were scared of loving me too much. We don’t see or talk to each other for four years until I reached out. Then we kissed and had the best (only) sex I’ve had in four years, and now you want to take me on a date?

Tipsy Lisa is also honest Lisa, articulate and succinct. It knocks the air out of Jennie’s lungs she’s only recently recovered. She closes her laptop and stares at her phone. There are two paths that she can take: a brush-off of Lisa’s inebriated state and picking up the thread later when they’re both clear-headed, or be equally as honest now. She chooses the latter.

(Jennie) 9:28 pm

We were together for twelve years. I broke up with you because I feared losing a love so big and cosmic that I felt too small to deserve or able to handle, holding my breath for that day when my knees and heart and lungs would give out. But more basically because I was an idiot. We don’t see or talk to each other for four years because, see last point, until you reached out and I felt like I could breath again. Then we kissed and had the best (only) sex I’ve had in four years, and now I want to take you on a date to prove to you that I’m trying to be less of an idiot.

Jennie lets out a deep breath after hitting send. Minutes go by unanswered. When Lisa starts typing again, a lifetime spans the spaces between the dots of the ellipsis.

(Lisa) 9:42 pm

Sober Lisa will have to get back to you on that. Her heart hurts.

Jennie’s own clenches reading the three words.

(Jennie) 9:43 pm

I know. Mine too.

It’s understandable that she doesn’t hear from Lisa for the rest of the night. Or several days after.

—

Each day without another real word from Lisa would make Jennie feel worst if Lisa didn’t maintain a modicum of communication.

Goodnight, Jennie

Goodnight, Lisa

Good morning, Lisa

Good morning, Jennie

Jennie’s not one for counting words but the ten that are sent and received daily reads like a million passing between them. They say, in all the ways that count, I’m still here. Even when Lisa has to fly out to Chicago for a three-day conference that Jennie finds out about later, the small exchange doesn’t break off.

In the quiet of those days, Jennie picks up her brush and knitting needles, sometimes making more progress with one than the other. Though she fully recovers from her ailment, the re-opened wounds from the weekend take longer to heal.

But rather than ignore it, Jennie lets the ache hurt, lets the melancholy sit. She resolves to wait and to embrace time instead of fight it.

Lisa must have come to her own set of resolutions because when she returns from her trip, the frequency of their communication picks up, no longer relegated to the polar ends of daylight. More words come. Along with them, many questions. Jennie answers as honestly as she can, revealing further insights into her emotions and motivations.

Sometimes fraught, sometimes frail, yet steeped in renewed tenderness, they settle into a new groove with each other, balancing innocuous friendly chatter with serious talk about their time apart. Jennie’s fear and guilt, Lisa’s loneliness and sense of abandonment—they revisit the past with a fuller grasp of the bigger picture and with greater empathy prescinding from hurtful miscommunication.

It’s not long before they move on from text-based only exchanges to phone calls too. After the temporary absence, hearing Lisa’s voice again settles something in Jennie. The considered word arrangements, the meaningful hums, how she goes quiet at the end of a sentence when she’s uncertain, her rambling and self-conscious laugh when she’s nervous, all endears Jennie to press the phone closer to her ear.

Although their back and forth does tactically avoid the subject of Jennie asking her out, and for now, the topic of their future altogether, hope shines bright for Jennie that she and Lisa are still tethered.

—

Spring finally arrives and with it a new beginning for Jennie and Lisa.

The change comes when she least expects it.

Jennie is lying on her bed staring up at the ceiling and waiting for nightfall and a darkened sky, a bowl of popcorn on her stomach as she mindlessly tosses kernels in the air and makes minimal effort to catch them in her mouth.

Her poor practise of eye mouth coordination gets interrupted when her phone rings. Jennie immediately picks up without checking the caller id knowing who’d it be, anticipating Lisa’s audio reminder to watch Mercury rising tonight. Their last conversation covered Lisa’s excitement over the celestial event, the only time of year, Jennie, we can see Mercury clearly in the sky with a naked eye. Lisa had sent her a calendar e-vite.

Before she has a chance to greet and confirm her intent to look out her window and up later, Lisa speaks.

“Yes.”

She sounds breathless like the word has been stuck in her throat and pushed out by a sudden expulsion of air.

“Yes?”

“I’d like that date.”

Oh.

“Ow!”

Jennie drops the phone on her face, though manages to keep the popcorn balanced on her stomach. Priorities.

She scrambles for her phone and re-situates herself into a sitting position, rubbing her forehead. She then checks her left arm for feeling to make sure she isn’t having a heart attack and imagining hearing things.

“Jennie?”

“Are you asking me out?”

“No,” Lisa corrects. “I’m saying yes to you asking me out.”

That makes more sense. Jennie bites her lip, humming and stalling as she processes. At her prolonged silence, Lisa follows up with, “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

“No, no,” Jennie quickly reassures. “Most definitely not. Still very much interested. Very much. Like super a lot,” she wishes her brain would catch up much faster to grant her access to a better thesaurus because her pounding heart is making it hard to formulate any coherent thought. “Tonight?”

Jennie looks down at her ripped sweat pants and pats her unwashed hair, doing mad calculations as to how fast she can transform herself.

“Not tonight,” Lisa emits a soft chuckle. “Your calendar is already scheduled, Jennie.” There’s the reminder she was expecting.

“Right, right,” Jennie nods, a nervous chuckle. “Which kind of date? Friendly or more?”

“I’m kinda curious what a Kim date post-2014 would be like,” Lisa answers indirectly.

“The same as pre-2014,” Jennie says automatically despite not having a clue what she intends to do. She’s thrown by Lisa’s spontaneity but what she lacks in planning knowledge she makes up in false confidence. “I’m going to Kim charm the pants off of you,” she asserts with gusto.

“Is that so?” Lisa challenges, amusement laced in her scepticism. Jennie can visualise the raised eyebrow accompanying the curl of lip. “That kind of date, huh?”

“I mean, not like off off,” Jennie hastily back-pedals, losing the momentary steam she gained in self faith. “Your pants can stay on. They will stay on. This will be purely above the belt charming.”

She thinks she hears a stifled laugh. “So you’ll charm my shirt off?”

“Yes. I mean no! I’ll stay above the neckline,” Jennie revises her ladder of charisma. “Charm your head off.”

“I’m quite partial to where it is,” Lisa continues her fun at Jennie’s expense. “I know I’ve been out of the dating scene for a while but a beheading seems like an awful, undesirable outcome.”

Jennie debated her retort but then decided to go on the offence to re-steer this ship. “You’re going to fall so in love with me by the end of the date, it’s not your head I’d be worried about.”

She feels triumphant at her boldness and the hitch of breath it causes on the other end of the line. Then, in slow motion, the words play back to her and suddenly there’s a shortage of air at this end too.

The longest beat in the history of romantic failings passes between them.

“Big talk,” Lisa says finally, her tone thankfully still light.

Jennie sighs in relief letting her head fall back against the headboard. “Prepare to be thoroughly wooed.”

Lisa doesn’t hold back her laughter then. “Woo? Why does it sound like a threat?”

“Court, chase, pursue.”

“That’s a lot of exertion.”

“I’ve been lifting weights,” Jennie says seriously as she starts to do mindless reps with the popcorn bowl, her brain going a mile a minute wracking for date ideas.

“Alright, Kim, let’s see what you’ve got.”

—

“Jisoo, I am so not charming, and totally fucked.”

“Jennie, my kingdom for some context. I left my other telepathy hat at home.”

“I asked Lisa on a date.”

“I feel like we’ve been here before.”

“A date date.”

“Oh, a date date, and not just a date like the other dates you’ve already been on with Lisa who you’ve already dated before. Oh, that! Why didn’t you say so?”

Jennie ignores her. “What do I do?”

“How would I know?”

“I don’t have any charm.”

“No argument here.”

“I’ve dated one girl my whole life. And we were kids, so an avocado smoothie and some skin was all I needed.”

“I don’t think Lisa would be opposed to either of that now.”

“No, I have to woo her.”

“Woo?”

“Yes, woo!” Jennie rises in a fit of inspiration, perhaps too enthusiastically, her tank top riding.

“Whoa, slow down there Woo Tank Clan,” Jisoo pulls her by the hem back on the couch. “We don’t want Lisa malfunctioning on the date by getting the girls involved.”

“Jennie, you’ll be fine,” comes a quiet voice from the corner.

Jisoo screams causing Jennie to yelp as well, both startling in their seat.

“Jesus, Dawn!” Jisoo clutches one hand to her heart and the other braces Jennie’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t sneak up on us like that!”

“I’ve been sitting here for the last 30 minutes of Jennie’s flailing,” Dawn says calmly. “I live here.”

Jisoo waves him off as if the tidbit is inconsequential.

Jennie had texted both Jisoo and Hyuna about the need for an emergency girls meeting. Hyuna couldn’t make it because she is currently tied up at the precinct but offered her home and significant other in her stead. (“Dawn is basically female me, but taller, more muscles, less hair. He’s a good listener.”) Not wanting to miss on the gossip of Jennie’s latest romantic complications, she made Dawn leave the firehall early because there was a bigger and more dramatic fire they needed to put out.

“Just to recap,” Dawn rises from the armchair and joins them on the couch, skilfully dodging Tyro’s landmine of toys on the floor. He sits between Jennie and Jisoo, his bulky form sinking both girls towards the middle cushion, then taps his notepad where there is illegible scrawling, “Jennie was sick; Lisa nursed her back to health, voluntarily; semi-sick Jennie asked her out on a date; fast forward weeks of reconnecting, she says yes; and now there is unsubstantiated concern about Jennie’s persuasion prowess.”

“It’s not unsubstantiated, we are concerned,” Jisoo corrects, taking his pencil from him, erasing vigorously and amending his report for Hyuna.

Jennie is too flustered to pay heed to their squabbling about proper annotation. She buries her head in her hands and groans.

Dawn rubs her back and gently says, “Just be you, Jennie.”

“I can see why Hyun never married you, Dawn,” Jisoo objects, shaking her head. “That’s terrible advice. Don’t listen to him.”

Dawn sighs but congenially leans back against the couch to give her the room to bully Jennie to adopt her supposed superior agenda.

“What do you suppose, Chu? It’s a little late for me to be someone else.”

“It’s not about being but doing. You need a grand gesture,” Jisoo says and then shoves Dawn’s shoulder to force out a grunt of agreement.

“I don’t own a boombox.”

“One, you need to update your movie references. Two, you need to show her. Lisa has a pretty good idea of what past Jennie would do, Jenlisa 1.0 is a tough act to follow, but predictable. Her guard is likely up about how it’d be different this time,” Jisoo says, and then turns to Dawn. “Are you jotting this down?”

“Yes, dismantle Lisa’s defences by doing something unexpected,” Dawn nods.

“You’re a genius, Dawn,” Jennie smacks an enthusiastic kiss on his cheek, an idea forming.

“Hey!” Jisoo looks in abject horror at her thunder being stolen. “That was like 99% my idea. Typical, the 1% swooping in to benefit from our hard work.”

Dawn looks at her unimpressed. “You and Rosé make more than six figures. Each. Hyuna and I are lowly public servants.”

“Fine, you can have the glory. Hyun will be so proud,” Jisoo concedes. She turns to Jennie, “So, what will you do?”

“Something I don’t normally.”

—

Jennie adjusts the snapback on her head before she nervously knocks on Lisa’s door. She hears shuffling and hurried steps then Lisa appears looking windswept like she had flown from the far corner of her apartment.

“Sorry, you said casual but I couldn’t decide—”

Lisa falls silent as soon as Jennie comes into view. She scans her up and down, the ripped tight jeans and royal blue shirt with orange lettering, her gaze ending and lingering on the snapback.

“Hi,” Jennie ventures in a timorous voice, shifting on her feet.

“You look,” Lisa pauses to find the right word, rewiring her short circuited brain, “sportive.” Her brows knit in confusion.

At her scrutiny, Jennie itches to remove the woollen top, feeling as uncomfortable in athletic wear as she probably looks. She’s also anxious to rid the mitt in her hand, pushing it into Lisa’s chest.

“My glove?” Lisa asks.

In lieu of an answer, with her now free hand Jennie reaches into her back pocket to procure two tickets, handing them over to Lisa as explanation.

Lisa’s eyes widen. “The Mets opener?”

Jennie nods and looks sheepishly to the ground as she says, “It’s baseball,” as if the former pitcher wouldn’t know and the glove wasn’t clue enough.

“How’d you get these? They’re usually sold out,” Lisa asks incredulous. Her eyes squint to read the details and then bulges at their seat location.

Jennie shrugs. It had been a complicated negotiation that involved giving up several Saturday nights for dinner at the Kims in exchange for temporary custody of her dad’s prized possession of a Dieter Rams 1970s radio that Jisoo could pick apart in order to motivate her to find “something with a ball that Lisa would really like.” Jisoo in turn convinced her wife to convince one of her high profile clients who owed Rosé a favour to give up their platinum season pass seats.

“A good deal,” she oversimplifies instead.

Lisa unexpectedly startles Jennie with a vibrant laugh. “You must be really keen to woo me if you’re willing to endure watching sports.”

“Concede a battle to win the war.” Jennie’s eyes twinkle remembering something, “What was it you always told me about butting?”

“Bunting,” Lisa corrects the proper baseball term.

Jennie clears her throat and straightens up, both hands behind her back in stoic posture, putting on her best Lisa impersonation, “Victory stands on the back of sacrifice, Jennie.”

Lisa glares at her but without any real malice.

“Wow, I haven’t been to a game in forever,” she says and then looks down at herself wearing a loose sweater and cutoffs. Jennie tries to keep her eyes north of the long expanse of exposed skin. “I don’t have anything appropriately orange to wear.”

Jennie reaches into her canvas tote bag that’s hanging off her shoulder. “Here, you can wear this one. Dad’s idea of a gag gift for my last birthday.”

Lisa takes the jersey from her. She turns it over in her hands, surveying the stitching and running her fingers over the name. When Jennie shifts on her feet again at the stretched out silence, Lisa apologetically opens the door wider to make room for her to enter, “Sorry, come in.”

Jennie takes a tentative step inside of Lisa’s apartment and nods absently when Lisa asks, “You ok to wait here? Let me go change, be right back.”

Instead of going, Lisa unexpectedly comes into Jennie’s personal space and hugs her. A hurried kiss to the cheek and a shy “Hi back” renders Jennie flushed and flustered before she departs for the bedroom.

Left to stand awkwardly by the door, Jennie takes the opportunity to cast a nosey eye about. Her surveying ends seconds later. When Jennie had offered to pick Lisa up, she didn’t know what to expect of Lisa’s apartment but this isn’t it. To call it spartan would be to accuse Lisa of being a maximalist.

It’s an open layout and has all the hallmarks of a modernist aesthetic, wide plank hardwood floors, ceramic countertops, stainless steel appliances, and designer fixtures, complete with a high ceiling and an enviable view. But not much else.

There is no couch. Her mom’s Wegner chair is the only piece of furniture that suitably serves as a seating option. Random piles of books sit on the floor and on top of the one lonely writing desk. Otherwise, there is a severe lack of things that would constitute as material evidence that anyone lives here. Minimalist designer John Pawson or artist Donald Judd might feel self-conscious that they own too much stuff after entering this space. By comparison, Jennie feels like a hoarder in her Bed-Stuy home.

She does smile however seeing her knitted sweater strewn over the armchair. She can imagine Lisa burrowing in it and the chair with a book.

When Lisa returns, and asks while spinning, “What do we think?”, Jennie has to suck in a breath at the sight of her last name emblazoned across Lisa’s back. The jersey is tucked loosely into the top of her black skinny jeans she’s wearing with the cuffs rolled. Finished off with aviator sunglasses clipped into the V of her collar, Lisa looks an effortless cross between the most attractive sports fan and the most ideal girlfriend.

“I mean, I guess it’s alright,” Jennie feigns disinterest earning a glare. She gives up the ruse when the glare turns into a pout, “Oh, please. Like you don’t already know only you could make pinstripe look good.”

A glint passes Lisa’s eye as she takes Jennie in once more. “You’re one to talk.”

God, it’d be so easy to cross the room in two steps and pull Lisa into a kiss as rebuttal. Instead, Jennie deflects, gesturing to behind her, “Too busy to decorate?”

Lisa’s cheeks bloom pink as she shyly defends, “Um, haven’t fully settled in.”

“Obviously,” Jennie chuckles. “Lis, it’s been months.”

Lisa shrugs with a small smile, then avoids Jennie’s gaze when she mutters under her breath, “Not really home.”

“I know you don’t cook but you have to eat,” Jennie says tilting her head questioningly to the empty spot where a dining table should be.

“I’m reading this book by a Japanese writer on minimalist living. He only owns three shirts, four pairs of trousers, four pairs of socks, and a roll-up mattress.”

“That sounds tragic, Lis.”

“He says he’s happier.”

“Hmmm.” Not wanting to further put Lisa on the spot as to why she’s looking into Japanese minimalism for happiness, Jennie asks instead, “All set?”

Lisa smiles and nods.

“Wait, what’s that for?” Jennie points to the thin blanket that she’s only just noticing draped over Lisa’s arm.

“For when you undoubtedly fall asleep during the game,” Lisa foretells her, the smile turning into a knowing, far-too-attractive smirk.

Jennie takes the blanket from her and stuffs it with extra deliberate force into her bag while griping loudly, “Not my fault you’re into boring things.”

Jennie does not trip over the threshold when Lisa playfully pushes her out the door but she does trip over nothing when Lisa swats her bum with her glove and says,

“Let’s go, babe.”

—

“Play ball!”

“I feel like the umpire works for the Department of Obvious,” Jennie says into Lisa’s ear as the crowd cheers loudly on the home plate umpire’s signal for the game to start.

“It’s tradition, Jennie,” Lisa humours her. “Baseball is all about tradition. Speaking of,” she flags down the snack guy.

“No, Lis, I got it,” Jennie tries in vain to give money to the boy after he hands Lisa an overflowing souvenir helmet of popcorn. He’s shot down from entertaining Jennie’s attempt at chivalry when Lisa throws him a non-negotiable ‘don’t you dare’ stare. “This is my date,” she weakly protests but it goes unheard as Lisa deposits the snack into her lap.

“You got these ridiculously good seats so we didn’t have to endure the line at the Shake Shack. Who knew in-seat food delivery would change my life,” Lisa says pointing to the gourmet meal of thick cut fries and a filet mignon steak sandwich cradled on her own lap, “So, what’s a couple hundred bucks for some heated kernels.” She makes sure the vendor catches her sarcasm about the over-gouging price as he hands her change back.

The poor kid gives them a tight smile. Jennie’s fairly certain he picks up speed and skips the next couple of rows to avoid further reprimand for something out of his control.

“It’s an expensive tradition,” Jennie mutters but relents, “thank you.”

“Mhm,” Lisa garbles around her sandwich, taking a first enthusiastic bite that causes the cheese to ooze forth. Jennie has to look away when she darts a tongue out to catch the remnant. “Oh my god, totally 2,000 calories worth of regret.”

Jennie laughs while handing her a napkin. “I think it’s safe to say you can afford it,” she comments as the memory of pressing against Lisa’s abs flash in her mind.

For the next while, her attention is divided between her popcorn, Lisa, and whatever incomprehensible things are happening a few feet away on the field. They’re seated in the second row to the right of home plate. Jennie would have been happy if they were in the upper stands but Lisa seems overly pleased with their nearness to the action so she sends her silent thanks to the Kim-Manoban for the smile that hasn’t left Lisa’s face since they entered Citi Field.

“Lisa, that pitcher’s hair is longer than mine,” Jennie points to the blonde on the mound a quarter way through her popcorn.

“That’s Syndergaard,” Lisa tells her without looking, her gaze fixed on the ball that’s been hit to centre field. Jennie has been having trouble locating the (too tiny) ball so she’s focused instead on the players and what they look like. After the catch is made, Lisa turns to her and says, “He’s nicknamed Thor.”

“His hair whooshes when he throws, Lisa. Whooshes. It’s not very threatening or god-like if he looks to be in a shampoo commercial when the ball leaves his hand.”

Lisa laughs and kisses Jennie on the cheek.

It’s been like this since the first inning after Jennie had given up on trying to follow the game when it proved impossible to differentiate which team is which. One side is wearing white, the other light grey in purposeful confusion. Jennie found better entertainment on picking out a player’s physical attribute or habit and Lisa would supply her with a random fact. The unexpected added bonus of her running commentary has been cheek kisses whenever Jennie says anything wildly accurate though not remotely relevant. The left side of her face is permanently red but the constant rush of blood feels so worth it for the ringing laughter in her ear.

“I fear for that man’s future children,” Jennie shifts her critical eye to the third baseman. “I’m not sure if pants should be that tight.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about him. He makes $20 million. He’ll be fine.”

“What?!” Jennie squeaks, causing a few heads to turn their way, “Why am I not a sportsperson?”

“Because you say sportsperson.”

“I should’ve picked up a bat instead of a brush.”

Lisa laughs again, patting her knee. “I think you’d have a better batting average with a brush though.”

Jennie looks at her confused. Another cheek kiss.

Lisa seems as enamoured with her clueless companion as with the play in front. The twinkle in her eyes shines brighter than the mid-afternoon sun, the golden flecks in quiet competition with the freckles that have appeared on the tip of her nose.

Jennie catches Lisa’s gaze slip to her lips just as Lisa pulls her sunglasses on to hide her telling eyes. When Jennie’s expression downturns at the grievous action, Lisa taps the bill of her hat and says softly, endearingly, “The excitement is that way,” cocking her head towards the field.

“Not from where I’m sitting,” Jennie counters.

She nonetheless turns her attention back to the game and lets the sounds of clanking bats, cracking balls, and boisterous crowds distract her from wanting to lean in, grab Lisa by the jersey and give her a proper deep kiss.

To keep her lips busy with something else to do, she returns to her quipping, encouraged by Lisa’s continuing failure to rein in her laughter. Initially it was standard date jitters that had Jennie running her mouth but with each successive chuckle and cheek kiss, the butterflies and banter multiply.

They fall into a rhythm for a couple more innings but then keeping the fluttering at bay proves hopeless when the game starts to pick up. Unluckily for Jennie, Lisa commits to being an extra fan and extra affectionate when something good happens with the baseball. She squeezes Jennie’s thigh whenever the ball is hit, and when it isn’t she brushes her thumb idly over the exposed knee where Jennie’s jeans are ripped.

When a player runs to a base, Lisa’s hand runs higher on her thigh. On one particularly long run when the batter has rounded the third base and is on his way back to where he started, her hand travels so far up, Jennie can’t contain her hitch of breath and suddenly bolts out of her seat. Lisa looks at her strangely but thankfully seconds later others join her on their feet as the player crosses home plate, making Jennie’s premature ejection seem intentional.

Vanilla and pine infuse her nose when Lisa wraps her up in celebration of the run. Jennie soaks up the feeling. Again she’s out of time with the rest of her neighbours, keeping hold of Lisa and remaining standing long after play resumes. A clearing throat behind them breaks their overly-intimate celebration.

When Jennie returns to her seat, so does the intrepid hand. Jennie sighs and gives up. She braves to take Lisa’s hand in hers and laces their fingers. It’s a white flag that she’s happy to wave seeing the smile that Lisa tries to hide.

It finally occurs to her after another witty remark, when Lisa’s lips land awfully close to the corner of her mouth causing her to gasp, that the chaste kisses and the innocent touches have an ulterior motive.

“Oh my god,” Jennie narrows her eyes and lightly pushes Lisa away, “you’re doing it on purpose!”

Lisa forces her grin into feigned “I don’t know what you’re talking about” innocence. To prove her point she cups Jennie’s jaw and turns her head. Jennie stops breathing thinking Lisa will kiss her, and closes her eyes in anticipation. Cruelly, she receives a nose boop instead. Her cheeks take on the colour of the opposing team’s red caps.

“Funny, I was promised the Kim charm but all I keep getting is the Kim blush. I know you’re not into athletic things, Jennie, but where’s your game?” Lisa muses, laughing at Jennie’s offended expression.

“I was being a gentlewoman but if you want to play dirty, fine,” Jennie spiritedly threatens, “we’ll see who’s blushing by the time the puck goes in,” and leaves it hanging ominously on that uncertainty.

She doesn’t understand why Lisa’s laughing but lets it go while she plots her revenge. Jennie was saving her energy for later, the next part of her planned itinerary, but decides a little fun now wouldn’t hurt.

The opportunity presents itself literally on a plate when Lisa’s onto her second steak sandwich. After her last bite as she’s dusting the baguette’s crumbs off her lap, Jennie turns to her and takes a hold of the base of her neck and plays with the baby hairs.

She wants to laugh at how much Lisa stiffens, how quiet she becomes when she should be cheering. Jennie understands the appeal now. Watching Lisa’s cheeks progressively bloom more pink is the type of spectator sport she can really get into.

The crowds blur out of focus, the noise dulls to a low rush in her ears as the stalemate thickens the air between them.

Jennie leans in and on Lisa’s gasp and widened eyes, she gently, so so gently, licks her bottom lip. The sharpness of the monetary jack cheese hitting her tongue is nothing compared to the sharp inhale her intimate breach of space elicits. She draws the lip into her mouth and gives it a soft suck. Lisa practically melts into her seat, releasing a tiny whimper.

“You had something there,” Jennie whispers when she finally separates and grants Lisa mercy.

Lisa looks almost done for and begrudgingly grumbles, “Well played.”

Jennie smiles triumphantly and gives her a peck on the cheek. They silently agree to a truce after that.

By the seventh inning, Jennie’s proud to have stayed awake this long so naturally rewards herself by drifting off onto Lisa’s shoulder. The blanket immediately comes out as she snuggles into Lisa’s side. She closes her eyes to the sight of a sun-drenched smile and the thought of afternoon kisses.

“Jennie,” she hears faintly an indeterminable time later, and feels a gentle tug, “it’s over.”

“Thank god,” she mutters half-asleep, “I mean, what, already? So soon? I was really starting to enjoy the …” Jennie pauses for a yawn to escape, “nap.”

Lisa snickers but doesn’t respond.

“Did you catch anything?” Jennie asks without waking.

“No foul balls this time.”

“Did you catch any polite ones?”

Lisa chuckles, “We should get going before they kick us out.”

Jennie cracks an eye open on those words but then startles Lisa by springing to her feet when she sees the seats half empty around her.

She fishes out her phone from her pocket and seeing the expectant text, her eyes light up. She grabs Lisa’s hand. “Let’s go!” Jennie repeats with much more enthusiasm, leading them out and weaving hurriedly through the foot traffic.

“Jennie, slow down,” Lisa implores chuckling.

“Can’t,” Jennie says ambiguously, determinedly.

“Hey,“ Lisa stops walking, the abruptness causes Jennie to boomerang back into her arms. Lisa places her free hand on her hip and gently squeezes. “I had a good time, thank you,” she says, her lopsided grin contagious. She gives Jennie a genuine kiss to the cheek this time and embraces her in a hug.

“Good time is only just starting,” Jennie smiles into her hair, “Come on, we got somewhere else to be.”

“In that case,” Lisa snakes an arm around Jennie’s waist and spins them around, taking over the navigation redirecting them the right way to the exit where Jennie’s rental is parked.

—

“What is this place?” Lisa asks as they’re standing in front of the open trunk of the car where it’s parked in front of what looks to be an abandoned dome-like building.

“You’ll see,” Jennie answers vaguely while tossing her a long-sleeve black top. She takes Lisa’s glove from her and stows it away. On Lisa’s raised eyebrow she expands, “You’re welcome to stay in Mets gear but thought you might want something less fanatic.” Lisa examines the top. “It was in the back of my closet,” Jennie answers the unasked question.

She then swaps out her own blue and orange for a white tee and leather jacket. Lisa whips around and scrambles to avert her gaze when Jennie’s blue bra is momentarily revealed.

After the wardrobe change, without thought, they primp each other like old habit, adjusting collars and smoothing out wrinkles. Jennie becomes aware of their closeness only when she realises Lisa has stopped breathing at her dusting motion of Lisa’s shoulder. They’re standing within a breath’s reach of each others lips. The air is charged with pregnant gazes before Jennie leans in to give Lisa a gentle kiss near her jaw and ear and whispers, “You look great.”

She takes Lisa’s hand and leads them into the building.

The inside is opulent and ornate and nothing like its rough exterior. Stained glass covers the windows and mosaic tiles line stonewalls that stretch high towards vaulted ceilings. The serenity is a complete contrast whence they had just came, a sacred silence permeates the air as streaks of waning daylight break through the coloured glass and bounce off the crystals of the chandeliers. Gold-leafed paintings shimmer under the watchful eye of saints and angels.

“Wow,” Lisa breathes, her soft expel echoing in the open space.

“We’re early but I figured you’d like to have a look around first,” Jennie says quietly. “This was a former Ukrainian church before the parish moved to Little Odessa.”

“It’s beautiful,” Lisa says with her head still tilted up. She doesn’t catch Jennie staring at her in cliché agreement. Then something seems to cross her mind and she rocks nervously back on her heels. “Um, you’re not going to ask me to marry you, right,” Lisa questions jokingly but there’s an edge of fear in her voice.

The thought warms Jennie but the half-panicked look in Lisa’s eyes grounds her fleeting vision of white chiffon. She shakes her head and is about to reply when a tall, dark guy walks towards them, grinning with warm intent. Jennie has half a chance to notice his presence before she’s scooped into his arms and spun around.

“Wells, put me down!” Jennie squeaks while giggling.

When she’s put back on her feet, she notices Lisa standing straighter and more stiff than before, her features tightened in a newly reserved look. Jennie unconsciously brushes her thumb over Lisa’s where their hands have rejoined, also unconsciously, and sees the subtle relaxing of her brows.

“Wells, this is Lisa,” she introduces. “Lisa, Wells.”

“Nice to meet you,” Lisa says extending her hand, polite but empty of the warmth she’s basked Jennie in all afternoon.

“You too,” Wells smiles kindly at her while shaking her hand, and to Jennie’s mortification, he stares at her for a too-long awkward beat. Lisa steps imperceptibly, territorially, closer to Jennie but doesn’t shrink from the scrutiny. Conversely, she seems to have grown impossibly taller to match the eight inches difference of her unanticipated adjudicator. Wells finally breaks from the standoff to let out a low whistle, “Man, Jennie wasn’t lying about the eyes.”

On that Lisa softens almost completely. She quirks an eyebrow, but Jennie’s too busy jabbing an elbow into him to see.

“They certainly do sparkle,” Wells continues in spite of the very obvious death glare sent his way.

Jennie clears her throat and tries to gain control of the conversation, “You’d know all about brilliance.” She directs her next words at Lisa, “Wells’s day job is a lighting designer. He helped me source the LED tubes for my last painting.”

“Ah,” Lisa hums but then her understanding quickly turns into confusion as she looks up at the pendants hanging above them. “Are you here to fix the lighting?”

Wells chuckles and looks at Jennie curiously. When Jennie doesn’t answer, he fills Lisa in, “No. We’re playing tonight,” and points to the equipment down the nave.

“Playing?”

“The acoustics in here are amazing.”

“When he’s not playing with lumens,” Jennie interjects, “Wells plays gigs. He’s the lead and genius behind the cover band, Well, Well, Well.”

Lisa looks impressed by his dual identity but also for the pun name. Before she can respond, they hear voices ahead of seeing some of his band mates filing in. Wells gives them acknowledging nods then turns back to the girls, “Anyways, I gotta finish setting up. Chat with you later, and hope you enjoy the show.”

Lisa gives him her most genuine smile yet, and Jennie leads them to sit while Wells greets his mates. She explains to Lisa that Wells participates in these secret concerts put on by a collective that pairs musicians and performers with underground venues. They happen bi-monthly but the locations remain a mystery until the day of, when subscribers get notifications of where to show up. The events are free but goers are asked to make an in-kind donation to the local arts community.

Lisa listens in rapture as Jennie describes the first one she went to at a disused swimming pool where the featured act was a cellist and dancer, how she was mesmerised by the way the music reverberated against the tiles while the lithe body accordingly drew beautiful lines across the empty space of the deep end. The last one she went to involved an a cappella troupe making harmonies at an abandoned grain store building in the shipyard area of Brooklyn’s waterfront, their voices carrying across the concrete and steel and rust of a by-gone era.

Jennie doesn’t tell Lisa that she often went alone, nursing a beer and a broken heart. She let herself be swept up in the music and movements and lyrics, giving over to the swell of strings, the ache of someone else’s longing or the quiet affirmation of a kinder love.

She does however tell her about enjoying the venues as much as the aural experience, the beauty in rediscovering a space that had outlived its use, that time left behind from which a different generation or set of people have moved on.

One of her favourites had been the Old City Hall subway station where a jazz band played. Hearing the Blues while standing under leaded skylights and the Guastavino tile arches of Romanesque architecture was something else. She felt a personal sense of renewal participating in breathing new life into an old one.

Lisa in turn tells her of some of the churches and old buildings she’s visited of which there is no shortage in Europe. And so they spend the hour chatting—completely engrossed in each other and the conversation and entirely unaware of Wells’ passing looks—while absently watching the crew clear the floor space, moving furniture about and arranging their set.

By the time the sun has dipped out of view, the space has been transformed into something that looks like the marriage of a mini concert hall and an intimate lounge room. When Wells flips the switch, they all pause to emit a collective awe at the chandeliers lighting up.

“C’mon,” Jennie whispers and pulls Lisa up to stake out a prime spot on a loveseat to the left of the makeshift stage, wanting to take advantage of being the first ones here. She ignores Wells’ wink when he hands them two beers after they settle into the plush cushions.

They continue their chatter as the public starts to show. Soon the spaces fill up, a scattering among the temporary furnishings, some by the provisional mini bar, many standing in easy conversation. It’s a chilled atmosphere and Jennie soaks up the warmth of having Lisa pressed into her side and still holding her hand.

The band gets a warm reception when Wells finally takes to the mic.

Wells has eclectic taste, doing acoustic renditions ranging from Destiny’s Child to Jessie Ware, Ed Sheeren to Elliot Smith. His mashup of Drake and Depeche Mode has the crowd buzzing.

Jennie feels the buzz in her stomach and on the surface of her skin where it makes contact with Lisa. They haven’t spoken since Wells started his set list but with Lisa’s thumb returning to brushing Jennie’s knee she doesn’t think she has the capacity for words now.

During a short break, an oblivious guy approaches them and tries to ask Jennie for a dance, blind to the death stare from her date or how she’s wrapped up in the brunette’s arm. He must have had one too many drinks not to shrivel from the icy rejection of his advance. Thankfully, his more clued-in buddy drags him away by the back of his shirt while shooting them an apologetic look.

Jennie thinks Lisa stopped breathing for those ten tense seconds. They both breathe relieved air when Wells returns to the stage and their vicinity is cleared of unwanted suitors.

When she hears the familiar notes, Jennie gathers enough courage to show Lisa exactly with whom she’d rather dance. She stands and extends a hand. Lisa bites her lip looking up in surprise but nonetheless rises to join her. Jennie keeps eye contact as she walks backwards leading them a few steps away from their seat. She places Lisa’s hands on her hip and rests her arms on Lisa’s shoulders, crossing hands behind her neck.

They slow dance to Jessie Ware’s Alone, swaying gently. On the verse, just come a little closer, Jennie bravely steps closer to lay her chin on Lisa’s shoulder and Lisa correspondingly circles her arms to the small of Jennie’s back.

I don't want somebody else to call my name

No, I don't want somebody else when you could just say

Say that you're the one who's taking me home

'Cause I want you on my skin and my bones

Knocking me off my feet

Just say I'm the one that you need (oh, please)

Say that you're the one who's taking me home

So I can get you alone

“Bold, Kim,” Lisa whispers. “You plan on taking me home?”

“Maybe not tonight,” Jennie responds seriously, quietly, and can’t keep the deep-seated look of love from her eyes, “but someday I hope.”

Lisa lets her have that. She hums into Jennie’s hair and tightens her arms to narrow any remote gap left between them. They stay in a close hold, barely moving, more a hug than a dance, even when the next two songs pick up in tempo.

“Besides, this isn’t my bold move,” Jennie says.

“Oh?”

Jennie doesn’t directly answer. As if they had rehearsed the timing, she hears Wells announcing her name and then polite, encouraging applause. Lisa looks confused but Jennie kisses her on the cheek and gestures for her to retake her seat.

Jennie turns and joins Wells on stage on the stool he’s brought out for her. She steals a glance at Lisa before addressing the crowd, concentrating on the smiles and expectant looks and not the shocked expression to her left.

“Thanks for indulging me, Wells. Let’s see how, well, well this goes.” Her words garner some chuckles. “This is Anchor by Novo Amor.” She adjusts the stool to angle more towards Lisa. Taking a deep breath and meeting Lisa’s eyes, she says softly, “For you.”

She nods to Wells and he begins finger-picking the acoustic guitar. Her knee moves nervously in time to the opening chord and then finding her cue Jennie’s voice fills up the space of the church with soft yearning.

Everything, everyone, fades out.

For the next four minutes, it’s just her and Lisa. Four years of regret condensed into four minutes of hope.

Took the breath from my open mouth,

Never known how it broke me down,

I went in circles somewhere else

Shook the best when your love was home,

Storing up on your summer glow,

you went in search of something else

And i hear your ship is comin’ in

Your tears a sea for me to swim

And i hear a storm is comin’ in

My dear is it all we’ve ever been?

Halfway through the song, Jennie has to sing pass the lump in her throat as tears well in her eyes. Lisa looks similarly overcome with emotion but they don’t break their locked gazes. The audience has gone eerily quiet as if afraid to intrude on their private moment.

The earthy grit of Jennie’s voice drifts them in and out of a collective ethereal dream, her earnestness giving a deeper layer to the restlessly romantic lyrics.

Caught the air in your woven mouth,

Leave it all i’ll be heaving how you went

In search of something else

Taught the hand that taut the bride,

Both our eyes lock to the tide

We went in circles somewhere else

And i hear your ship is comin’ in

Your tears a sea for me to swim

And i hear a storm is comin’ in

My dear is it all we’ve ever been?

She closes the song out on the repeated plea of the final verse, pressing a quiet urgency for Lisa to follow its directive.

Anchor up to me, love.

Anchor up to me, love.

Anchor up to me, my love.

Wells strums out the last notes as Jennie finally looks out to the crowd to acknowledge their warm applause.

When she turns back to where she expects to find Lisa, her stomach drops seeing the empty seat. Jennie is stood frozen scanning the immediate vicinity for Lisa, eyes widen in alarm that she might have been too forward with her romantic overture.

Wells gently nudges, and whispers, “She went that way,” pointing in the direction of the north transept. He lays a comforting hand on her shoulder, “You did great.”

Jennie squeezes his forearm in thanks and hurries to find Lisa.

She almost misses her. Lisa is tucked partially out of view with her back turned, facing a set of stain glass windows.

Hearing the shallow breathing, Jennie gives her a second.

“Hey,” she says quietly after with the care of approaching a fawn in the forest. “I know I’m rusty, but was it that bad?”

She feels slightly reassured to hear a soft chuckle. Lisa then turns and sends her a wobbly smile. Jennie’s heart aches at the sight of her glassy gaze.

“Terrible, shouldn’t have gotten out of bed for that,” Lisa says leaning back against the wall, crossing her legs by the ankle as Jennie mimics her position on the opposite wall. The alcove space is small and it would only take two steps to close the distance between them but Jennie leaves it open for emotions and heartbeats to settle. “Sorry, just needed a moment.”

“Do you want me to go?” Jennie asks worried, readying to leave.

“No,” is the immediate soft response. The tender way Lisa is looking at her pins Jennie in place.

They stand motionless, wordless exchanges of meaningful gazes, Jennie’s song still playing between them. Minutes pass in idyll quiet.

Maybe it’s the sacred space they’re in that Lisa feels safe to admit quiescent desires aloud. “I really want to kiss you,” she whispers.

“I really want to kiss you,” Jennie echoes.

“Why don’t you?”

That’s all the invitation Jennie needs before she’s millimetres in front of Lisa, with her hands sinking into her hair and pressing their foreheads and noses together. Lisa immediately opens to receive her, hands to waist, bringing them hip to hip. Jennie draws nearer to Lisa’s lips, within touch but not touching. It takes monumental restraint for her not to go further as she whispers into Lisa’s parted mouth, “I’m trying to be a gentlewoman, remember. No funny business on the first date.”

Jennie motions to back away but Lisa firms her grasp. “It’s a good thing this isn’t a first then,” she says.

Then she repeats Jennie’s actions earlier at the game, moistening Jennie’s bottom lip with her tongue before taking it into her mouth. Jennie’s mind flashes to the time on the couch when she was sick and Lisa had made the same teasing move.

Except this time it’s not teasing at all.

Jennie lets a barely audible breath expel before Lisa is angling her head and erases the gap entirely. Then Lisa’s mouth is moving against hers. Soft and wet and warm. They both sigh into the kiss, at once sweet and heady.

It’s kept as decent as appropriate for the public setting but it nonetheless makes Jennie’s heart skip several beats and her legs feel like they’d give out if they aren’t currently braced against Lisa’s.

For the moment, slow and full of grace, it is as if Lisa is anchoring up to her.

“Ok,” Jennie admits defeatedly, “consider me thoroughly wooed.”

Lisa laughs melodiously. “I thought you were doing the wooing.”

“So did I,” Jennie says, punctuating each word, “clearly, your lips ignored the memo,” playfully glaring at them as if they’re her competitor, and then in the same breath rewards them for their rebellion.

This second kiss is briefer but deeper, a dip of tongue, a wayward bite, leaving them both breathless and wanting when it ends too soon.

But sensibly, before things can embarrassingly escalate, Lisa breaks off first and then cradles Jennie’s head into the crook of her neck. One hand tangles in her hair and the other rubs her back.

She breathes Jennie in and kisses the top of her head.

“Thanks for the song. And the day.”

—

After that day, they toddle over the line of friends but more. They resume all the activities pre-snowstorm—the dates, the banter, the butterflies—but there’s a new layer of affection and intimacy and open wanting to their interactions.

Texts proliferate with suggestive emojis, phone calls with unsubtle flirting. Meet-ups are punctuated with intermittent hand-holding and knee-grazing and cheek-brushing.

Whatever unspoken understanding was established in that alcove manifests in extended gazes and prolonged hugs and stolen kisses. They constantly search each other out by hands and lips.

Something inside of Jennie expands.

Most of April passes by in this elastic rhythm. During the week, Jennie works on her art by day then at night she works on reconnecting with Lisa. They talk. And laugh. She often falls asleep with Lisa in her ear and a smile on her face, if not a fluttering of her heart. On the weekends, they find excuses to be in each other’s company. A yard sale, a book sale, this brunch place, that dining spot, the new furniture shop, the old brewery.

Like the meadow rue that they came across during the flower show Lisa dragged her to, whose lilac sprays stay shy until late in the summer when the pellucid petals burst into dreamy clouds of lavender-pink, their relationship unfolds in quiet wait for the right conditions to blossom.

Each outing, every kiss form part of the constant gardening that they’ve mutually taken up.

This includes Lisa surprisingly volunteering to fulfil one of Jennie’s dinner obligations at the Kims with her. The Saturday night is spent basking in the glow of her parents adoration for the return of their second daughter. Jennie can’t fault them for the lavish attention they pay, she has been no better off with containing her enamoured looks. (She fares worse batting away Josh and Minzy’s indiscreet, knowing looks thrown her way.)

Lisa takes her dad’s wide-ranging questions in stride, easily bouncing between talk of Wimbledon stars and the Stephen Hawking Centre for Theoretical Cosmology. (No, she hadn’t met Andy Murray. Yes, the Centre is amazing, lots of smart people there.) While the two nerds over-excite themselves on the confounding subjects, Jennie engages her mom in a conversation about the pieces she’s prepping for her upcoming exhibitions.

Her ear, however, remains attuned to Lisa’s laugh or the change in her cadence when the topic picks up steam or the terribly, unfairly adorable furrow of brow when Josh runs off on a tangent about subatomic particles as if lecturing in front of his NYU undergrads.

Jennie’s breath hitches mid-sentence about the tint differences between sakura and cotton candy when Lisa’s hand slips into hers. Without looking, without saying, a warmth takes residence in her palm. The sensation quickly flares up her chest and then heats her neck before Jennie’s cheeks turn a deeper shade of the very colour she’s trying to describe.

A simple touch, but one of such inconsequential familiarity that it is all the more significant. Lisa laces their fingers in humdrum practice, giving Jennie a gentle smile, unaware of the simultaneous uplifting and grounding effect the minor connection produces.

It’s like Lisa is giving fragments of herself, testing out which pieces fit where. In old places, like the right side of Jennie at the Kim dinner table, or in new locations, like the farmer’s market that Jennie frequents and where a weekend later they’re standing by the food truck waiting on two pulled-pork subs and dutch fries.

Jennie can’t hide her smile.

She feels ridiculously happy; for Lisa’s bottomless pit and predilection for greasy foods and potato skins; for her own predilection for pretty girls in jean jackets and midi skirts.

Lisa’s arm is around her waist. There had been an abnormal spike in temperature, warm enough for Jennie to don an oversized shirt dress. She feels the imprint of Lisa’s hand on her hip as though the diaphanous fabric is non-existent.

Jennie tucks herself into Lisa, mindlessly stroking her side under her jacket. Stood embraced, with lips occasionally meeting neck or temple, with eyes crinkling behind wayfarer sunglasses and wearing almost matching white sneakers, they’re a walking Brooklyn cliché and a closer approximate of the real couple they had pretended to be at the bodega.

“I can’t believe you abandoned the little Warriors for pulled pork,” Jennie says as their food is handed to them.

Lisa untangles herself to take charge of the garnishing. “I’ve met my quota for squeals this morning,” she replies over her shoulder while drizzling her Cubano with chipotle mayo and adding additional gherkins and chillis. She laughs catching Jennie’s disgusted face at her choice of condiments. Without asking, she dresses Jennie’s sandwich in a generous helping of kewpie. “Besides, there’s only so much ice cream I can consume before I literally melt.”

They find an open bench and sit hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. There’s more than enough space to give a wider berth between them. But as it is lately, that’s not an option. The proximity not only is easier for equal access to the fries perched on Lisa’s lap but also to facilitate the sharing of butterflies.

They chat about Ark and the Atticus’s latest achievements while gorging on the street fare and exchanging swipes of the pale ale, routinely turning to each other for check-in kisses.

Somewhere past brunches and co-watching the same movies while apartments away, they’ve slipped into old roles without conscious effort. Girlfriends without the label.

A reignited love without the declaration.

Jennie knows a talk is necessary and imminent. But in the meantime, she collects from all these meandering brooks of Lisa, hands cupped for greatest catchment, saving the overflow into her rainy day account for watering their garden later.

For now, while Lisa’s lips shine with aioli oil and blonde wheat and tastes of sun-kissed warmth, Jennie’s heart has never felt more full.

—

It’s with this same fullness that has her nervously rapping on Lisa’s door a week later. She shifts on her heels and runs a hand along the pleats of her cocktail dress, looking markedly different from when she had come for the baseball game.

That should have been her clue for what to expect on the other side of the door when it finally opens.

Lisa stands in the doorway in a strapless dress that hugs her chest and gathers at her waist then flows out in pretty flowing waves ending just above her knees. Her hair is swept over one shoulder falling in loose curls, needlessly drawing attention to the bare skin of delicate collarbones and an elegant neck. Light smokey eyes, crimson lipstick, and deep purple pumps finish the composition.

She’s looking at Jennie with a bite to her lip and then down at herself when Jennie remains speechless and sputtering for air. “Is this ok?”

Jennie shakes her head slowly, drawing worry lines on Lisa’s forehead. She takes one deliberate step forward and places a hand on Lisa’s chest, gently pushing her backwards into the apartment. Then closes the door.

Lisa’s laugh can be heard through the hollow metal. Jennie takes a deep breath to complain, “I was not prepared for that.” The laughter increases. “Just give me a second. I have to pick my jaw off the floor.”

She lets two beats pass and then knocks again. This time the shock isn’t as severe but the image still just as stunning.

“You look beautiful,” Jennie exhales when mirthful green eyes set on her again.

“So do you, Jennie.”

She drapes her shawl over her other arm and then offers an elbow out to Lisa. “Shall we?”

On the cab ride there, Jennie explains to her how the art fundraiser works. Artists and designers, both up-and-coming and the more established, anonymously contribute work for auction with the charitable proceedings going to local arts programs. The anonymity provides fledgling creatives an opportunity to display on equal footing with their idols. It’s also a fun guessing game to attribute authorship to different pieces and a delight for attendees to find out they had unwittingly bid on a famous work.

“Will you tell me which one’s yours?” Lisa asks when they enter the gallery while handing off their things to coat check.

“Of course not,” Jennie answers distractedly, her eyes scanning for the champagne flutes and penguin suits. When she spots the reflection of a silver tray, she jerks in that direction.

Jennie marches them with purpose towards the unsuspecting server, and immediately accosts him. “When do the tiny burgers come out?”

He looks at them perplexed and turns to Lisa as if she would have an answer. Lisa simply shrugs one shoulder and not-explains, “She’s humpy,” deepening his confusion.

“Sorry, I’m only on drinks tonight.” Seeing the scrunched brows and thin lips on Jennie’s unimpressed face, he seems genuinely apologetic for being assigned the wrong duty.

“It’s fine, we’ll take these,” Lisa says diplomatically, taking two glasses of wine from his tray. “Thank you.”

“Mhm,” Jennie huffs out as he scurries away.

“Didn’t you eat?” Lisa asks endeared, consolingly rubbing the small of her back.

“No,” Jennie further sulks but does take a conciliatory sip of the Gewurztraminer, “I was too nervous for this second date.”

Lisa’s expression softens. “Jennie, we’ve been on tons of dates in the last month.”

“Not official ones.”

“Is that what this is?” Lisa gestures her hand in the air, and then teases, “I would’ve worn something nicer.”

Jennie’s eyes narrow in reprimand but re-widen immediately when Lisa leans in to kiss her on the cheek. She tilts her head for a proper kiss but Lisa turns away.

“Nuh-uh,” Lisa denies, laughing at Jennie’s pout, “if you’re going to hold out on me about your work, I reserve the same right to hold out on you.”

“What does that mean?”

Lisa swipes her thumb to smudge out the lipstick stain. “No kissing until I find out which one is your art.”

Jennie huffs again and crosses her arms.

Lisa uncrosses them and then kisses her other cheek to rub it in. “Let’s have a look around. I want to see what I can’t afford,” Lisa says and tapes on at the end, “I promise to keep my eye out for tiny food.”

Lisa sticks close by her as Jennie leads them around the large open space. She’s pleased with the turnout this year, a wide range of New York’s finest seems to be represented, a variety of works in illustration, painting, ceramics, sculpture, photography, and print, adorn walls and floors and on plinths. She can spot a few known artists already, their marked styles a dead giveaway.

“God, they don’t pay architects enough,” Lisa opines, looking forlornly at a ceramic vase while reading its accompanying caption. “This recommended minimum bid is already past my maximum.” Her hope further deflates seeing the other prices already in contention on the bid card. It’s an open auction so other offers are visible though the bidder identity remains anonymous and marked by an assigned number.

“I think you went into the right profession. I’m not sure Lisa, the potter, would have any legs to stand on.”

Lisa mock-gasps at the same time pokes her in the ribs. “Take it back. Somewhere in the world there’s a market for wobbly mugs.”

“Sure, babe.”

“Seriously, this is beautiful,” Lisa says.

Jennie tries to hide her smile knowing it’s a work by Natalie Weinberger. She can see why the architect is drawn to the dusky beauty of the sculpted vessel, its understated but sensuous form striking a balance between aesthetic and function, a hallmark of the Brooklyn-based ceramicist. The particular piece Lisa is eyeing is made with white stoneware and black basalt sand.

Lisa lets out a sigh while filling out the next line on the bid card. Jennie laughs seeing her increase of $1.

After that, Lisa adopts the strategy of placing a bid for anything that remotely piques her interest, despite the offers being wildly out of her price range. She artificially inflates the price to a ridiculous amount to stimulate a bidding war on popular works. “It’s for charity,” she reasons, “I’m sure whichever rich old white guy’s ego will compel him to match and exceed my asking.”

Jennie isn’t convinced of the logic but smiles anyways.

Lisa’s brows scrunch when she seems to realise a different veritable truth about wealthy people. “But then again, rich people are cheap.” She looks at Jennie seriously, “So, on the off chance that I win all of these, will you come visit me under my troll bridge because I can no longer afford a roof over my head?”

“Of course,” Jennie agrees, tilting her head for a better angle to take in the copper wire sculpture in front of them. “I can be your potato and avocado dealer.”

When she looks up to make eye contact again, her gaze lands on a familiar figure approaching them from behind Lisa.

“Lisa!” The woman calls out and Jennie would have a worse reaction if it isn’t for the shy guy struggling to catch up with her.

“Hayley?” Lisa asks, turning around and looking as startled as Jennie feels at the accountant’s over-eager grin.

“Small world,” Hayley says, then gestures to the tight jeans, blazer-clad, bow-tie wearing and perfectly coiffed man on her arm. “You remember Christopher?”

“Hi, nice to see you again,” Lisa kindly smiles at him, offering a professional, polite nod and then addresses Jennie with her next comment, “Christopher’s an architectural photographer. He did our last shoot down by the Brickworks.”

“This is Jennie,” Hayley introduces to her date before Lisa has a chance to, “Lisa’s girlfriend.”

Jennie has to contain her reaction at the unexpected, but not entirely false, moniker. It’s not the complete truth but is less than the full lie when they first met so she doesn’t correct Hayley and politely shakes Christopher’s out-stretched hand. Lisa for her part doesn’t object either, instead putting an arm around Jennie’s shoulder and kisses the top of her head. Her actions do nothing to dispel Hayley’s misconception or Jennie’s desire for it to be true.

“Are you exhibiting?” Jennie asks the photographer.

“Ah, unfortunately no, not this year,” he says regretfully. “Been travelling too much on assignment and didn’t have my shit together in time. Either one of you?”

“Jennie’s an amazing artist,” Hayley fills him in. It would seem now that her sight is set on someone else, she’s Jennie’s biggest fan and promoter. Jennie and Lisa raise twin eyebrows at her. “I hope you’re auctioning something. Which piece is yours? I want to put in a bid.”

At that, Lisa cocks her head and playfully prods, “Yeah, Jennie, which piece?”

Jennie has refused to self-identify her work and amusedly spent the evening watching Lisa take longer assessing every painting that has colour. She remained mute whenever Lisa attempted to pull hints from her by asking questions about technique or intent.

“In the spirit of fairness, I can’t tell you,” Jennie sticks to her guns.

“Afraid all the other bid cards would be left blank if people find out?” Lisa asks.

Jennie blushes at her back-handed compliment, and naturally the thing to do is kiss Lisa’s bare shoulder in retaliation. She adds a little bit of teeth that satisfactorily causes Lisa to stifle a yelp.

“God, you guys are cute,” Hayley observes. “What was I thinking that I had a chance?” This time she receives three quirked brows. “Anyways. It’s good to see you both but we have to get going to my parents. Christopher’s meeting them for the first time,” she says with a gleeful look that’s decidedly not mirrored by her new boyfriend.

They exchange farewells and leave just as briskly as they came, Christopher dragging behind and overlooking his shoulder sporting a panicked look while jokingly mouthing for help. Jennie and Lisa share a chuckle as his whispered plea trails off, “It’s only the second date.”

“Lis, I think your office’s Human Resources need to upgrade their vetting system,” Jennie voices her concern watching their retreating figures.

After Hayley and Christopher’s departure, they circle the gallery twice more. On the third round, Jennie gets roped into conversation with some fellow artists and Lisa excuses herself once they start talking shop about curation politics, leaving with a peck to Jennie’s temple and a squeeze of her waist. Jennie immediately tunes out and tracks her line of sight to the statuesque beauty fluidly moving through the lofty, wood beam space of the converted printing factory. She sighs dreamily watching the billowing air that the folds of Lisa’s dress leave in their wake.

On repeated calling of her name, Jennie reluctantly turns her attention back. Sometime after a dreadful chat about commissioning fees, Lisa thankfully reappears by her side and more thankfully, armed with two small plates of food. Jennie barely musters enough social etiquette to not be rude as she turns her back to her peers and directs Lisa to a dedicated seating area.

“Why so tiny,” Jennie questions as she gobbles down the roasted salmon with black quinoa and reaches for the lime chilli chicken kebab, mangling her words, “but so good?”

With greater grace, Lisa handles the miniature steak that’s topped with shavings of pink horseradish and elderflower. “And pretty,” she adds before taking a bite.

“You’d think people would be more willing to open their chequebooks on full stomachs,” Jennie continues her unsolicited criticism of the reductive menu while shamelessly devouring it. “Oh my god, try this, it’s amazing,” she brings the shrimp cracker with mango slaw to Lisa’s mouth without forethought to the residual feel of Lisa’s tongue accidentally lapping her finger.

Lisa licks her lips, ignoring both their pinking cheeks. “Mhm, that is nice.” She takes a sip of her refilled wine glass to soak the flavour and comments, “But considering some of the bids I put down, that’s the most expensive shrimp cracker I’ve ever had.”

Jennie waves her off like $400 truffle mushroom with toasted hazelnuts and panko tarragon crust is an everyday occurrence. “It’s for the children.”

When the food disappears in less than ten minutes, Lisa flags a server down for seconds. (“Are we allowed seconds? For the price of that vase I wanted, we should be allowed tenths, twentieths.”)

By the time humpy Jennie is somewhat sated, they’re herded to the centre of the room for the auction results to be announced.

“How does this work?” Lisa asks fidgeting with the poker chip she’s holding, eyeing the number on it.

“Fairly simple. They’ll reveal whose work it is and then announce the chip number belonging to the highest bidder. The winning price will be known but they use the chip system so bidders can remain anonymous if they want,” Jennie informs her. “You can either collect your successful bid at the end of the night or if you let them know, they can deliver it for you.”

As the auctioneer makes her way through the bid cards, the gallery erupts in collective oohs and aahs, interjected with frequent disappointing cries. There are several surprises, of both price and authorship. The crowd beams with positivity when a few of the art students on scholarships earn some of the night’s highest bids.

Jennie feels a tug of her hand when the ceramic piece is next. Lisa cutely bounces on her feet in anticipation.

Jennie tries to hide her smile.

When the number is called out, Lisa looks down at her chip and frowns, shoulders deflating. Her head hangs as she laments, “Just as expected, but god, it’s still so disappointing to be poor.”

Jennie laughs and silently flashes her matching chip number in front of Lisa before she goes up to the table to provide her contact details, leaving the brunette shocked and mouth agape with incredulity.

“That’s just mean,” Lisa glowers with a look of mock betrayal when Jennie returns by her side. Her imminent pout doesn’t have a chance to form though when Jennie wordlessly hands her the receipt where the delivery address is clearly not marked for Bed-Stuy.

“For me?” Lisa asks disbelieving, “Jennie …”

“I figure your apartment could use some livening up,” she says, her eyes not meeting Lisa’s while removing invisible lint from her dress, “It’ll help to make it more of a home.”

Lisa is looking at her like Jennie made the stoneware herself.

“Thank you.”

Lisa is still too bowled over by Jennie’s generosity that her confounded gaze burns a hole in the side of Jennie’s head through successive bids.

“Next up is a series of line drawings,” the auctioneer says with a conspiratorial grin like she’s in on a secret. “I’m pleased to reveal it’s by Jennie Kim. In a surprising twist, there is no colour. Very cheeky, Ms Kim.”

The crowd laughs and almost drowns out the small gasp Lisa lets out. “Told you it wasn’t any of the colour paintings,” Jennie whispers, smug to have caught Lisa off guard.

Lisa doesn’t answer and shakes her head in seeming disagreement, “No, I— uh, I …”

Jennie’s puzzled by her denial and loss of words until the auctioneer calls out the winning number, the same one that’s been etched in Jennie’s mind watching Lisa play with her chip for the past half hour.

“Wait, you did know?!” Jennie gasps in turn, whipping around to lock gazes head-on.

“I didn’t actually,” Lisa says in awe and timidly admits, “I just felt a strong emotional pull to the abstract figures for some reason.”

Because you’re one of them.

Jennie doesn’t know what to say. She hadn’t thought her sketches would attract any attention. Maybe a young couple on a date might pick the work out but she didn’t expect for the subject of the drawings to unwittingly purchase them because it had spoken directly to her.

They’re three simple sketches of a pair made by subtle charcoal strokes, the vaguest hint of an outline of silhouettes wrapping around each other. A curved back protective over an arched chest in one, an entwine of limbs in another, and two bent forms of heaving softness in the last, each infer a tender embrace. In very few lines, the formal abstraction evokes a heightened sense of intimacy and togetherness.

They were drawn after Jennie recovered from the flu and was processing the weekend as best as she knew how. More of their ilk lay about her studio so Jennie felt okay to part with them.

“Lis, I could’ve happily given you these sketches for free,” Jennie says. “You didn’t have to spend that much on them.”

“I would’ve put down more zeros if I had that many to spare in my bank account,” Lisa says, looking ready to mortgage her life for Jennie’s doodles. “They were my favourite of the show.”

Jennie really wants to kiss her right now. By the adoring gaze she’s receiving, it looks like she’s granted silent permission.

“Follow me,” Jennie requests quietly.

Lisa gives her a puzzled look when she retrieves their items from coat check but doesn’t exit the main doors and instead leads them to a set of stairs.

—

“It’s incredible up here,” Lisa breathes.

They’re standing on the rooftop overlooking the skyline, Hudson Square below and the city beyond. Lisa is leaned forward on her forearms resting on top of the railing, hands clasped and thumbs twirling. Jennie stands closely next to her, back against the metal bar. The light breeze is making a pretty mess of Lisa’s hair and tangling the knots in Jennie’s stomach.

A few stragglers are off to the side similarly taking in the spectacular view of the Hudson and a lit-up lower Manhattan. Glass and steel and concrete against a backdrop of cranes frozen in mid suspension and the reds and oranges of a yawning sky jostle for their attention.

“Not exactly a construction site but not a bad substitute,” Jennie says.

Lisa nods her appreciation.

“Remember the mad dashes down here past midnight to get something printed for your crits the next day,” Jennie reminisces.

Lisa chuckles sharing in the memory of rushing to the Printing District in Soho, the only area guaranteed to have one or two printshops open late. Lisa would panic she wouldn’t finish in time and Jennie would calmly help her work the machines.

“Yeah, then while you slept in the next morning,” Lisa bemoans, “I had to stand up in front of my prof and peers trying to sound coherent enough like I hadn’t been awake for twenty-four hours.”

“You’ve never had a problem with looking put together,” Jennie comments giving her a meaningful once-over. She then turns to face the same direction as Lisa, mimicking her stance. “You look incredible tonight,” she tells her, amending Lisa’s earlier assessment of the scenery.

It’s quiet for awhile after. They stare out in silence until Lisa lifts herself off the railing and steps behind Jennie, bracing her arms around her. Jennie naturally leans back into her hold, laying the back of her head against Lisa’s shoulder. Lisa’s arms slide to cross at her stomach.

Jennie wonders if Lisa can hear her increased heart rate this close.

To give it time to settle she randomly points to various buildings and Lisa gamely recites some lesser-known facts about the architecture or the architect behind it. For buildings she doesn’t know, Lisa makes up fictional accounts that has Jennie laughing airy breaths into her neck. When a strong gust of wind passes, Lisa buttresses her arms protectively to shield Jennie without pausing her insight into why the dutch architect Rem Koolhaas referred to the city as Delirious New York.

Jennie can sympathise with his sentiment. She’s feeling more than delirious herself.

Some of the stories are familiar to Jennie as she’s heard it before from Lisa but with the soothing voice in her ear she’s not fussy about new or old information. She’d gladly entertain a live reading of the national building code for the warm sounds and even warmer sensation filling her chest.

The conversation diverges into unexpected architectural connections in popular culture. Scrabble was invented by Alfred Butts, an unemployed architect from Jackson Heights. A street is named after him there, spelled out in scrabble tiles. Pink Floyd, Ice Cube, and Queen Noor of Jordan all studied architecture.

“It’s an illustrious profession, Jennie,” Lisa needlessly makes her case, “Poor, but illustrious.”

“Not that poor if you can afford to drop a grand on three sketches,” Jennie argues.

“You can find me hugging my precious drawings when I relocate to the troll bridge.”

Jennie laughs.

—

“Jennie, why did you say no to London too?” Lisa asks carefully, quietly, moving the conversation forward in somewhat of a predictive turn after talk about the differences between London’s and New York’s Sohos.

Lisa must be imagining this same rooftop scene but swapping yellow cabs for red routemaster buses.

Jennie feels Lisa’s chest tighten as her own twists hearing the dejected tone. It’s been light and flirty in the last few weeks so the direct reference to the faults and fractures of their relationship reminds her that there’s still a precarity to the state of things.

“I somewhat get it if you weren’t ready for marriage, if it felt too big or if I was rushing it after the hospital, but—” Lisa’s sentence is left unfinished, seemingly losing air from re-feeling doubly rejected.

“Several things, really,” Jennie answers quietly, looking down at her feet, “but one of the biggest was I didn’t think I deserved you. After your proposal, you stayed and waited. Even though I had broken your heart, you didn’t leave.”

“Because I was in love with you,” Lisa says equally hushed. “Because I didn’t want to leave.”

“I didn’t want you to leave,” Jennie confirms squeezing her hand that she’s grateful hasn’t let go.

Lisa nods against her shoulder. “When you rejected my proposal I was deeply hurt but I still wanted to spend my life with you, with or without an official certificate. You didn’t outright break up with me so I thought you just needed time. I saw London as an opportunity for us to have a new start.”

When Lisa goes quiet and doesn’t continue, Jennie picks up the thread.

“I know you had applied to the position before your dad got sick, and we had talked about its possibility.”

It was the same office that Lalisa Sr had completed summer placements at while Lisa’s mother was studying abroad and then interned with for two years after graduation. Jennie had been supportive of exploring the option of a temporary move to London as a way for Lisa to connect with pieces of her mom.

“Yeah, it’s really inconsiderate of cancer to change life plans,” Lisa feebly jokes, finding her voice again.

“Its timing certainly sucked,” Jennie concurred.

“With Dad’s sickness I completely put London out of my mind. I didn’t expect to hear from them again when another opening became available. Apparently I left an impression, or at least Mom did.”

“Right,” Jennie says nodding. She pauses to carefully arrange her thoughts and words. “When you brought up the new offer, I was stuck in a limbo I didn’t know how to get out of. You had been really patient and I felt guilty about the proposal, about stringing you along. I didn’t want you to wait anymore. I stupidly thought London could be a new life for you without me.”

Lisa hums her disappointment about their discordant perspectives, little else to add to Jennie’s misguided logic.

“Once my panic had settled in at the hospital,” Jennie continues with a defeated shrug, “it had snowballed from there. One bad choice after another.”

The conversation doesn’t have the same heaviness as the one in the studio but Jennie nonetheless feels the weight of her decisions. When she began to shut Lisa out, it started to unravel the strands of their love and she didn’t know how to reconnect them. She couldn’t take any of it back, until one year became two then three and more.

She had felt scattered then in more ways than one. Now, curled in Lisa’s arms, the pieces don’t feel so disparate. The recent progress lets her know she has a willing partner to help her collect them.

“What would’ve happened if I hadn’t come back to New York?” Lisa asks, taking up playing with Jennie’s fingers.

The lace of wistfulness indicates it’s a rhetorical question, Jennie answers anyways. “After my spectacular fail at seeing you last summer, I secretly hoped that something would come of my upcoming exhibition at the Whitechapel. I was going to send you an invitation to the private view or knock on your door again and deliver it in person. Then, stumble my way from there,” she says honestly, biting her lip, “depending on how or if you’d receive me.”

Lisa chuckles. “That would’ve been an interesting post or visit to get. Not seeing you for years and then being invited to your show.” She then clears her throat and lowers her voice, presumably to copy Jennie’s raspiness, and intones sarcastically, “Hey, I didn’t want a life with you in London but come see my painting?”

Jennie tilts her head back to look at her, relieved to find a small cracked smile letting her know that there’s no bite to Lisa’s teasing.

Jennie hangs her head melodramatically, “As it’s been well established by now, I’ve no clue what I’m doing.”

“You certainly keep me on my toes.”

“No one’s ever accused me of being predictable.”

“Hhm,” Lisa agrees then entreats, “but it’d be great if from here on out, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground.”

Jennie laughs again, quiet and grateful for the lightness with which they can approach the topic now.

She turns in Lisa’s arms.

She gazes deeply into Lisa’s eyes and only finds fondness there for Jennie’s unpredictability if not the ghost of sadness for things that can’t be changed.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“Can I show you how sorry I am?” Jennie asks. On Lisa’s lifted brow, she divulges, “there was a reason I brought you up here besides the view.”

“Yeah?” Lisa asks.

Jennie reaches up to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear. Lisa’s pupils dilate, recognising the tell tale move for when Jennie is about to do something that’ll cause both of them to lose their breaths.

Whatever height Jennie gained with her choice of footwear for the evening is negated by Lisa’s heels so she has to lift on her toes to initiate the kiss.

No taunting or teasing this time as she draws Lisa’s lips into hers, moving their mouths together in a familiar pattern. It’s only been hours since the last one but she nonetheless savours the sweet relief of reacquainting with Lisa’s pillowed softness.

They kiss, full and aching. Hands blindly reach for purchase in hair and on hips. Jennie arches and Lisa bends, a duplicate of the two figures in her sketch.

Lisa slides her tongue inside and Jennie readily receives it, making room for a shared whimper to escape. As greedy and indiscriminate as Jennie has been for any type of physical contact with Lisa, hugging or hand-holding or shoulder-brushing, in this moment, she’ll willingly give up any and every form of touch that doesn’t involve Lisa’s tongue.

The kiss is as intimate as it is deep. Soft and steady.

Jennie could have walked away from the auction with nothing in her hands but the taste of Lisa in her mouth and deemed the night an overwhelming success.

“Let’s not wait that long until the next one,” Jennie proposes into Lisa’s mouth when they finally part.

“No,” Lisa says, shaking her head firmly.

“No?”

“My rationing of our kissing tonight has an ulterior motive,” She makes her point by pressing Jennie’s ear into her chest. Jennie laughs hearing its thundering beat, “for health reasons, Jennie.”

Despite the hazard, and against her own medical advice, Lisa tilts Jennie’s chin back up and kisses her again.

And again.

—

It was supposed to be a couples getaway weekend but Tyro had unexpectedly fallen ill and Rosé had an emergency with one of her cases. Jisoo refused to third-wheel the domestic grossness of Jenlisa 2.0.

Ever since the auction date, Jennie and Lisa have slid more decidedly towards the girlfriend end of the friends-or-more scale. The ‘talk’ still hasn’t happened, something Jennie is hoping to rectify this Memorial weekend, but regardless of what non-label is currently attached to their dynamic, their overt affection remains too much for Jisoo to withstand solo.

(They had both blushed furiously when Jisoo had group-texted during the getaway planning, How can you two be this gross without having any sex?Jointly reading from Jennie’s phone in the dairy aisle, Lisa had promptly let go of Jennie’s hand and made an excuse to go find protein bars that she could use as projectiles to launch at their friend.

It’s a good thing she left, missing Hyuna’s follow-up text about history repeating itself. How very 2004 of you to accidentally get a girlfriend without the title.)

“Now what?” Jennie asks, a duffle bag in hand as she stands beside the Jeep rental looking at the Manoban cabin.

Henry was getting too old to be camping so his daughters had pitched in to build a cabin by the lake. Lisa designed it, Rosé negotiated the land and bought the building materials, and all three built it by hand, with a little muscle help from some of Henry’ guys.

She takes in the black-painted timbre frame structure, a simple rectangular box nestled between pine trees and elevated on concrete plinths to project out towards the lake. Jennie smiles noting how very Lisa it is in its restraint with just a tiny touch of extra-ness in its prow.

Lisa squeezes Jennie’s shoulder with the arm she has around her. “Now we eat,” she says lifting the bags of groceries she’s holding.

Jennie’s smile widens as she rubs Lisa’s stomach over the same flannel shirt that she had worn to her birthday dinner. Lisa couldn’t look more different than from the auction, plaid for pumps, but still as disarmingly attractive. Jennie kisses her response and fondness into the underside of Lisa’s chin, “Sure, babe. Good thing we picked up some potatoes on the way.”

Lisa disentangles from Jennie, taking the duffel from her, and heads towards the oversize sliding door, her sight focusing on the chipped lintel before entering. Jennie trails behind to grab the last of the groceries.

Inside, it feels like Jennie has stepped right back outside. A flood of natural light pours into the double height space from the skylights and another set of oversize sliding doors offers sweeping views of the lake.

It’s an open plan with kitchen slash dining and a media den anchoring either ends and connected in the centre by the living area featuring a wood burning fireplace. Sleeping quarters are housed in the upper loft over the workspace. The timber wood is left exposed and unpainted, and as Lisa has already started a fire, the whole dwelling is lit in an orange glow, matching the setting sun slowly dipping towards the horizon.

“Fuck,” Jennie expels, earning a quiet chuckle from her lumberjack. “Why do you even bother living in the city?”

“It can get lonely here,” Lisa responds without context.

(Jennie learns later that when Lisa visited the last two summers she’d stayed here in the Manoban to avoid running into Jennie in the city.)

Her artist’s gaze takes one more mental snapshot of the scenery before she makes her way to the kitchen where Lisa’s deposited their groceries on the wood dining table.

“Sweet potato fries?”

“Yes, please.” She receives the expected answer as Lisa slips through the backdoor, curiously with an ax in hand. Then Jennie faintly hears a distant shout of, “Gonna chop some wood!”

Jennie shakes her head as she starts prepping their dinner, suspecting her smile will be a permanent fixture the next four days.

—

They spend the rest of the evening after dinner retired to the den enjoying the fully fitted entertainment system courtesy of Jisoo. Lisa’s head is laid sideways on Jennie’s lap as sighs exchange for soft pulls of hair by deft fingers. After a long drive and an even longer work week, both are too exhausted to engage in anything other than the surety and comfort of each other’s presence and the Discovery Channel as background companion.

Midway through the second underwater documentary, Jennie shifts to lay horizontal as well, spooning Lisa from behind. It’s a warmth that has Jennie immediately sweating. But with her front pressed into Lisa and her back into the couch—the flicker of the screen setting Lisa’s profile in an iridescent blue—there’s little argument that can persuade Jennie of a better feeling to have or a better place to be on a Friday night.

It’s the sort of domestic bliss that she could only allow herself to start dreaming of again after their (second) first date, the tinder to ignite the feelings that Jennie has been fighting to temper. Without explicitly knowing where Lisa’s current thinking is, she’s been cautious about hoping too far ahead. Yet, every caress and gaze and kiss, snuck in between whispered words and bright laughter, implicitly tell her that they’re well on their way there.

As Jennie patiently waits on verbal confirmation from Lisa of some form of reciprocation or some type of affirmative decision on them as a twosome, she collects these pockets of time together and hangs them like lanterns to light their path forward. They haven’t consumed a drop of alcohol tonight but she feels drunk in the hazy glow of their stumbling towards a co-definition of where exactly there is that they want to be.

When bedtime rolls around, against Jennie’s expectation but fulfilling her hidden hope, Lisa takes her hand and leads them up to the main loft and curls her body around Jennie’s, an inversion of their downstairs position. Neither question the sleeping arrangement or how naturally they fold their bodies into familiar shapes.

No second guessing. It just feels right.

Lisa’s shallow breaths hit her neck and that’s all the encouragement Jennie needs to close her eyes.

“G’night, Jennie.”

“Night, Lisa.”

—

Much of Saturday is spent reading on the deck with the books they each brought, a quiet, subdued day with less activities than their past camping outings, though occasional dips (and kisses) in the lake still feature prominently.

Their energy appears to concentrate instead on not having sex and not succumbing to pent-up desire. Alone in a cabin for a protracted length of time is proving to be an inadvertent test of their resolve neither considered as part of the itinerary.

Jennie’s bikini and composure face an especially difficult time hanging on in the water when she’s straddled on Lisa’s hips and then pushed up against a large boulder. Lisa starts rocking unconsciously into her core while they continue to make out and only catches herself when Jennie can’t keep in a moan.

They part ways flushed and panting to their separate deck chairs to dry off, Lisa looking like she can’t get enough air into her lungs from the sight of Jennie’s string bikini half slipping off one shoulder. Her hardened nipples stretching the fabric taut is likely making matters worse. Jennie fares no better when Lisa lays on her front and provides a prime view of her backside tightly hugged by wet lycra. Behind the safety of sunglasses, she tracks the journey droplets of water take over the swell and down Lisa’s inner thigh.

With self-chastising swiftness she picks up her reading to cling onto the frayed edges of propriety.

Jennie might as well toss her book into the lake because the words on the page won’t stop swimming from her inability to not fantasise about riding Lisa’s ass until they’re both a writhing mass of limbs.

It gets to such a ridiculous sodden point that Jennie has to excuse herself inside to the privacy of the shower.

She doesn’t even bother removing her swimwear. As soon as she’s under the rain head, her left hand dips inside her bottom piece, inelegantly pushing the fabric out of the way to take a relieving swipe through her folds. Her other hand shoots out to balance against the wall. The coldness of the tile against her palm does little to cool the heat between her legs.

Jennie imagines Lisa outside, imagines helping to apply sun lotion on her fair skin that’s already a constellation of freckles. She visualises sitting astride Lisa’s ass, rubbing the lotion in and the knots out, fingers pressing up and down and across the expanse of an unfairly fit back. Lisa’s head would be turned to the side expelling breaths and tiny curses unable to control her reaction.

Unable to control her own, Jennie would lift herself off Lisa momentarily, hook her fingers in Lisa’s bikini bottom and roll it down her thighs. It’d stay on dangling around her knees because Jennie wouldn’t be able to wait and sinks herself back down pressing her soaking wetness onto Lisa’s cheek. They’d both moan as Jennie sets a rhythm of pushing against Lisa, one palm braced by her shoulder while the other hand laces hers and squeezes with every wet pass.

Jennie, Lisa would pant out, repeatedly, desperately, and when it soon becomes too much she would arch her back and raise her chest off the chair, balancing herself on her forearm, creating enough room for Jennie to slip a hand in, clumsily push the cup aside and palm her pebbled breast.

As Jennie imagines picking up the pace of her near-rut now while kneading Lisa’s breast, she pushes two fingers inside and starts pumping in matched rhythm of her dream-self. The water hits her back as she tries to hit the spot inside over and over again. At this angle and with her level of desperation, she doesn’t have the length or coordination to fully succeed. But the image of dream-Lisa reaching back to push Jennie more into her while breathily commanding, harder and faster, is stimulation enough for Jennie to cum hard over her own hand.

Her screams and calls of Lisa’s name get drowned out by the pitter-patter of the rain shower.

Or so she thinks until she exits the bathroom to find real-Lisa on the couch reading a magazine upside down and her cheeks flushed completely red that distinctly isn’t from a sun burn.

—

Now, freshly showered (for real) and full from grilled bass and roasted vegetables, they sit on the floor on a blanket in front of the fireplace with Lisa’s back against the couch and Jennie slotted between her legs that are bent at the knees. Jennie has been finger-drawing patterns on one knee while Lisa mirrors the circular movements around her stomach, lazily enjoying the warm crackling of the fire.

They take turns sharing a glass of red wine. Jennie hands Lisa the stem after finishing her sip.

“I’ve decided,” Jennie starts to say and draws out the pause for dramatic effect as her tongue darts to catch a drop of merlot from her lip. At Lisa’s prompting hum, she finishes, “I definitely prefer glamping.”

Lisa laughs and re-hands the glass back, “Is that so?”

“Yup. Tents and mosquito bites are so overrated,” Jennie puts forth, “Heated showers and more than two inches of bed padding are really undersold in state parks. And of course,” she takes the final sip and sets the now-empty glass down, turning her head to press the inky stain further into Lisa’s lips, “a nice vintage.”

The short kiss ends on Lisa’s smile as she weighs Jennie’s words, “I’m with you on mosquitoes and heated showers. Proper hydration is an absolute necessity. But, I reserve judgment on tents and lumpy sleeping conditions as I recall not much sleeping actually happened.”

“Yeah well, not-sleeping was the only attraction to camping for me.”

Lisa nods as they reset their gazes to the fireplace’s play of light. A moment later, the circle patterns on Jennie’s stomach break away from their copying movements on her knee. In fact, Lisa’s hand stops moving almost altogether after sneaking under the hem of Jennie’s shirt and stilling just below her navel.

“Jennie,” Lisa asks, “did you know that wood and stone have amazing acoustic qualities?”

“Yeah?” Jennie semi-croaks, not sure that she cares for an architecture lesson right now with Lisa starting up a brushing motion of her thumb on her soft skin.

“What were you doing in the shower?”

That is not where she thought Lisa was going with her question. There’s no longer any wine for her to choke on to excuse her sudden coughing.

“I— um—” she splutters, happy not to be facing Lisa as she weakly mumbles, “showering …”

Lisa breathes hotly into her ear, “Why were you calling my name?”

That is not the next question she expected Lisa to ask, and so directly.

“You, um, were low on body wash,” Jennie lowly moans when the tips of Lisa’s fingers dip just below her shorts.

“Oh, so you might have missed a few spots?”

“Some.”

“Where?” Lisa asks interestedly, withdrawing her hand to softly brush across Jennie’s stomach again. “Here?”

“No,” she answers with a hitched voice, catching onto Lisa’s game. Jennie finds the time between breaths lengthening while the space between heartbeats shortening, “I got that.”

“Here?” The hand moves slowly up her side, pressing gently against her ribs.

“No.”

“What about here?” She feels the underside of her breast gently caressed, “I know there’s a lot of surface area to cover,” Lisa’s fingers splay out, and the line shouldn’t work, the game too obvious, but it does, “you might not have gotten it all.”

“Mhm.”

“What was that?”

“Uh-hmm,” Jennie closes her eyes and moistens her lips, pushing the struggling words out, “missed that.”

At the affirmation, Lisa cups Jennie’s breast fully, its weight sitting heavy in her hand, overflowing in her grasp. “I could’ve helped you out, stretch the soap far.”

Jennie whimpers into the touch at the words and squirms against Lisa as she starts a kneading motion.

“I think you might have missed here too,” Lisa noses into the crook of Jennie’s neck, her lips skimming its length. As her hand continues its mission, her tongue laves a trail from collarbone to the hinge of Jennie’s jaw before deciding on a spot in between to suck in her mark. Jennie reaches behind to hold her head in place, moaning when teeth lightly sink into her skin.

Weeks of celibacy after the body-breaking orgasms Lisa last gave her leaves Jennie undoubtedly wet from the teasing. The fabric of her shorts is thinning and sticky. She needs relief soon and takes Lisa’s free hand to bring it into her shorts.

“This definitely didn’t get enough attention,” she husks.

Instead of continuing the descent, Lisa moves her other hand down and hooks both thumbs into Jennie’s shorts and then helps her shuffle out of them. She then takes the hem of Jennie’s shirt and lifts it up and over her head.

Once Jennie is completely nude in front of her, things slow down. Lisa bends her head and kisses Jennie deeply. They spend the next several moments simply kissing, tasting each other. Flooding their senses with the rich and fruity flavour of oak-aged wine, intermingled with notes of vanilla and spice and Woody lakeside earthiness. The fire keeps her warm while Lisa’s gentle hands keep her safe, moving slowly over her body.

Time recalibrates, measured in the slow passes of thumb over Jennie’s nipple and the skates of fingers over her ribs and stomach, stretched out in the sucking of tongue and the bite of lips. Untouched but Jennie is dripping steadily, a glistening heat painting her inner thigh.

“I want you so badly,” Lisa breaks the kiss to tell her, mouthing along the outline of her jaw. “I want to be inside you.”

She sounds like she’s almost begging to be granted the privilege. The desperation comes through when she kisses Jennie again, a little sloppier, a little messier than before.

Jennie nods against her shoulder without parting their lips and blindly takes Lisa’s hand leading it back to where they both desire her to be.

Lisa’s fingers brush past wet blonde curls and glide through fluttery folds. “Jennie, you’re so wet,” she says in awe, breaking the kiss again to have a look. Craning forward, they both stare with lustful eyes and heaving chests at the sheen coating her middle and index as she strokes through Jennie.

They watch with heady rapture when Lisa slides down and her fingers disappear from view. Air leaves Jennie as Lisa fills her. It’s a tight sensation at first but then all pleasure. She slams her eyes shut and drops her head back against Lisa’s shoulder.

Lisa pumps in and out of Jennie, dragging and curling on every second thrust. Her other hand re-doubles attention to Jennie’s breasts, taking greedy turns between the two. Jennie’s hands tightly grip Lisa’s knees, bracing against the overwhelming feeling.

Lisa’s lips nibble behind the shell of her ear as she continues to verbalise just how much she wants and has missed Jennie. “God, I’ve been trying to hold back,” she pants between pumps, pushing and grunting, “but it’s impossible.”

“Yeah?” Jennie encourages the monologue, though it doesn’t seem necessary.

“I can’t stop thinking about these,” Lisa answers and fondles the pale flesh that spills over her hand, “and been dreaming about this,” flexes her fingers coaxing more wetness to gush out, “incredible warmth.”

“Me too.”

“I just want to be inside of you, all the time.” She pushes in deeper to make her point, hooks her fingers as far as they’ll go. Her thumb makes obscene sweeps of Jennie’s outer lips, the surface treatment contrasting sharply to her search for depth.

“How—” Jennie can barely get out, “How do you want me, Lis?”

“Sucking me in,” Jennie’s clenching entrance responds possessively, the muscles contract on cue to trap Lisa’s fingers momentarily, “completely enveloping me.” Lisa adds a third finger, increasing the fullness.

Jennie bites down hard on her bottom lip short of breaking the skin.

“I’m close,” she pleads when Lisa uncomprehendingly stops moving like she’s memorising being sheathed inside of Jennie. “Please.”

“Hold it, baby.”

Against Lisa’s wish, Jennie nearly comes at the term of endearment. But she sucks in a breath, tucks her bottom lip in further and does her best not to fall apart as Lisa tweaks her nipple and tugs it to heightened pleasure.

“Not yet, ok?” She softly commands as the pumping thankfully resumes but at a toe-curling pace that’s oppositely productive to delaying Jennie’s orgasm. “I want to feel you. To hear you.”

She kisses Jennie again with no other agenda but to feel Jennie’s whimpers reverberate in the roof of her mouth, to have her name echoing in hollowed breaths.

Just as Jennie thinks she’s reached the edge, Lisa pulls out. Jennie’s too blissed out to understand what is happening, until she’s gently pushed forward to rest on her hands and knees. While she takes the opportunity to regulate her breathing and regain cognition, Lisa hurriedly undresses behind her.

Before Jennie has a chance to clear the fog, she’s nudged forward to give Lisa manoeuvring room and then Lisa is palming her cheeks to open wider before licking the length of her. Jennie’s hips jerk away involuntarily, instinctually, at the same time bucking back for more, a rasp cry stumbling from her lips.

“Is this ok?” Lisa asks, her thumb temporarily taking over from her tongue, the pad tracing her slit and pressing firmly here and there. Jennie has no words so she nods very, very agreeably, more than ok.

Lisa takes her time. Her tongue returns, hot as it gathers Jennie’s wetness and pushes it back where it came, smoothing a hand down her bent spine as Jennie takes to incoherent blathering. Lisa softly pushes in and out of her, twisting circles inside that wrench deep-throated sighs. She trembles under the touch, shaking from the pleasure.

“You taste amazing,” Lisa coos. Her airy words send a relieving breeze. But the reprieve is short. Lisa recommits to an ardent addressing of their shared arousal, her mouth working overtime to draw fluid and ‘fucks’ out of Jennie.

Jennie hangs her head and gains an upside down view past her swaying breasts of Lisa working a hand between her own legs while her chin shines with Jennie’s desire. Her belly coils tight when the tip of a tongue connects with the tip of her clit. Low protracted moans fall from her open mouth when Lisa takes up a maddening flicking pattern.

After the last time in her studio, the lovemaking entangled with the confessions, there was a distinct possibility that she and Lisa would never be that closed again once the vulnerability and nostalgia passed and clearer heads prevailed. For awhile it looked that way with the last of the defence line that Lisa put up to limit their physicality despite the magnetism of their bodies and hearts.

Lisa is right. It’s an impossible task.

Whether it’s an intimate, clumsy first time under the stars or currently balanced on all fours with a tingly sensation taking over her whole body making the world feel one lick, one swipe or curl away from imploding, staying away isn’t an option. On top or underneath, in front or behind, Jennie can’t notfeel Lisa moving against and inside of her—taking her to the edge and back again.

Lisa removes her tongue and re-enters with two fingers at once that has Jennie surging forward in a stream of expletives and falling onto her forearms, face pressed to the floor, back arching and cheeks rising to meet the new angle of thrusting.

“Oh god, Lisa!”

Answering the neediness of her call, Lisa fucks into her with fervour, alternating between smooth and rough strokes. She groans and Jennie whimpers, throats dry where nothing else is.

Jennie pulses wildly around Lisa, the concentrated heat threatening to explode once more. Lisa’s fingers are drenched. She must realise Jennie won’t be able to hold out much longer. She drapes herself over Jennie, using her pelvis to intensify the driving. Jennie spreads her knees wider, opens up for her.

“Fuck, Jennie.”

Lisa admires of her body’s receptiveness when another finger is added with ease. She reaches under to grab a handful of Jennie’s breast and squeezes in time to the picked up pace.

Lisa

Push and squeeze.

Lisa

Pull and curl.

Lisa

They keep to that punishing pattern for a short while until the rough movements are offset by the indescribable softness of Lisa’s lips writing herself into Jennie’s skin, quietly asking things of her that are a contradiction to the hardness of her thrusts.

Jennie is a goner after that, especially when Lisa whispers absently, gently, into her ear, “Please, love,” and on an upstroke, “come for me.”

And she does, collapsing flat on the floor on a keening wail. In a reverse enactment of her earlier fantasy, Lisa swiftly shifts to ride her ass. Jennie helps to encourage her by panting with whatever air is availed to her, “That’s it, baby,” as Lisa smears her arousal and rubs her throbbing clit in search of a rhythm. Lisa brings herself to orgasm in under four concentrated grunts and breaks on top of Jennie, joining them together in a guttural, shuddering mess.

By mutual agreement, despite the intensity of their physical reunion, it’s not enough. After catching their breaths, they turn on their respective sides and kiss and kiss until Lisa lifts Jennie’s leg to rest over her hip and then positions her lower body to rub their cores together.

It takes some strategic placements and minute adjustments before they find the right angle for friction, but when they do, when wetness meets wetness and folds slip past each other and clits slide together, Jennie has never felt so close to shattering from such intimacy.

They halt their kissing to watch the dance of firelight reflected in gazes of inexorable love. They push and grind and rock. When they reach the height of their climb again, hands clasped and hearts in synchronous rhythm, Jennie has to close her eyes and kiss Lisa so that her mouth doesn’t let slip the three words fighting to surface.

Instead, she breathes her gratitude into Lisa’s mouth that she’s allowed to be here again, quietly depositing the single verb and the two pronouns to collect back later.

When Lisa comes again, biting into Jennie’s shoulder for anchor, it’s a healing pain.

Everything feels right.

The expansion happens once more.

—

Sunday is a repeat of Saturday. Reading on the deck. Swims in the lake. Except, in addition to making love by the fireplace, they also do it on the deck and in the lake. In every room of the cabin. Taking almost every opportunity to fill the spaces where hands and mouths have felt empty.

After scrubbing the place clean of the spread evidence of their renewed love, they pull out of the cabin on Monday full on and of each other, kiss-bruised and sun-drenched. Jennie doesn’t let go of Lisa’s hand the entire two-hour drive back to the city. Lisa can’t stop kissing her at every stop light and gas station. Neither of their smiles break.

Girlfriends or not, the label is moot. The weekend leaves Jennie sure that nothing else matters but the feel of Lisa under her skin and in her bones.

—

She wants to tell her. Needs to tell her.

Lisa needs to know how she feels because it is not something Jennie can contain any longer.

The words almost slip out when Lisa drops off banh mi sandwiches to her studio while in the area for a meeting; when she is wearing her spectacles and spends more time pushing the rim up her nose than making progress in her book; when she slides in behind Jennie in their bed that Lisa has started spending four out of the seven nights of the week; when they’re on a triple date with their friends and Jennie aches for the permanence that the other two pairs enjoy.

Things have just expanded and expanded between them. It’s impossible for the words to stay quiet.

There are encouraging signs that Lisa would be receptive to hearing them. It’s highly likely she feels them herself. There’s no other way to interpret the starry-eyed gazes Lisa gives Jennie or the affected fondness of her words and touch.

—

“Lisa,”

They’re in her apartment, cuddled up on the couch doing nothing but enjoying each other’s presence after a dinner out. Jennie had planned to say it during the meal at the restaurant that she’d booked especially for the occasion but lost her nerve somewhere between the main and dessert.

Curled around each other in their former home together, now seems like a better moment anyways to tell Lisa how much she wishes for their past to be their future again.

“I need to tell you something.”

“Me too,” Lisa swallows and nods, straightening up at Jennie’s serious tone and looking as nervous as Jennie feels.

Their mutual anxiety is reassuring. After all these months of rebuilding their love, Lisa must be in a similar state of readiness to finally give it a name.

By the soft gaze she receives, by the search in Lisa’s eyes for a mirror of understanding, the three words look just as ready to fall out of Lisa’s mouth.

She takes Lisa’s hand, ready to profess.

“Jennie, I—”

“Sorry, can I start?” Jennie interjects, afraid her courage will leave if she waits any longer, “you need to know first.”

Lisa bites her lip and lets loose a shaky breath before letting Jennie go on, her expression expectant and scared for how the next words would change them.

“Lisa, I love you,” Jennie exhales.

She lets seconds tick by for the declaration to hold, giving the words their due weight.

On a deeper breath, and looking deeply, adoringly, into widened eyes, she says more confidently, “I love you. I’m in love with you.”

Lisa stills completely.

Her gaze searching.

“You love me?” She asks, quiet, contemplative.

Jennie nods, her eyes misting at finally giving room to the caged feeling. “I do, so much.” She scoots closer on the couch and places their joined hands over Lisa’s heart, “I want this, us. You.”

Lisa’s silence stretches. Her beautiful, intelligent eyes working overtime to read the import of Jennie’s profession. Jennie gives her the time to let the words sink in. She continues, “I’ve never stopped loving you, but I didn’t realise how much more I could love you.”

Lisa looks understandably overwhelmed, though oddly a little bewildered. Jennie thought her affection and actions have been transparent, so she’s surprised by Lisa’s seeming surprise. Unexpectedly, Lisa gets on her feet and paces slowly back and forth. Jennie patiently waits on the couch, watching her track grooves into the hardwood, a welter of conflicting, confused emotions playing out on her face.

“This?” Lisa asks, gesturing a hesitant hand between them, “Us?”

Jennie nods.

Lisa looks at her, a halting torn gaze. “How do you see it happening?”

“I don’t understand.”

“What? We go on more dates, move in together, get married? Is that what you see?” Lisa asks mechanically, straining to keep the emotion out of her voice though failing to hide the tumult from her eyes.

Jennie feels knots forming in her stomach not expecting or grasping this line of questioning about the scheduling and logistics of their relationship.

“Yeah, eventually. I hope,” Jennie says quietly, trying to maintain calm even as she senses something is off and things are headed awry.

She’s right. For some reason, that was the wrong thing to say.

“You hope?” Lisa asks with a pained expression, getting suddenly, visibly upset. Jennie can see the gathered storm in her eyes which have become wet, uncomprehendingly so. Lisa’s chest rises and falls struggling to rein in her slipping composure.

“Jennie, we were there,” Lisa says with beggared breath and resurfaced heartbreak, “we had it. This, us,” and waves her hand as tears form and she can’t hold back her emotions, “we had it.”

“We can have it again,” Jennie covers quickly, seeing an opening.

Another wrong thing to say as Lisa starts shaking her head.

“I—” Jennie sputters, at a loss for how widely she has possibly missed the mark but tries to grapple for some words to understand the situation, “I thought … I thought you wanted it too. Me, the cabin—” she leaves it hanging, feeling a sharp stab that maybe she had completely misread the entire weekend. The entire last three months.

Lisa softens. Her posture deflates. “I did. I do.” She pauses to wipe a tear. “I want you.” The deep green of her eyes reassures Jennie of its truth. “But Jennie, wanting you has never been the problem. Not for me.”

“Then, what’s wrong?”

“The more time we spend together, the more I want you, the more I lo—” she cuts herself off, her chest heaving. “You’re you. Every time we kiss, each time we touch, I crave for the next.”

“Me too.” Jennie wants to hold Lisa but she looks too raw.

“I crave to be near you, all the time. I crave your words and your laugh and the blue of your eyes. It isn’t just a want for me, Jennie,” Lisa says with devastated affect, “it’s a visceral need.”

Before Jennie can echo her agreement, Lisa continues.

“But I was here before. I wanted and needed you and you walked away. Without a word.” Lisa shakes her head, pacing again before she amends, “Actually no, you didn’t even walk away. Had you, I could have at least gone after you. But you did nothing.” She looks at Jennie through blurred vision, “I can’t pour everything into you again and be left with nothing. I can’t, won’t survive that a second time. I’d just be breaking my own heart.”

“You wouldn’t have to survive it. We can take it slow. I know we’ve been caught up in each other lately but if that scares you then we can slow down. You don’t have to go all in,” Jennie negotiates, standing up and then braves to retake both of Lisa’s hands in hers. “However little or much you want to give, I’ll make up for the rest.”

Lisa continues to shake her head but she doesn’t reject Jennie’s touch. Jennie takes that as a positive sign.

“We can take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere. I mean it, Lisa. I want that future with you, us. I want Sunday breakfasts and secret concerts and weekends at the cabin and rooftop kisses,” she pauses to wipe Lisa’s tears and give her a small kiss, doing the little she can to steady the tremble of Lisa’s bottom lip (and her own). “Even baseball games. I want it, all of it with you. We can figure it out together.”

“And when it gets hard?” Lisa asks.

“Then we’ll still figure it out together. I’m not going anywhere,” she reaffirms.

Jennie sees resolve crumbling in Lisa’s eyes at her steadfastness and thinks she might be breaking through to her. But then Lisa disentangles their hands and takes a laboured step backwards, putting a hurtful distance between them.

Her action confuses Jennie, her next words more so.

“I am.”

“What?”

She doesn’t expect the clarification Lisa provides.

“I’m leaving for London.”

The admittance doesn’t register at first. When it does, Jennie’s stomach drops and the floor feels like it’s been pulled from under her.

“What?”

“New York was supposed to be temporary. I was always meant to go back to London,” Lisa expands, her words coming out fast to catch up with the velocity of Jennie’s fallen expression, her plummeting heart. “That’s what I had to tell you.”

“What?” is all the vocabulary Jennie can continue to muster. The air is thickening with tension that’s making it hard to find its way to her lungs.

“They offered me junior associateship if this project went well. But I—”

“You’re leaving?” Jennie asks, her mind still reeling on the first part, “When?”

“I’m scheduled to return by end of the month.”

That’s little over two weeks away.

“You’re leaving?” Jennie repeats shell-shocked.

“I was supposed to have already left two months ago.”

“When were you going to tell me?”

Lisa is silent. Guilt and something else unreadable in her expression.

The silence gives Jennie a moment to replay recent events. Her heart hammers and her throat constricts. She feels sick to her stomach, a gut-wrenching anger at the three words that have haunted her and impaired her judgment.

“What have we been doing then? All those dates and kisses and—” Jennie asks, a tremor in her voice, devastated by the realisation that they might have meant so much more to her than to Lisa.

Lisa vehemently shakes her head, failing at her desperate attempt to stay stoic. “I was trying to figure things out. Trying to move on.”

Unable to process the news, unable to understand how they’ve been on a completely different page, book even, Jennie lets her anger take over. “How? By pretending to be my friend? By faking feelings for me? By letting me think I possibly had a chance?”

Pain flares inside, a heated sensation behind her eyes at the specious appearance of love.

If Jennie wanted the words to sting, she well succeeded with the flash of deep hurt on Lisa’s face before her mask resettles. They both know that Lisa is anything but disingenuous. But in the moment, Jennie can only feel betrayed by her deceit, wholly wounded by the apparent artifice of their time together.

“I meant every—”

“You lied to me,” Jennie assails pre-empting Lisa from defending her actions.

“I never lied.”

“You just didn’t tell me the truth.”

A slight movement of her jaw is Jennie’s only warning before Lisa’s expression hardens and her words fly out like daggers.

“What truth, Jennie?!” Lisa finally explodes, “That I took the assignment because my heart was still in pieces and thought maybe if I could see you again one last time I wouldn’t feel so broken? That if we could be friends I’d get some small amount of closure as to why we weren’t more? That I naively thought in four months I could erase the pain of four years?”

Jennie is rendered speechless by Lisa’s outburst, by her anguish.

“What truth? That I had no idea these last months would show me how close we were to that eventuality. How fucking close I can get to happiness before it’s ripped away? Before you rip it away?”

“So, what?? Is this revenge, Lisa?” The hurt drives Jennie to lash out. “I blindsided you so now you’re returning the favour? Was that the whole plan to make me fall in love with you again? Just so you can twist the knife deeper? Quid pro quo. Right? A last good fuck before you go back to your life?”

Lisa looks stunned. Her expression twists into agony and Jennie immediately regrets her words.

But it’s too late.

“Lis—”

“Fuck you, Jennie.”

She says with a ruinous break of her voice.

Lisa grabs her coat and is out of the apartment before Jennie has a chance to take the next breath, leaving her words behind to ricochet off the hollow walls.

They’re not the three words Jennie thought she’d hear tonight, but they’re the three words that bring her to her knees.

Her heart and lungs contract.

The elastic finally snaps.

Jennie crumbles to the floor and cries.