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“I miss kissing.” Lily groans dramatically, shattering the relaxed silence of one of their usual film nights.
They’re watching a cheesy rom-com, the kind they both insist is terrible while simultaneously keeping a box of tissues on standby in case their ‘allergies’ play up. On screen, the two love interests finally confess their feelings in the middle of an empty street as rain pours around them, they collide in a breathless kiss, as if the cosmos itself has conspired to make the moment unbearably romantic.
“Oh yeah?” Jane says. She doesn’t even remember the last time she kissed someone like that. In fact, she’s not entirely sure she ever has.
Lily, on the other hand, has never suffered from a shortage of admirers. Before they moved in together, she had been something of a campus legend—a notorious fuckgirl with a revolving door of men and women trailing behind her. She was beautiful in the sort of effortless way that appeared personally offensive: tall, tanned, athletic, with a perfect halo of long curls framing a body honed by years of hockey. She was fucking beautiful.
Lately, however, Lily's been on a hiatus. Between settling into their new apartment, juggling her part-time job, surviving exams, and spending ridiculous amounts of time at hockey practice, she hadn’t had the chance to pick up her next conquest.
Jane certainly wasn’t going to complain.
“I haven’t kissed anyone in soooo long,” Lily says, dragging out her words dramatically.
The words send Jane’s imagination skidding dangerously off course. She thinks of Lily’s lips, plump, soft-looking and coated in lip balm. She wonders what they would feel like against hers, whether she would taste strawberry or vanilla or whatever absurd flavor Lily was wearing. She quickly shoves the thought back into the mental cupboard where she kept all the other things she absolutely did not think about.
Of course Jane missed kissing too, the difference between her and her roommate was that she couldn’t simply go out and find someone. Not when she had spent the better part of the semester hopelessly and humiliatingly in love with Lily. Unrequited love, Jane had discovered, was a particularly cruel sport and it demanded enormous emotional stamina and offered absolutely no points for effort. And Lily gave her nothing! No indication. No confession. Not even a conspicuously prolonged glance. Nothing! Jane was pathetic. She was hopelessly infatuated with a beautiful Russian hockey player who apparently viewed her as nothing more than a roommate and best friend. Perfect. Just perfect.
“Do you like kissing?” Lily asks, breaking Jane's chain of self-deprecating thoughts, looking at Jane curiously, almost analytically. Jane's face promptly catches fire under the scrutiny. Lily continues, “Ugh. I love it. Is so nice and sexy.”
“Yep. Totally.” Jane hears the flatness in her own voice, but she can’t quite stop herself. A little green monster of jealousy has already begun clawing around inside her stomach. She knows she’s being blunt, but she also knows she would rather eat a hockey puck than listen to Lily discuss kissing other people. Not that she could ever tell Lily why. So Jane takes a deep breath.
“Why don’t you go out?” she asks. “I’m sure you’d find someone to kiss pretty quickly.”
“Oh yeah?” Lily says, turning toward her with a smug little smile. “How do you know? You’ve never been out with me.”
“I don’t need to go out with you to know that, Lily.”
“Maybe I’m secretly horrible.”
“You’re not.”
“Maybe I’m rude to servers.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe I burp really loudly when I drink.”
Jane pauses. “Actually, I wouldn’t rule that one out.”
Lily gasps, and Jane smiles despite herself. “But,” Jane continues, “I know you well enough to know you’re not a complete asshole.”
Lily nods solemnly, apparently satisfied with this assessment. But she keeps looking at Jane and not casually, either. She studies her with the concentrated intensity of someone attempting to solve a particularly difficult puzzle, making Jane nervous.
Finally, Lily speaks, “Okay. Imagine we do not know each other.”
Jane frowns. “What?”
“We are both at bar. I’m at bar. You are at bar.”
“There’s only one bar?”
“Jane.”
“Sorry.”
Lily rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Would you kiss me?”
Jane stares at her. For several seconds, her brain produces nothing but static.
“That’s a stupid question because we do know each other.”
“Just pretend!” Lily insists. “I’m curious.”
Jane absolutely cannot tell Lily that she would love nothing more than to feel those rosy luscious lips against hers. She absolutely cannot admit that she has imagined it more times than she would ever confess under oath. She has an image to maintain! A reputation! A shred of self-respect! If Lily ever discovered the truth, Jane would have to fake her death and flee the country under a new identity.
“Um…” Jane says. “I don’t know. Maybe?”
“Maybe?!” Lily practically shrieks, making Jane wince.
“Do you think I’m ugly?!”
“No!” Jane protests. “That’s not what I meant!”
“Perfect, boring Jane would not want to kiss me.” Lily dramatically places a hand over her heart. “It must mean I’m hideous.”
Practically, Jane knew Lily was teasing, of course she did. But objectively, she also knew Lily was ridiculously hot. Apparently, those two facts coexisting were enough to short-circuit Jane and let her cave-woman brain take over.
“Shut up, Lily! You know you're not ugly. You're hot as fuck. Everyone with eyes knows this!”
Silence. Jane freezes.
Oh.
Oh no.
She has just said that out loud. Lily stares at her for a beat, then bursts into laughter. Not a well-mannered laugh, either. A full-bodied, delighted cackle that makes her shoulders shake. Jane’s humiliation blooms like a particularly aggressive flower.
“There!” Lily says between laughs. “I knew it!”
“Knew what?”
“That you think I’m hot.”
“I did not say that.” Jane pouts.
“You literally just said I’m hot as fuck.”
“I was being—”
“Accurate?”
“Shut up.”
Lily grins as Jane folds her arms and sinks deeper into the sofa, her cheeks burning. Lily’s laughter gradually fades, leaving a tender smile behind.
“I’m just teasing, my bunny.”
Jane’s heart performs an extremely inconvenient little somersault at the endearment, still, she scowls at her. “Shut up.”
Lily laughs again. Eventually, they settle back into a comfortable silence and return their attention to the film. Jane tries to focus on the screen but fails miserably. The fictional couple continues kissing in the rain while Jane sits beside the woman she loves, pretending her heart isn’t quietly being put through relentless rounds of suicide skates. Next to her, Lily watches the movie, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Jane notices because she notices everything Lily does. And that is precisely the problem.
Why does Lily have to tease her like this? Does she know? Is she making fun of her? Was that whole conversation some elaborate joke at Jane’s expense? The questions multiply like virus ads on a dodgy site, each one overlapping the next. Jane exhales slowly and turns her attention back to the screen.
Que será, será, Jane thinks miserably.
2.
One afternoon, Jane walks into the shared apartment with legs that felt less like limbs and more like two exhausted hockey sticks after a brutal double-overtime game—stiff, useless, and one bad turn away from snapping. Every step sent another dull throb through her muscles.
University. Work. Hockey. The three-headed monster has been chewing through her patience all week. To regain some control, Jane decided she needed to blow off steam at the gym. Unfortunately, she also arrived carrying approximately three months’ worth of pent-up sexual frustration and stress, and decided the appropriate response was to wage war against the squat rack. She is now paying for her crimes.
Jane limps across the living room and collapses onto the sofa beside Lily, who is watching some brain-rotting reality television that Jane suspects has lowered the apartment's collective IQ by several points.
Lily glances sideways at her. “Did you get hit by car? What is wrong?”
“Ha. Ha.” Jane gives her a deeply unimpressed look, furrowing her brows. “I went to the gym.”
“You are always at gym. What is different today?”
“I think I went too hard.” Jane shifts, immediately regretting it. “It was leg day, and I was frustrated, and now I’m suffering the consequences.”
Lily lets the confession hang in the air for a moment before her mouth curls into a grin. “Miss Yoga Guru did not stretch?”
“Fuck you, Lily!” Jane pouts. “You know I always stretch.”
“Clearly.”
Jane shoots her a glare. She tries to settle into the sofa and watch the show, but her legs have apparently declared war on comfort themselves. No matter how she shifts, stretches, or rearranges herself, she cannot find a position that doesn’t hurt.
“Stop squirming,” Lily says. “Is distracting.”
“Ugh, sorry. I can’t help it. My legs are on fire.”
A brief silence settles between them before Lily reaches over and pokes Jane’s shoulder. “Come to my room,” she says. “We watch movie there. More comfortable than sofa.”
Jane isn’t entirely convinced that Lily’s double bed will solve her problems, but Lily’s room means more of Lily’s company, something she could never get enough of. Lily’s presence has always possessed the strange ability to quiet the frantic machinery of Jane’s mind; anxiety softens around her, as though someone has finally turned down the volume. So Jane follows like a lap dog.
She settles onto Lily’s bed while Lily searches for a film and notices how the room smells exactly like Lily; vanilla and shea butter linger in the air, softened by the faintest trace of cigarette smoke. Jane’s brain immediately quietens. It’s ridiculous and completely Pavlovian. If she had a tail, it would be wagging.
While Jane tries to pretend she is a perfectly normal human being having a perfectly normal evening, Lily starts the film and disappears briefly before returning to the bed with a tube of ointment.
“I do this every time I go too hard,” Lily explains when she notices Jane’s confused expression. Before Jane can protest, Lily takes her legs and squeezes a generous amount of cream into her palm and begins to massage it into Jane’s muscles.
Jane freezes. “I can do that myself, you know!” she sputters.
Her face burns hot. She immediately fixes her gaze on the wall, which has suddenly become the most fascinating object she has ever seen. Jane bites her lip nervously, silently grateful for the baggy shorts she chose that morning. What if she had worn joggers? Would Lily have asked her to take them off so she could reach her thighs? The thought slips into her mind like an uninvited guest: Jane sitting in her panties in front of Lily and her strong hands - a moan nearly escapes her lips at the thought. She quickly shoves it back out.
Keep it together.
Jane glances down again to confirm she's not dreaming, but there it is. Lily’s hands on her legs. Jane is going to die.
“Yes. Maybe.” Lily’s voice cuts through her panic. “But I can see your arms are shaking, and I do not mind.”
Lily’s hands moved steadily over Jane’s calves, working the ointment into the aching muscles before travelling higher, along her thighs and hamstrings. Her touch was gentle but assured, and every deliberate pass of her palms seemed to loosen another knot beneath the skin while adding to the fire of desire building in Jane's lower belly. She quickly looked back up to calm herself down.
Jane has always known Lily was strong. Everyone did. Lily carried herself with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly what her body could do; she knew the power in her legs, the strength in her shoulders, the definition in her arms, and she had never been particularly shy about it. Lily liked being athletic. She liked being good at hockey. She liked knowing that she could outskate most people on the team and probably outrun everyone else. And, annoyingly, she knew she was hot too. She knew it when people stared. She knew it when someone flirted with her at a party. She knew it when she caught her reflection after practice, sweaty and flushed and looking like she belonged on a sports poster.
Lily knew she was attractive and that somehow made everything worse. Jane could handle Lily being beautiful, and she could handle Lily being strong. What she couldn't handle was Lily knowing exactly how beautiful she was and occasionally using that knowledge like a weapon. Lily was completely focused on her work, her curls falling around her face as she diligently massaged the ointment into Jane's muscles. Her brows were slightly furrowed, but the faintest curve touched the corner of her mouth, as though she knew perfectly well Jane was watching. As Lily glanced up, their eyes met, and for a second, neither of them looked away. Then Lily's mouth curved into a slow, knowing smile. Jane's stomach flipped as her cheeks turned red. She looked back at the ceiling. Lily chuckled under her breath and went back to work.
Her hands moved higher, fingers pressing firmly into the tense muscles along Jane's hips, and Jane had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from reacting too obviously. Jane was losing her mind, she was too sexually frustrated to be put through this level of torture.
It was only ointment. Lily was just helping her recover.
Except for the warmth of her hands, the quiet concentration, and the sheer intimacy of being touched by the woman Jane had spent far too long secretly wanting, it was difficult to remember that. Jane let herself look again. Lily's forearms flexed as she pressed harder, and Jane's gaze lingered.
“You're staring,” Lily said casually.
Jane's heart jumped. “I am not.”
“You are.”
“I was looking.”
“At my arms?” Jane's face heated as Lily grinned. “Interesting.”
“Shut up.”
“I did not say anything.”
Jane rolled her eyes, although the movement did little to disguise her smile. Lily laughed and returned to massaging her legs. The teasing should have made the moment easier. Instead, it made Jane painfully aware of just how close they were. She loved Lily's confidence. She loved how she never seemed to shrink herself for anyone, how she could walk into a room and immediately belong. She loved the strength in her hands, the certainty in her movements, the effortless physicality that seemed woven into everything Lily did. But in that moment, Jane wanted those hands for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with her stupid fucking sore muscles. For a few precious seconds, she let herself imagine that Lily knew exactly what she was doing—that the teasing wasn't entirely innocent, the lingering touches meant something, and Lily enjoyed watching Jane lose her composure. It was a dangerous fantasy.
Then Lily pressed her thumb into a particularly tender spot, and Jane's breath caught.
“Oh wow,” she gasped.
Lily looked up. “Good?”
“Yeah.” Jane should have stopped there. Instead, her brain apparently abandoned all responsibility, and because dignity was overrated, she added, “Lily, you feel really good.”
Silence.
Jane froze. The sentence echoed back at her with considerably more sexual implication than she'd intended. Her face went crimson. Lily stared at her for a beat. Then one eyebrow lifted. A slow smile spread across her face.
“Oh?”
Jane's soul left her body. “I meant—”
“I know what you meant.”
Did she? Jane couldn't tell.
Lily's smile only widened. “Well,” she said, returning her attention to Jane's leg, “I am glad I'm doing a good job.”
Jane stared at the ceiling again. Lily was enjoying this. She knew she was. And somehow, that was almost worse than if she had been oblivious. Because Jane couldn't tell whether Lily was flirting back or having fun watching her squirm. Either way, Jane was completely doomed. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on anything other than Lily's hands, but it didn't work. Nothing worked. Not when the woman she loved was sitting inches away, strong hands moving confidently over her skin, smiling to herself as though she knew exactly how much trouble she was causing.
She let Lily continue, trying not to think about how much she loved the feeling of those strong hands against her skin—and trying even harder not to wonder what it would feel like if Lily ever touched her because she wanted to, rather than because Jane's legs hurt.
“Just relax,” she says. “After we finish film, you shower and go bed. In morning, pain will be gone.”
Jane’s stomach drops. There it is—that familiar hollow sensation. The little trapdoor beneath her ribs opened once again. Lily is only being nice, only being a good roommate, only helping her because Jane can barely walk without looking like she’s survived a natural disaster. She doesn’t want Jane to stay. She doesn’t want Jane. Why would she? Jane swallows the disappointment before it can reach her face.
“Thanks,” she says, forcing a tight smile. When the massage ends, she turns back to the screen, and the film continues as if nothing happened. Lily’s hand rests briefly against Jane’s knee before she returns her attention to the movie. Jane is already mourning the loss of something she never actually had. She wants Lily. God, she wants Lily so fucking bad. She wants her laugh, her warmth, her ridiculous nicknames, her stupid curls, her hands. Especially her hands. And yet here Jane is, lying on Lily’s bed while the woman she loves casually massages the feelings out of her legs and then politely sends her off to bed. Unrequited love, Jane decides, is a cruel joke. And apparently, she is the punchline.
3.
“Jane, can you help me?”
Jane sits at her bedroom desk, finishing the notes for a presentation due next week. She should keep working if she wants to stay on top of her workload, but she has never been particularly good at ignoring Lily for long. There is something magnetic about her, a pull Jane has never figured out how to resist, so she closes her laptop and stands.
“Sure. What’s up?” she calls, walking toward Lily’s room.
When she reaches the doorway, she leans inside and finds Lily sprawled across her bed, lying on her stomach.
“My tattoo.”
Jane blinks, momentarily confused, then remembers.
Lily had recently gotten a large tattoo across her back, she had shown Jane a photograph her tattoo artist had taken afterward. Lily was sitting in the tattoo chair topless, her back arched toward the camera, the pose accentuating the curve of her waist and the shape of her hockey-shaped ass. Jane had stopped breathing when she saw it, she stared at the photograph for about three seconds too long before forcing herself to look away and mutter something suitably casual. She definitely hadn't been casual about it internally. The image had burned itself into her memory with the permanence of a brand, resurfacing when she was alone and horny. She suspected it would haunt her dreams for many years to come.
“What about it?” Jane asks as she sits beside her.
“My arms can’t reach.”
“Okay?”
“Can you put this on it? Is itchy.” Lily tosses a bottle of tattoo balm toward her, and Jane catches it.
Of course she can do that. It’s easy. It only involves touching her extremely attractive roommate whilst attempting not to reveal that she has spent months thinking about what it would be like to touch her under her clothes. Simple. Completely normal.
Jane takes a slow breath. “Sure. Okay.”
Lily nods and sits up, turning away from Jane before reaching for the hem of her shirt.
Jane immediately turns her attention to the wall, because looking anywhere else suddenly felt like a dangerous lapse in judgment. Sirens blare in her skull; a monkey in her head was playing cymbals at full volume; a tiny voice was screaming:
GAY PANIC. GAY PANIC. GAY PANIC!
She takes a slow breath and begins reciting the only mantra she could think of.
I am a respectful roommate. I am a mature adult. I am a woman with self-control, dignity, and absolutely no reason whatsoever to turn around and admire the view.
She stares at the wall with the intensity of someone attempting to memorise every molecule of paint, because if she looks away for even a second, she knows her eyes will betray her. The wall is fascinating. The wall is safe. The wall has never made her brain forget how to function. Jane fixes her gaze on a tiny imperfection in the paint with the solemn determination of someone defusing a bomb, until Lily calls out.
“I’m ready.”
Jane takes a deep breath, then turns around.
Lily lies on her stomach again, topless, her head resting on her folded arms. Her bare back stretches across the bed, the fresh black tattoo winding over her skin - a sword that starts at the base of her neck and travels down to her lower spine. Jane has seen Lily’s strong naked body countless times at hockey, but somehow seeing Lily like this feels entirely different. She notices the constellation of moles scattered across Lily’s skin, the curve of her shoulders, the cinch of her waist, the way her tits flatten under her frame. She notices far too much, and Jane’s mouth goes dry. She is fairly certain she has stopped breathing. Maybe she has died. Maybe this is heaven. Glorious Lesbian Heaven.
“Okay,” Jane breathes. She isn’t sure whether she is responding to Lily or simply reassuring herself that she can still speak. She squeezes some balm onto her fingers and carefully moves closer.
“Just put it all over,” Lily says.
Jane swallows harshly, gently spreading the balm across the ink. Her movements remain careful and feather-light, afraid of pressing too hard against the freshly tattooed skin.
Lily relaxes beneath her touch. “Hm,” she murmurs. “You feel really good, Jane.”
Jane pauses, her face turning red as the corner of Lily’s mouth twitches. Of course Lily remembers. Of course she does.
“Shut up,” Jane says, unable to suppress the smile threatening to break across her face. “Or I’ll stop.”
Lily grins into her arms but doesn’t answer.
Jane continues rubbing the balm into the tattoo, trying desperately to ignore the warmth spreading through her chest. This is fine. This is completely fine. It is only skincare. People help their friends with skincare all the time. Probably.
Except Jane is fairly certain most people don't have to fight the urge to stare at their friend like she’s personally descended from the heavens, or resist the overwhelming desire to touch her, to trace every line of her body with her fingertips, to press kisses to every muscle and beauty mark she can reach. Friendship, apparently, wasn't supposed to leave her constantly aching for an excuse to put her hands on Lily. And somehow, Lily's comfort with being this close only made the wanting worse.
For a little while, it became a routine between the two women. Lily would call for Jane's help, and pathetically, Jane always went, like a dog to a whistle. Jane told herself it was nothing, a mere favour between roommates, the sort of mundane kindness people performed without thinking twice. Except Jane thought about it, constantly. She thought about Lily calling her name from across the corridor, thought about the easy trust in Lily’s voice when she handed over the little bottle of balm, thought about how naturally Lily let Jane into her space, how she would settle onto the bed without a second thought and let Jane take care of her. For those few minutes, Jane could suspend her belief, she could pretend it was intimate. She could pretend that Lily wanted her close for reasons other than convenience. And Jane knew it was fucking pathetic, but Jane had become an expert at turning crumbs into a feast. Then the tattoo healed, the itching stopped, and the calls did too.
Jane noticed immediately. For the first few days, she waited for Lily to ask again. She listened for her voice from her bedroom. She even caught herself glancing toward the little bottle of balm on Lily’s bedside table during movie night, as though sheer concentration might summon another excuse to use it. But nothing came, and slowly Jane realized there would be no more requests. She told herself that was a good thing. Lily didn’t need the balm anymore; her skin had healed, and the tattoo had done exactly what tattoos were supposed to do with no complications. Therefore, Jane had no reason to keep touching her, no reason for Lily to ask, and no reason for Jane to hope. But that was the part that hurt, because Lily had never been giving Jane anything. Jane had simply taken ordinary moments and dressed them up as something they weren't.
A hand on her shoulder became affection. A nickname became endearment. A favour became intimacy. And the tattoo balm? That had been nothing more than tattoo balm.
Jane stared at the little bottle the next time she passed Lily’s room and felt something twist unpleasantly in her chest. She had known from the beginning that she was in love with Lily. What she hadn’t realised was how easily she could turn almost anything into evidence that Lily might love her back. It was humiliating. Unrequited love was cruel enough without having to manufacture your own evidence. Yet apparently, that was exactly what Jane had been doing.
4.
Jane had spent forty-five minutes deciding what to wear. Forty-five minutes! For a date with a woman she had matched with on an app and messaged for just over a week. This was either optimism or insanity. She had changed twice before settling on a pair of jeans that she knew hugged her ass well and a nice cashmere jumper. Nothing too obvious. Nothing too casual. Something that said, I look good without trying, even though she had, in fact, tried very hard.
Lily had watched the entire process from the sofa.
“You look pretty,” she had said, and Jane had nearly tripped over her own feet.
“Thanks.”
Lily had smiled, “Have fun, bunny.”
And that had been it.
Jane had walked out of the apartment with butterflies in her stomach and a ridiculous amount of hope tucked carefully beneath her ribs. She was doing it! Moving on from the embarrassing pining and yearning! Maybe she would finally be free!
Three hours later, however, she returned looking like the light in her eyes had been mugged in an alley. Fuck. She unlocked the apartment door quietly, sneaking in so Lily wouldn't notice her back so soon. She should have known better.
Lily was scrolling through her phone, sprawled across the sofa. The moment she heard the door, she looked up, her expression changing immediately.
“Jane?”
Jane just kept her head down, embarrassed. “Hi.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.” But Jane's voice cracked.
Damn it.
She doesn't want to cry, but she makes it three more steps before her eyes fill, and Lily is already on her feet.
“Hey…what happened?”
Jane drops her bag by the sofa, and she wipes furiously at her cheeks. “She didn't come.”
Lily goes still. “What?”
“She didn't show up.”
The first tear slips free. Then another. And suddenly Jane is crying properly, humiliation and disappointment pouring out of her in equal measure.
Lily's face softens. “Oh, Jane.”
“She didn't even text me.” Jane sniffles. “I waited for an hour.”
“What an asshole.”
“I probably looked so fucking stupid.”
“You do not look stupid.”
“I sat there by myself like some fucking loser.”
“You were on a date.”
“On a date with someone who apparently forgot she had a date...”
Lily's mouth tightens. “If I knew where she lived, I would go there and fuck her up.”
Despite herself, Jane lets out a watery laugh. Lily opens her arms, and it takes Jane approximately half a second to fold herself into them. Lily hugs her tightly, one hand rubbing slow circles between her shoulder blades. Jane closes her eyes and breathes her in. This is dangerous, but being held by Lily always feels like stepping into warm water after standing outside in the cold.
“She did not deserve you,” Lily murmurs.
Jane swallows. Then who does? The question sits heavily behind her teeth. She doesn't say it. Instead, she buries her face a little deeper into Lily's shoulder.
“Thanks.”
Lily squeezes her. “You know what?”
“Hmm?”
“Tomorrow, I will take you on best date ever.”
Jane pulls back. “What?”
“A date.”
“With you?”
“Yes.”
Jane stares at her as Lily grins.
“Don't look so scared.”
“I’m not scared.” Jane counters, very much scared.
“You look scared.”
Jane laughs despite herself as Lily shakes her shoulder.
“Tomorrow. Nine O'clock. Be ready.”
“Where are we going?”
“No questions.”
Jane narrows her eyes. “This sounds suspicious.”
“It is.”
And, somehow, that eases the ache in her chest.
🏒
At Nine O’clock the next day, Lily was already waiting outside in her car, one arm draped casually over the steering wheel and sunglasses perched on top of her head, even though the sun had barely decided to show up.
Jane climbed into the passenger seat wearing leggings, a hoodie, and the vague suspicion that she had agreed to something terrible.
She shut the door and looked at Lily. “Where are we going?”
“You ask too many questions.”
“You refuse to answer any of them.”
“Exactly.”
Lily grinned, started the car, and pulled away from the curb before Jane could interrogate her further. Music immediately filled the silence, loud enough to make the speakers crackle slightly—Bad Bunny, of course. Lily drummed her fingers against the steering wheel, nodding along to the beat. When the chorus came around, she started singing with complete confidence and no concern about whether she was pronouncing it right. Her Russian accent somehow survived every Spanish word. Jane lasted approximately twenty seconds before she started laughing.
“What?” Lily asked, still singing.
“You sound like you learned Spanish from a drunk Duolingo owl.”
Lily glanced at her, offended for approximately half a second. “I am bilingual.”
“That does not make you good at all languages.”
“I was providing entertainment.”
“You're butchering Bad Bunny.”
“I am improving Bad Bunny.”
Jane laughed again, and Lily's grin widened as she turned the volume up another notch. For the next fifteen minutes, the car became its own little world. Lily sang dramatically, using the steering wheel as a makeshift drum, occasionally glancing over at Jane whenever she laughed, all too pleased with herself for making her smile. It was dangerously easy to forget that this was supposed to be a date. Which, Jane reminded herself, was probably the point.
Halfway through another of Lily’s attempts at acapella-fying another Bad Bunny song, Jane recognised the road and her smile faltered; surprise washed over her. She looked through the window, then at Lily, and then back at the familiar buildings passing outside.
“You didn't.”
Lily's smile appeared slowly. “Yes.”
“The rink?”
“The rink.”
“You said this was a date.”
“It is.”
“You're taking me to hockey?”
“You love hockey.”
Jane opened her mouth, ready to argue, but nothing came out. Because, annoyingly, Lily was right. She loved hockey. Jane sighed and sank back into the seat with the ghost of a smile on her face. “You're unbelievable.”
“I know.”
The rink came into view, its familiar entrance looking strangely different without the usual crowds of students and players milling around outside. Lily pulled into the car park and killed the engine, and for a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Lily turned toward her. “Come on. Is date time.”
Jane followed her inside. The rink was empty, and the quiet made the place feel unfamiliar despite how many hours they had spent there. The overhead lights cast a pale glow across the ice, which gleamed like glass beneath them, perfectly smooth and untouched.
Jane's hockey instincts immediately woke up as she looked toward the ice. “Oh, this is dangerous.”
Lily laughed, “I knew you'd like it.”
They headed toward the changing rooms, and Lily pushed the door open. Two hockey bags sat on the benches. Jane looked at Lily, perplexed. “You brought equipment?”
“Of course, Hollander.”
Jane blinked dumbly as Lily walked over to one of the bags, unzipped it, and pulled out a pair of skates. Jane stared. They were her skates. Not just a random pair from the equipment room, but her own skates—the ones she had left in their apartment the night before.
“What the hell?”
Lily looked far too pleased with herself. “I borrowed them.”
“You stole my skates?!”
“I prefer borrowed.”
“Without asking!”
“You were asleep.”
“That makes it worse!”
Lily ignored her, reached into the bag again, and pulled out a hockey stick. Jane's eyes widened. “My stick?”
The YUNA scrawled on the tape was identification enough. Lily nodded, pleased with herself.
“You took that too?”
“I took both.”
“When?” Jane demanded
“Last night.”
Jane stared at her. She genuinely hadn't noticed. “You snuck into my room?”
Lily shrugged, completely unbothered. “You were asleep.”
“And you just took my hockey equipment?”
“I knew you'd need it.”
Something about the simplicity of the answer caught Jane off guard. Lily hadn't grabbed whatever equipment happened to be available. She had remembered exactly which skates Jane preferred, which stick she used, and where she'd left them, and she'd quietly taken them from their apartment so Jane could have everything she needed.
Jane looked down at the skates in Lily's hands. Her heart gave a small, traitorous flutter. Of course Lily knew her.
They had spent months living together. They knew each other's coffee orders, sleeping habits, stress tells, favourite snacks, the precise facial expression the other made when they pretended not to be annoyed, and which hockey equipment they would choose without hesitation. Lily knew which skates were hers. That was normal. That was friendship. Just friendship. Jane repeated the thought to herself as Lily crouched down and placed the skates beside her.
“Come on,” Lily said. “Get changed.”
Jane looked at her. “You really planned all of this?”
Lily smiled, and something warm and quietly pleased crossed her face. “I told you. Best date ever.”
Jane's stomach fluttered again. She ignored it. This was Lily. Lily was affectionate. Lily was thoughtful. Lily remembered things. Lily did nice things for people she cared about. None of that meant anything. And if Jane's heart insisted on treating it like something more, that was hardly Lily's fault.
“Race you to the ice,” Lily said the moment they finished getting dressed.
Jane barely had time to grab her stick before Lily pushed through the changing-room doors. Jane hurried after her, hockey skates clunking awkwardly against the rubber flooring as Lily disappeared down the corridor.
“Cheater!”
“You are so slow, Hollander!”
“You cheated!”
Lily glanced over her shoulder, grinning. “Skill issue!”
Jane laughed and hurried after her, one hand catching the wall for balance as they made their way toward the rink. The second they reached the gate beside the ice, Lily shoved off, her blades biting cleanly into the surface. Jane chased her around the rink, laughing so hard her stomach and head already hurt.
They reached centre ice together, shoulders bumping as they crossed the line, the impact earning a laugh from both of them. Jane glided backward into position, knees bent and stick poised, while Lily mirrored her on the opposite side of the face-off dot, already wearing that infuriatingly bright grin. The puck dropped, and they lunged at once, blades scraping sharply against the ice as their sticks clacked together, each trying to knock it free. For a few frantic seconds, the puck ricocheted between their sticks until Jane finally hooked it away, shooting Lily a triumphant grin as she took off down the ice.
They played one-on-one for a while, inventing ridiculous rules to make things more challenging, then two-on-two against an imaginary opponent, before abandoning that idea when Lily insisted her imaginary teammates were “useless.” It was ridiculous, and it was perfect.
One round, Jane stole the puck cleanly off Lily's stick and immediately took off toward the goal. Lily chased her, closing the gap with long, powerful strides as Jane wound up for a shot, but the Russian, at the last second, reached her stick around and knocked the puck away.
“Deflection!” Lily celebrated.
“That was my shot!”
“Should've been faster.”
Jane recovered the puck and turned. “Oh, you want to play like that?”
“I always want to play like that.”
Jane grinned, “Fine.” She took the puck into the corner, shielding it with her body while Lily tried to poke-check it away.
“Give it up.”
“No.”
“Hollander.”
“Rozanova.”
“Pass.”
“Never!”
Lily laughed and tried to muscle her off the puck, but Jane held her ground. “You're such an asshole.”
“You're just mad because I'm better.”
“Fuck you!”
Lily attempted a dramatic toe-drag deke, shifting the puck from forehand to backhand with an exaggerated flourish, but Jane read it immediately and stole the puck.
Lily stopped dead. “That was illegal!”
Jane burst out laughing. “You made the rules!”
Lily pointed her stick at her. “Give me the puck.”
“No!”
“Hollander!”
Lily took off after her, making Jane shriek and skate away, laughing as she carried the puck down the ice. She cut around the net, pivoted on her edges, and tried to accelerate up the boards, but Lily was already there, angling her toward the glass.
“The Russian Dominator is coming!”
“Fuck off!”
Lily closed in as Jane tried to pull the puck around her skate, where Lily poked it loose, but Jane immediately stole it back. They skated, chased, turned, and fought for possession. Their sticks clacked together as they battled along the boards, and some ridiculous accusation of cheating followed every clean takeaway. Jane attempted a slap shot that sailed wide, Lily booed, Jane told her to shut up, and Lily laughed so hard she nearly missed the puck entirely. Eventually, Lily broke away. Lily crossed the blue line and snapped a quick wrist shot past Jane's stick and into the net. For half a second, there was silence. Then Lily threw both arms into the air. “О да, блядь!” (Fuck yes!)
Jane stared at her. “You are insufferable.”
Lily skated backward, grinning. “You're just jealous.”
“Of what?”
“My superior athletic ability.”
Jane scoffed. “In your fucking dreams, Rozanova.”
Lily just bumped her shoulder before skating away, and Jane followed because, of course, she did. Another game started almost immediately, but this time, neither of them bothered to keep track of the score. They just kept playing for the sake of playing. They chased each other around the rink, laughing until Jane's sides hurt and Lily's curls came loose from her ponytail. And Jane forgot about the date, forgot about being stood up, and about the hollow embarrassment she'd carried home the night before. She just lived in the moment with Lily and hockey in her heart, playing until neither of them could breathe from laughing.
Afterward, Lily drives them across town to a small sushi restaurant tucked between two shops, with bright paper lanterns hanging in the windows.
“You said you wanted to try it,” Lily says matter-of-factly.
Jane just looks at her, bewildered. “When did I say that?”
“Last month.”
“You remembered?”
Lily shrugs. “Of course.”
Something warm settles in Jane's chest at the admission. They order their food, Lily insisting her choice was superior to Jane's, but still stealing pieces from Jane's plate. They end up laughing over terrible attempts at using chopsticks, and Jane nearly chokes when Lily accidentally sends a piece of sushi flying across the table.
“You never saw that.”
“I am telling everyone,” Jane teases, “I'll tell the entire hockey team.”
“You are so mean.”
“You love it.”
Lily smiles, “Maybe...”
For one suspended moment, something feels different. Did Lily mean it in that way? Is she blushing right now?
Then Lily reaches across the table and steals another piece of sushi, Jane rolls her eyes, and the moment disappears.
After lunch, they walk around the neighbourhood, stopping at a little shop where Lily buys Jane a ridiculous bunny keychain she's certain looks exactly like Jane. By the time they get back to the car, Jane feels lighter than she has in days. Lily really has given her the best date ever. Just not the kind Jane secretly wanted.
As they drive home, Jane looks out the window.
“Better date than yesterday?” Lily glances at her.
“Considering they didn't show, I think yes.”
“So stupid.” Lily shakes her head. “She did not deserve you.”
Jane smiles faintly. Then who does? The question returns, quiet as a whisper. She pushes it away. “Well, thanks for this. You're like the best roommate ever.”
Lily's smile falters. Just for a second, “Yeah. No problem.”
Jane doesn't notice. “I don't know a lot of people who would do this for their friend.” She smiles at Lily. “You're so kind.”
Lily keeps her eyes on the road. “Yep,” she says. “That is me. So... kind.”
Jane laughs. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
Jane studies her for a moment. Then Lily reaches over, turns up the music, and Jane laughs again. She doesn't know what else to do, so she lets the moment pass.
5.
Lily has bad days, and Jane has learned not to ask how bad. Sometimes Lily can still joke, she can still drag herself to hockey, complain about university, steal food from Jane’s plate, and roll her eyes when Jane tells her to go to bed. Other times, it's like the light goes out.
This episode starts quietly. Lily sleeps through her alarm, she misses class, then hockey, then work. By the third day, she barely leaves her room.
Jane knows better than to mistake silence for peace. She has learned Lily’s tells over the years—the untouched food, the curtains drawn during daylight, the phone abandoned on the bedside table, the way Lily answers every question with "I'm fine" in a voice that means precisely the opposite. So, Jane doesn't force her to do anything. Instead, Jane simply stays. She brings her water when she notices her glass is empty; when Lily forgets to eat, she puts something small in front of her, she sits on the edge of Lily’s bed, and tells her ridiculous stories until Lily’s mouth twitches with the faintest hint of a smile. When Lily’s medication runs low, Jane helps her arrange the refill and checks that Lily takes it as prescribed, never treating her like a child, never making the medication into something shameful.
It isn't a cure, and Jane knows that. Careful words and actions cannot cure depression any more than they can mend a broken bone. Jane understands she can't climb inside Lily's mind and silence whatever darkness has taken up residence there. She can only make the darkness a little less lonely. So that's what she does. She starts to walk with her, thirty minutes every day. Nothing ambitious. Nothing heroic. Just around the neighbourhood, and slowly enough that Lily never has to pretend she has more energy than she does. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they don't. Sometimes Lily complains about the weather, sometimes she points out a dog. Sometimes she walks with her hands shoved into the pockets of her hoodie and stares at the pavement for thirty minutes straight. But Jane walks beside her anyway.
She doesn't ask Lily to be better. She asks her to keep going.
One afternoon, about halfway through their walk, Lily stops, standing beneath the branches of an old oak tree, staring at the pavement. Jane takes another step before noticing.
“What’s wrong?”
Lily shakes her head. “Nothing.”
That is another thing Jane’s learned: sometimes silence needs somewhere to land, so she waits instead of pushing.
Lily draws in a breath that seems to catch halfway down. “Do you ever think…” She pauses, the wind blows, and the birds sing, and still, Jane waits.
“Do you think I am going to end up like my mama?”
The question hits Jane so hard that for a moment she forgets how to breathe. Lily rarely talks about Irina. Her mother exists in fragments—photographs tucked into drawers, a Russian phrase Lily occasionally mutters under her breath, an old recipe she refuses to throw away. Jane knows what happened when Lily was twelve. She knows enough to understand why the subject has always lived behind a locked door. But Lily has never opened that door herself until now.
“I’m scared,” Lily admits quietly.
Jane's chest tightens. “Scared of what?”
“That I'm going to become her.” The words barely make it past Lily's lips. “She was depressed. I am depressed.” Lily gives a small, humourless laugh. “It feels like the same story starting again.”
Jane doesn't interrupt.
“I know everyone tells me I am not her.” Lily looks down at her hands. “But what if they are wrong?”
“You're not her.”
Lily's eyes flick up, and Jane steps closer. “You're Lily.”
It sounds too simple. Maybe it is. But Jane doesn't know how to explain that a diagnosis isn't a prophecy. That pain can pass through a family without becoming destiny. Inheriting vulnerability doesn't mean inheriting an ending. So she doesn't give Lily a speech. She just reaches for her hand.
“You are not your mother.”
Lily's fingers close around hers. A silence settles around them before Lily speaks again, “I found her.”
Jane's heart breaks quietly. “I know.”
“She was just…” Lily swallows. “She was my mama. And then she was not.”
Jane squeezes her hand.
“I still remember everything.” Her voice cracks on the last word.
Jane doesn't tell her to stop remembering. She doesn't tell her to let it go. She doesn't tell her that Irina would want her to be happy, or that everything happens for a reason, or any of the other empty sentences people sometimes offer because they don't know what else to do with grief.
Instead, Jane says, “You don't have to carry it alone.”
Lily looks at her for a long moment before leaning forward and pressing her forehead against Jane's shoulder. Jane wraps her arms around her, carefully and firmly, as if she is holding something precious – because she is.
“You're allowed to be scared,” Jane whispers.
Lily's breath shudders.
“But being scared doesn't mean you're becoming her.”
For a while, they stand there. Cars pass somewhere beyond the trees, a dog barks, the world continues with its usual, almost offensive indifference.
Eventually Lily pulls back, and her eyes are wet. “Thank you.”
Jane brushes her thumb across Lily's knuckles. “Always.”
Piece by piece, the light returns and Lily begins to come back. Not all at once, but enough. A laugh here, a proper meal there, the curtains eventually open and hockey returns. The world starts turning again. And Jane remains exactly where she has always been beside her.
One evening, Lily ends up curled against Jane on the sofa, exhausted after a long day, her head in Jane’s lap. Jane gently runs her fingers through Lily’s curls. For once, she looks peaceful, her eyes are half-closed, her lips slightly parted. Jane thinks she looks so fucking beautiful, it’s unfair - she barely breathes, afraid of shattering this moment. The television murmurs in the background, forgotten as Lily's fingers curl lazily around Jane's wrist. Then:
“I love you,” Lily murmurs, half asleep.
Jane's heart stumbles. For one impossible second, the words feel enormous. They fill the room. Fill her chest.
I love you.
Jane has heard her say it before—to teammates, old friends, people she's known for years. Women are affectionate with their friends. That's normal. It doesn't have to mean anything. It certainly doesn't mean what Jane desperately wants it to mean. So Jane doesn't let herself wonder whether Lily's voice sounded different this time. She doesn't question the way Lily's fingers tighten slightly around her wrist. She just keeps stroking her hair, because loving Lily has never depended on being loved in return.
Love could mean sitting beside someone in the dark without demanding they find the light for you. It could mean refilling a prescription, opening curtains, and taking a thirty-minute walk when every step felt impossible. It could mean staying when there was absolutely nothing to gain. Jane had never needed Lily to be easy to love, she had never needed her to be happy, she had never even needed her to love her back. She only needed Lily to be here. Alive. Breathing.
Reaching for her hand in the dark, Jane looks down at the woman sleeping peacefully in her lap, her heart aching with the sheer, unbearable enormity of it.
“I love you,” Jane whispers.
Lily doesn't hear her. Or perhaps she does. Jane will never know. And, for now, she doesn't need to.
+1
Jane wasn't trying to eavesdrop. At least, that’s what she told herself. She was curled up on the sofa with a textbook open across her knees, with Lily in her bedroom laughing, soft and unguarded, to Svetlana on the phone. Jane smiled despite herself and turned another page. The conversation was mostly Russian, and Jane understood almost none of it, but she knew Lily's voice well enough to hear its different shades. The lazy drawl she used when she was teasing, the clipped tone she used when she was annoyed, the softness that appeared whenever she spoke about something she actually cared about. Tonight, there was a lot of that softness.
Svetlana said something that made Lily laugh.
“Нет, Света. Я серьёзно.” (No, Sveta. I'm serious.)
Lily laughed again as Svetlana replied, longer this time.
“Нет.” (No)
A pause. Then Lily groaned.
“Боже, ты невозможная.” (God, you're impossible.)
Jane knew she should probably stop listening, but whatever Svetlana had said next had made Lily make passionate Russian noises of disagreement. Jane couldn't quite translate it all, but she caught one word.
Девушка.
Girl.
Her stomach gave a strange little flip. Svetlana said something else distantly as Lily went quiet.
“No,” she responded in English. Jane lifted her eyes from her book to focus on Lily’s voice, something in it had changed. She no longer sounded playful but rather embarrassed. Svetlana spoke again as Lily sighed.
“Because it's complicated.” Another pause. “No, she doesn't know.”
Jane stopped breathing. She didn't know why. A million thoughts buzzed through her head, she couldn't even hear the rest, her brain latching onto those four words.
She doesn't know.
Svetlana said something rapidly, and Lily laughed under her breath.
“Да, я знаю.” (Yes, I know) Another pause. Then, more assured, “Я знаю, Света.” (I know, Sveta.)
Jane couldn't understand the words, but she could understand the tenderness in Lily's voice. Svetlana said something else, making Lily groan, “Нет, я не собираюсь ей говорить.” (No, I'm not going to tell her.)
Jane's fingers tightened around the textbook, her heart pounding in her ears.
“Потому что я боюсь.” (Because I'm afraid.)
Jane didn't know the words, but she knew Lily, and something about the silence that followed made her chest tighten. Svetlana answered as Lily stayed quiet for a long time, then she spoke slowly.
“Она для меня слишком важна.” (She is too important to me.) Then quieter, “Я не хочу потерять её.” (I don't want to lose her.)
It broke Jane's heart to hear Lily sound almost fragile and scared. What is going on with Lily? Jane wished she could understand Russian.
Jane could hear Svetlana say something else, and Lily inhaled sharply, “Я знаю, что это глупо.” (I know, it's stupid.) Another pause. “Нет. Я знаю, что она не…” (No. I know she isn’t…)
She could hear the vulnerability and fear in her voice as Lily spoke, “She does not look at me that way.”
Jane's stomach dropped, she felt sick.
She does not look at me that way.
The sentence was in clear English, something she could translate, and yet she didn't understand it at all. Who was she? Doesn't look at her in what way? The Russian flowed too quickly for her to follow, yet the yearning in Lily's voice made the meaning feel almost painfully obvious: this was not casual gossip. Somewhere between the quiet pauses and Lily's hesitant replies, the conversation had become a confession.
A long silence fell in the apartment before Svetlana said something that made Lily laugh bitterly.
“Don't.”
Svetlana continued.
“Света.” (Sveta.)
The warning in Lily's voice made Jane's heart pound and skin prick. A few more sentences in Russian followed, then Lily laughed—a tiny, defeated sound, not warm and wholehearted like Jane was used to.
“Я не знаю, как ей это сказать.” (I don't know how to tell her that.)
Jane lowered her eyes to her textbook and tried to force herself back into the page. But she couldn't because there was someone out there, someone important, a girl, someone who, apparently, had no idea. The words sat heavy in her chest; the letters blurred as her eyes burned when Lily suddenly spoke again. The words came softly, almost reluctantly, as though saying them aloud was the closest she could get to admitting the truth to herself.
“I'm so fucking in love is pathetic.”
Jane's entire world stopped. The sentence hung in the apartment. Heavy. Absolute. There was no ambiguity in it. No nickname to reinterpret. No teasing smile she could convince herself she'd imagined. Lily was in love. She couldn't hear Svetlana anymore, couldn't hear the television. She couldn't hear anything except the echo of Lily's voice.
I'm so fucking in love.
Jane swallowed harshly as tears pricked her waterline. Of course Lily was in love with someone. Someone else. Someone Jane didn't know existed. Someone who had somehow managed to become important enough that Lily sounded almost embarrassed by the depth of her feelings.
Jane’s heart cracked like ice beneath a skate blade, the fracture racing through every fragile hope she had foolishly allowed herself to build.
That night, Lily knocked, “Bunny?”
Jane kept staring at the ceiling, avoiding Lily’s gaze. “Yeah?”
“You coming to watch a film?”
“Not today, I'm tired.”
“Okay,” and then Lily's footsteps disappeared.
In the silence of her room, Jane pressed the heel of her hand to her chest and found it hurt. It was so fucking ridiculous and pathetic that it hurt. Lily had never promised her anything, and Jane had stupidly built an entire relationship out of scraps and wishful thinking, then acted surprised when reality finally reminded her that it wasn't real. She had spent months interpreting every touch, every nickname, every I love you as something she desperately wanted it to be.
And now she knew. Lily loved someone else. Someone who probably knew it, or would do soon. Someone who could kiss her. Someone who probably didn't have to lie awake at night wondering whether a hand on the shoulder meant anything.
Jane turned onto her side and wished, with humiliating desperation, that she had never heard those words. Since that wasn't possible, however, her next reasonable option was to avoid Lily as much as possible until she stopped being in love with her. Simple.
At first, it was easy:
“Coffee?”
“Already had some.”
“You want breakfast?”
“I'm good.”
“Film?”
“I've got work.”
None of it was true, and Lily noticed because, of course, she noticed. She noticed everything about Jane.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine.”
“Did I do something?”
“No.”
“Then why are you being weird?”
“I'm not.”
Lily stared at her expectantly, but Jane just smiled. It was probably the least convincing smile a human being had ever produced. “I'm just tired.”
Jane left before Lily could ask again. For three days, Jane perfected the art of disappearing. She studied at the library, she stayed even later after practice, took showers at inconvenient hours, and answered Lily's messages with one-word replies, then hated herself for every single one.
You home?
Yep.
Want dinner?
Not hungry.
Gym tonight?
Busy.
Each excuse was another tiny brick in the wall she was building between them. Every night, she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, feeling as though she'd destroyed a part of her soul, and every night, she was surprised by the pain.
On the fourth evening, Jane's door flew open.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Jane nearly dropped her phone on her face at the outburst. Lily stood in the doorway, her curls were still damp from the shower, wearing an old university T-shirt and joggers, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Jane's heart immediately betrayed her. Even furious, Lily was breathtakingly beautiful.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Jane deflected whilst keeping her eyes on her phone.
“Bullshit,” Lily spat.
“Lily—”
“You've barely spoken to me for four days!”
“I've been busy.”
“You're always busy.” Lily stepped inside, slamming the door behind her, she was breathing heavily, clearly frustrated. “Did I piss you off?”
“No.”
“Did I say something?”
“No.”
“Then fucking look at me!”
But Jane couldn't. She could only stare at the phone in her hands, now black with idleness.
“Jane,” the pleading softness in Lily's voice somehow made everything worse.
Finally, Jane took a deep breath and slowly looked up to meet Lily’s desperate blue eyes, her throat tight as she confessed, “I heard you.”
Lily stills. “What?”
“On the phone. I heard you talking to Svetlana.” It was embarrassing how much trepidation was in Jane’s voice, she felt fucking pathetic.
Lily's expression changed, not anger but rather something closer to realisation. “Oh.”
Jane laughed once, but there was no humor in it. “Yeah. Oh.”
“I—”
“You don't have to explain.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No, you don't.”
“Jane.”
“I said you don't!” Her voice cracked, and she could feel her eyes burn. This was the end of it, the carefully constructed wall collapsed all at once. “I heard you say you were fucking in love with someone.”
Lily's face went pale as Jane laughed again, shakily. “And I didn't even know you were seeing anyone.”
“I'm not...”
“Well, clearly you're interested in someone.”
“...I am.”
Jane nodded. There it was—the confirmation. And somehow, hearing it aloud hurt even more.
“Right.” Jane looked away, forcing a smile that felt painfully wrong. “That’s great, Lily.”
“Jane—”
“Seriously.” She gave a small, brittle laugh. “I’m happy for you.”
“Stop.”
“I’m just embarrassed, okay?” Jane's voice wavered, and she swallowed hard, trying to force the tears back down before they could betray her completely. “Because I thought—”
Lily stared, mouth agape, but Jane shook her head. The words had already started spilling out, and she couldn't stop them. “I thought maybe there was something between us.”
Silence. Another damned confession. The room seemed to shrink around them, both women breathing unevenly and shallowly, the sound only made her pulse pound harder in her ears.
“What?” Lily sputtered, stunned.
Jane let out a shaky laugh. “Don't act like you don't know.”
“I don't know”
“Yes, you do.”
“Jane—”
“Yes, you fucking do!” Jane shook her head, refusing to let herself shrink beneath Lily's confusion. She had spent months making herself smaller, quieter, embarrassed, and she was done with it. If she was going to humiliate herself, she was at least going to do it honestly.
Lily moved closer, sitting on the edge of the bed beside Jane, her expression softening. “Tell me what you think I know, my bunny?”
Jane's breath caught at the nickname, and she hated how easily it could still undo her.
“I—” She looked down for a second, tears finally slipping free, and when she looked back at Lily, there was nowhere left to hide. “I'm in love with you!” The words tore out of her. Jane's dignity had officially left the building, so she might as well finish destroying what remained of it. “Of course I'm in love with you!” she cried, wiping furiously at her cheeks. “Because who in their right mind wouldn't be? You're beautiful, you're funny, you're infuriating, and you walk around acting like you're completely unaware of what you do to people when you absolutely know!”
Lily's lips parted as if to say something, but Jane couldn't stop.
“I've been in love with you for so long, and I've been sitting here like a fucking idiot, convincing myself that every little thing you do doesn't mean anything because you're just being Lily. You call me your bunny, you touch me constantly, you remember everything about me, you took me on that date, and I thought—God, I thought maybe I mattered to you in the same way you mattered to me.” Her voice cracked. “And now I find out you're in love with someone else, someone you've apparently been thinking about all this time, and you didn't even tell me, and I'm standing here feeling like the biggest fucking idiot because I've been pining after you while you've been—”
There was no warning, one second Jane was talking, crying, desperately trying to fit months of love into a handful of broken sentences; the next, Lily's hands framed her face, and her lips were against hers. Jane froze before her brain and body caught up, and just like that, the dam holding back her desire broke. She kissed Lily back with everything she had been too afraid to say. It wasn't neat or tentative or careful; it was desperate, almost aching in its intensity, as though Lily could somehow pour every swallowed confession, every sleepless night, every stolen glance and every impossible hope straight through the kiss. Jane’s fingers caught in Lily's shirt, holding on as though she might disappear if she let go, while Lily pulled her closer until no space remained between them, and they fell back onto the bed.
On lonely nights, Jane had fantasied about what it would feel like to finally kiss Lily, but none of those lust-filled fantasies had prepared her for this moment. Lily kissed her like she had been waiting just as long, starving for it. They broke only long enough for them to breathe before kissing again, trembling with so much emotion that it made Jane's chest ache. Jane could taste the salt of her own tears, could feel Lily's thumb brushing beneath her eye, and somehow that small tenderness nearly undid her more than the kiss itself.
It felt like an entire language spoken without words.
I love you.
I've always loved you.
I'm sorry you thought you were alone.
You never were.
When they finally separated, they stayed close, foreheads touching, breathing hard. Lily's expression was almost unbearably soft as Jane stared at her through tear-blurred eyes.
“It has always been you,” Lily whispered.
Jane's breath caught as Lily brushed another tear from her cheek. Months of restraint, longing, and unanswered want seemed to ignite all at once, and what had begun as a trembling expression of love quickly became hungry. Jane's fingers tightened in Lily's shirt as she pulled her closer, while Lily's hands slipped from her face to her waist, holding her with the same sudden urgency. Jane gasped at the feeling of Lily's hands exploring her body, her heart hammering against her ribs, desire, hot and dizzying, flooding her veins until the two could barely tell where one ended and the other began. All the meticulous distance she had maintained for so long had vanished, replaced by the overwhelming need to have what she'd spent months convincing herself she could never have.
Lily broke away just enough to breathe, her forehead resting against Jane's again. “God,” she whispered. Jane laughed breathlessly, still clutching her shirt. “You are better than in my dreams.”
Lily's mouth moved from Jane's lips to her cheek, her jaw, the sensitive skin beneath her ear, leaving a trail of hot kisses and spit that made Jane's breath catch. Jane trembled beneath her, overwhelmed by the realisation that the woman she'd spent months longing for was finally holding her the way she'd wanted all along.
“I've wanted this for so fucking long,” Lily breathed against her skin.
Jane's fingers tightened in Lily's shirt. “How long?”
Lily lifted her head, her eyes dark with desire. “Long enough that I stopped thinking I'd ever get it.”
The kiss was hungry, and Jane surrendered to it willingly, pulling Lily closer until their pelvises met, a moan tearing through them both at the sensation. Slowly, they ground against each other, chasing the electricity buzzing through the veins with each brush of friction against their clits. Jane could feel the wet mess between her legs even through her pyjama shorts. Lily's fingers were digging into her waist hard enough to leave bruises as Jane threaded her fingers through Lily's curls and sucked on her tongue. The kiss was so wet, their tongues battling for dominance.
“Fuck,” Lily breathed, a trail of spit connecting her to Jane's mouth. “Look at you.”
Jane's cheeks were flushed, lips swollen from kissing, her breathing uneven, and Lily looked equally undone.
“Shut up.”
“You're gorgeous.”
Lily moaned sharply when Jane caught her lip between her teeth, sending a thrill down Jane’s spine and to her pulsing crotch. She felt feverish with desire, wanting nothing more than to melt into Lily’s touch and succumb to her power. Jane's fingers tugged at Lily's shirt, hinting that she wanted it off. Lily pulled away for a second to slip off her top to reveal her frame. Her skin tanned and scattered with moles, her gold chain nestled between her tits.
Fuck. Her tits.
Jane had obviously seen them before in changing rooms between hockey practices, but this was a different thing entirely. Jane was allowed to look. They were perfect and pierced and looked so soft and lickable, her mouth started to drool. She was a vision to behold, and every time their eyes met, the same stunned realisation passed between them: this is real.
Jane scrambled to grab hold of Lily’s tits, pulling her towards her to suck a nipple into her mouth, her tongue lapping around the pink nub.
Lily hissed from above her, “Not fair. Take yours off too.” Before Jane could respond, Lily ripped her shirt over her head. “Fuck, Jane, you are killing me.” Jane gasped as Lily wrapped her soft lips around a nipple. Lily pulled back. “Such perfect tits. My perfect girl.” Lily pulls back to remove her joggers, then drags Jane’s shorts too, her movement desperate and hungry.
Both women collide together once again, sucking each other's tongues and rutting against each other in their slick-soaked panties, the sound was obscene, and the heat was all too consuming.
“I need you,” Jane practically whimpers in between the sloppy kisses and the relentless grinding, “I need more - pleasepleaseplease.”
Lily’s eyes were black from how blown her pupils were. “Fuck, say that again.”
“I need you so fucking bad, Lily.”
Lily snakes a hand in between their bodies to play with Jane's wet spot, rubbing her clit with conviction. Jane shivers at the sensation, loving every bit of attention.
“Oh bunny, you've made such a mess for me, huh?”
“Just for you, Lily.”
Lily closes her eyes and groans, “Can I…?” Her fingers ghosted across the waistband of the panties, making her intentions clear. Jane could never say no to Lily before, so why start now? Jane nodded, wide-eyed at what was to come, unable to trust her voice in the moment. She pulled them down, slowly and teasingly, the fabric sticking to Jane’s pussy lips from how wet and slick they were, tossing them in the vague direction of the laundry basket that sat in the corner of the room.
“Охренеть.” (Holy Shit.)
Jane tried not to feel insecure under the intensity of Lily's look, but instinctively pulled her knees together from where they had fallen slightly apart to make room for the woman between them.
“No.” Jane halted her movements at the word. “Do not hide from me, зайчик.” (Bunny) Jane allowed her legs to drop open again, and Lily gasped. Jane was shocked by the look of pure want on the blonde’s face.
“You are so…” words escaped Lily as she looked at Jane’s body, now fully exposed to her. The dripping, wet heat between the brunette’s legs called to Lily, like a siren song leading her home. She knew in that moment that this was where she belonged, between this sweet girl’s legs. After tonight, she didn’t think she could ever go without this for the rest of her life.
“Fuuuuuckk, Jane.” Lily moans as she hastily moves to remove her own panties. If Jane thought Lily’s tits were something to behold, she had no words to describe the sight of Lily's dripping, wet cunt. Jane wanted nothing more than to bury her face there and succumb to a lack of oxygen, happily. But before Jane could indulge in her fantasy, Lily pushed her back and moved down between her legs.
Lily leant down and placed a kiss to Jane’s navel. She breathed in the scent of her, feeling her own clit twitch in response.
“I am going to eat you now, да?” (Yes?)
“Please,” Jane replied wantonly.
“Ты мне так идеально подходишь (You are so perfect for me). You have such,” Lily gently drags a finger between her slits before bringing it to her lips, sucking proudly on her slick, coated fingers, “pretty pussy,” rolling her ‘R’ sexily. Her eyes locked with Jane, who had turned redder than the maple leaf on the Canadian flag, but the mess between her thighs screamed nothing but delicious arousal.
“Shut up, Lily.” The threat was undermined by how pathetically strained and breathless she sounded. Her pussy was pulsing with heat and desire, her clit had a throbbing heartbeat, and she could feel her slick leaking out of her like a fucking fountain. Every molecule in her body vibrated with desire as she had never known before. She wanted, no, needed, so badly for Lily to touch her more.
“Tell me what you want.”
“PleasepleasepleaseineeedyouLilypleasejusttouchme!” Jane babbles, wriggling and writhing under the scrutiny. She covers her face in exasperation. “I feel like I'm going to die if you don't touch me right now! Fuck! I need you. I need your hands, I need your mouth. Lily, I need you-” Jane's words are interrupted by a hungry mouth kissing, licking, and biting on her dripping wet cunt. Lily licks in long strokes, up and down, as if she was fucking starving for it. Her tongue circles Jane’s clit, so red and beautifully swollen, as Jane whimpers and shakes beneath her.
Strong hands grip Jane's thighs to hold her in place. “You sound so sexy,” each sentence punctuated with a hungry lick, “such a dirty slut”, another kiss to her swollen, abused clit, “my good girl is such a slut for me.”
Jane isn't sure whether she's sinking into the mattress or floating up to the ceiling. Part of her thinks she died and this is her sick, perverted heaven.
“Feels—“ she broke off in a gasp, “Feels so f-fucking ohmygod—“ Jane could barely speak, her voice shaking under the weight of her arousal.
Lily looked up at her through her lashes as she alternated between long licks to Jane’s swollen pussy and sucking on her throbbing clit. It felt like she was vibrating as wave after wave of pleasure spread from her core throughout her entire body, shockwaves tingling up her spine. Jane had never felt like this before, hurtling towards the edge all too soon. She twitched and squirmed under Lily’s perfect mouth, twisting a hand into golden locks and tugging on the strands to pull her away. “W-wait— Lily!”
Lily pulled back, her brows furrowing with confusion. “Is not good?”
Jane sucked in what felt like her first full breath in 5 minutes and met Lily’s eyes, almost losing the last vestiges of her composure as she watched Lily absentmindedly lick her lips, swallowing more of Jane’s taste. Oh, God. That’s just unfair.
“No! I mean yes! I mean—” Jane stumbled over her words, still breathing heavily, “It was so good… too good…” her eyes darted away from Lily’s, suddenly embarrassed in the heat of her attention.
“Ah.”
At the sound of the huff of air that is clearly an attempt to cover a chuckle, Jane’s gaze flicks back to Lily’s amused face. “Shut up.”
“No! Is good feedback. 5 stars.” A smug grin spread across the blonde’s face.
“Okay. That’s it. We’re done here.” Jane made like she was moving to sit up, but put up no resistance when a hand gently pushed her shoulders back to the bed.
“Oh, I’m not done with you yet.” Lily kept her gaze on Jane as she slowly lowered her mouth back towards her destination, leaving time for Jane to stop her if that was what she really wanted, though she doubted very much this was the case. Jane only relaxed back into the pillows and spread her legs even wider than before. Lily settled down comfortably again. ‘Such a pretty pussy,” she cooed. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. Look at her… so hot and wet and perfect. My pretty bunny’s pretty pussy.”
Jane had never considered herself to be particularly religious before. But the sight of Lily Rozanova making love to her pussy was a sanctified vision - she was taking Jane’s cunt through a pilgrimage of divinity.
“Fucuuck! Lily, you make me feel so good!”
Without pulling back from her feast, Lily reaches for Jane's mouth, an unspoken question to which Jane answers. She swallows Lily’s fingers, tongue circling the digits, coating them with spit, moaning through them as Lily continues eating. When Lily pulls them away, spit dribbles off them and Jane pouts at the emptiness.
Lily uses her wet fingers to breach Jane’s warm entrance, Jane’s breath hitches, her back arches as she throws her head back at the sensation.
“Shhh, bunny… relax.” Lily presses gentle kisses to Jane’s navel, whispering sweet nothings into her soft skin. Lily gently bends her fingers to assault the spot inside her that makes her body zap with electricity and bones melt, beckoning delicious moans from the Canadian’s mouth.
“Ooooo fuck, that feels really good, baby.” The pet name escapes Jane's lips before she could stop it, but she couldn't give her shit, not when Lily was making her feel things she never thought were conceivable in this realm of reality. The pressure in Jane’s belly builds instantaneously, her body humming with pleasure, heading straight to the end too quickly.
“Lily! S-stop, I think I'm gonna pee,” she shrieks, embarrassed at the admission but her body too drunk on euphoria to properly do anything about it. Lily continues hooking her fingers inside her and sucking on Jane’s sweet clit until Jane is a shaking, quivering mess. A gush of liquid squirts out, coating Lily’s face and fingers, the sound so wet and obscene and sexy.
“I-I’m s-sorry, L-Lily! I c-couldn't help-p it!” Jane’s clit twitches in light of her release, but Lily is relentlessly fucking and licking her through her orgasm, Lily loudly moaning, sending vibrations through Jane's soaking cunt.
“Fuck! Bunny, you taste so good - youareperfectfucksotastyfuck!”
Jane finally pushes Lily off her pussy, her clit vibrating and abused, before she could go into fucking cardiac arrest from overstimulation.
Jane feels so light. Like the weight of a thousand suns has been lifted off her shoulders. Lily has rolled over beside her, chest heaving, slick coating her face and hands. She looks undone: her curls are a mess, sweat lines her hairline, her cheeks flushed and her lips swollen. Jane needs more.
She drags Lily up to the head of the bed, kissing her swollen lips, tasting her own release on Lily’s tongue, pressing her down into the pillows so Jane is on top of the Russian.
“You are unbelievable, Rozanova”
Lily grins, lazy and drunk on desire, “Just for you, my bunny.”
Jane begins her descent down Lily’s body. She kisses the hammering pulse on Lily’s neck, biting and licking down her body, fondling her tits and sucking her nipples, licking the muscles of her abdomen until she reaches the treasure of her conquest in between the Russian's strong thighs.
Instead of yielding to the current of her carnal desire, Jane chooses to be a little mean to her Lily. She had spent months believing her crush was one-sided, being tortured by the woes of unrequited love, her heart aching nightly. It was only fair to torture the Russian back. Jane used her hands to rub gentle, feather-light circles on Lily’s thighs, teasing her crease but never touching too much. She places gentle kisses on the sweet spot on Lily’s thighs and bites and sucks the parts that make her moan and writhe underneath Jane.
“You are killing me, bunny.”
“Am I?” Jane jokes, having too much fun with this
She blows a gentle breath onto Lily's swollen and neglected clit, making it twitch under the scrutiny. Lily was leaking into the bedsheet, her pussy shining with slick, her moans filling the apartment. Jane completely undid Lily, she was babbling under her in a cacophony of Russian and English - it was beautiful. Jane felt her clit twitch and her cunt leak in response.
“Please. My Jane—Please,” Lily pants, her head thrown back. “Please, bunny, I need—I need it. Need you. You’re mouth— боже мой, пожалуйста!” (Oh my God, please!)
Jane is helpless but to obey, her pussy throbbing at the begging that tumbles from the Russian’s wet lips. She ducks her head and sucks at Lily’s puffy pink pussy lips, her thumb flying over her swollen clit. Her spit and Lily’s own slick fill her mouth, and it tastes so fucking good, Jane is instantly addicted to the feeling of Lily clenching around her tongue, her hands tangled in her hair, guiding her wherever she needs. She wants, no, needs, to feel the grip of Lily’s body and hear the sound of her whimpers every day for as long as she lives. She’ll never get enough of this, of being good for Lily, of being Lily’s—her bunny.
“Uhn— mmmfuck. Jane. I— your mouth is so good. Mmm please, пожалуйста. It's so good, I love— love it. Love you. God, please, right there— Да! Yes! N-need it. Nngh!” Lily was completely lost in pleasure, undone by Jane’s skilled mouth.
Jane slurped, licked, and sucked like she was made for it, made for having a sopping wet cunt dripping into her mouth. Her attack on Lily’s swollen pink pussy was relentless, but the sounds Lily made were fueling her fire. She could feel Lily’s pussy heat up and warm, her clit throbbing under the pressure of her tongue. Lily was so close to the end, but English had escaped her, leaving her to babble breathless strings of Russian. Jane kept fucking her with her tongue, sliding a slick finger into Lily's entrance to beckon Lily’s orgasms. With a crook of a finger, Lily’s legs slammed closed around Jane’s head as she moaned and writhed. Jane fought against Lily’s legs and kept going until Lily screamed out in pleasure, her clit twitching her mouth. In the aftermath, the silence hugs them comfortably, both women breathing heavily, the smell of sex profound in the room. It was perfectly intoxicating.
“Did you come?” Jane asks, breaking the silence.
“What do you think?”
Jane only smirks before diving in between Lily’s legs again, circling her swollen clit.
Lily hisses, “Fuuuuck… you are going to ruin me.”
Jane doesn't tell her that's the whole point. She doesn't tell her that she wants Lily to be hers and only hers. She just keeps licking and fucking until Lily is coming again in her mouth.
🏒
After changing the sheets, showering together, and brushing their teeth, they slip back into Jane’s fresh bed, as though they already know exactly where they belong.
“That was amazing,” Lily says, breaking the comfortable silence.
“Hmmm,” Jane mumbles half asleep and satiated.
They lay beneath the tangled sheets, naked, with Lily resting beside Jane, an arm draped across her waist. Their foreheads touched, and every so often one of them would shift closer, as though the other might somehow disappear if they stopped making contact. Jane could still feel the warmth of Lily's mouth against hers, the pulse of her cunt and the taste of Lily’s slick on her tongue. Tangible proof that it really happened.
Her fingers remained loosely tangled in Lily's curls, and when she moved them, Lily made a soft, contented sound and tucked herself closer. It was almost absurd. After months of longing, overthinking, and painstakingly misinterpreting every possible sign, they had finally done it. They had kissed again and again, came with each other's names in their mouths, and now they lay in bed together as though this had always been where they were supposed to end up.
After some more cuddles and whispered endearments in the dark, Lily broke the silence again. “You really love me?”
The question woke Jane up from her sleepy daze. “Lily, I screamed it at you.”
“I know. But still.” The vulnerability in Lily’s voice was back, and Jane couldn't have that. She reached up, grabbed Lily’s face, and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.
“Yes. I really love you.”, she told her with absolute confidence.
Lily's expression softened, and she brushed her thumb across Jane's cheek. “I love you too.” Lily sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “You know, I honestly thought you didn't like me back.”
Jane lifted her head. “Really?”
“I mean, I knew you liked me. Obviously.” Lily paused. “But I didn't think you liked me like that.”
Jane stared at her. She thought she was being painfully obvious – she couldn't even hold prolonged eye contact with the woman or her mouth would go dry, and her cheeks would burn for God's sake!
“I didn't know you liked me! I didn't want to assume anything!”
“I thought I was being obvious, and you knew I was flirting with you. That maybe you just didn't want to pursue anything more than friendship!” Lily stated matter-of-factly.
“I thought you were being friendly! And you always joke and flirt with everyone, so how was I supposed to know?”
“I took you on a date.”
“You took me to play hockey.”
“I took you to eat sushi. Just the two of us.”
“Because I said I wanted to try the restaurant!”
“And I bought you a bunny keychain because it looked like you.”
“Because we're friends!”
Lily dropped her head back against the pillow. “Jesus Christ.”
They both giggled in the dark, limbs tangled together, two hearts beating as one.
🏒
When Jane opened her eyes, she was met with bright sunlight, which was unusual. She was an early riser by nature, someone whose body seemed determined to wake her before dawn, no matter how late she'd gone to bed. Yet Jane remained asleep long after the sky had brightened. Maybe it was the exhaustion that had settled deep in her bones this last week. Or maybe, after months of sleeping with a restless heart and a mind that never stopped searching for signs of rejection, she had finally found a place to rest. Lily, meanwhile, could sleep through alarms, thunderstorms, and occasionally entire mornings if nobody intervened.
Jane stretched, then turned to face Lily, who… wasn't there? Jane's stomach dropped for one brief, irrational second; she reached across the mattress, desperate to find a sign that last night wasn't a figment of her imagination, and felt the warmth Lily left behind in the sheets. The pillow still carried the faint scent of her shampoo, and the mattress remained gently indented where she had been lying. A smile spread across her face before she could stop it. Last night had been real, and it had been perfect!
From somewhere beyond the bedroom, she heard the unmistakable sounds of someone moving around the kitchen, followed by a pan clattering. Jane pulled on one of Lily's discarded shirts and a fresh pair of panties, and followed the noise. At the stove, in loose shorts and a fitted tank top, stood Lily, her curls gathered messily at the back of her head. Morning light spilled across her shoulders, and she looked unfairly beautiful for someone apparently preparing breakfast before nine. Lily glanced over her shoulder at the sound of Jane’s footsteps approaching. “Morning, girlfriend.”
Jane's brain briefly stopped functioning, her stomach did a flip, and her heart skipped a beat. “Morning… girlfriend,” she finished shyly, a blush on the apples of her cheeks.
Lily's smile widened. “You slept late, bunny.”
“You could have woken me.”
“You looked peaceful.”
The simple answer caught Jane off guard. Lily turned back to the stove, stirring eggs and bacon in a pan as Jane slipped her arms around Lily's waist from behind and rested her cheek between Lily's shoulder blades. For a moment, they remained like that, Jane inhaling Lily’s scent, surrounded by the warmth of the kitchen and the quiet rhythm of a morning that looked almost exactly like every other morning they'd shared. Almost.
“So,” Lily said. “Girlfriends?”
Jane nodded, a smile breaking out on her face. “Girlfriends.”
“Roommates and girlfriends.”
Jane laughed and hid her face against Lily's shoulder before Lily turned around, wrapped her arms around her, and kissed her sweetly. They eventually settled on the sofa with their breakfast and coffees, a morning show murmuring in the background while neither of them paid much attention. They sat closer than usual, their thighs pressed together, and every small touch felt newly significant. Jane reached over to brush a stray strand of hair from Lily’s face before it could fall into her food, and Lily’s eyes followed the movement with such tenderness that Jane forgot what she had been about to say.
For months, Jane had trained herself not to stare, not to reach, not to let her affection show too clearly. But now, she could look at Lily without pretending it meant nothing; she could touch her without immediately inventing an excuse, and Lily could lean into her hand without either of them having to hide what it meant.
The freedom of it settled through Jane slowly, warmly, almost painfully. She had spent so long believing that wanting Lily was something she had to keep contained, a secret she carried carefully so it wouldn't spill into their friendship. Yet here Lily sat beside her, close enough to touch, looking at her as though she felt the same impossible relief.
Jane's phone buzzed loudly on the table with a new text message.
Svetlana: FINALLY.
Jane blinked as another message appeared.
Svetlana: I am so happy you two stopped being idiots and finally got together.
Jane's mouth fell open as Lily leaned across the table to investigate. “What?”
Jane turned the phone toward her. Lily read the messages and groaned, dropping backwards in exaggerated dismay.
“I hate her.”
Another notification appeared.
Svetlana: Also Lily owes me twenty pounds.
Jane slowly turned toward her with a disapproving look. “You bet on us?”
“Ugh, I bet you did not like me.”
“That was not a safe bet.” Jane countered with a sly smile.
Lily lifted her head, grabbed the now-empty plates, and set them neatly on the side table before reaching across for Jane’s hand.
“Maybe. But am happy I lost.” Lily's thumb brushed over her knuckles, and her expression was so impossibly soft.
Jane squeezed Lily's hand, a silent ‘I love you’, with a tender smile on her lips. “I'm happy you lost too.”