Page 32

"You're joking," Lilith said, the words escaping in a breathy, awkward laugh that didn't carry the ease of disbelief but rather the brittle weight of trying to make light of something she didn't yet understand.

Her shoulders tensed subtly as she turned her attention back to the stove, the steam rising in soft, cloudy spirals around her face.

She picked up the wooden spoon and stirred the sauce into the pasta with a sudden, misplaced urgency—her movements quick, almost mechanical, as if distraction might dull the edges of what had just been said.

Valentina didn't answer right away.

She simply looked at her.

There was something impossibly still in the way she observed Lilith, head tilted slightly to one side, brows gently furrowed, as though watching a reaction that both puzzled and fascinated her.

"I'm not," she said finally, her voice flat—emptied of emotion, unoffended, unimpressed, unmoved.

Lilith didn't look up.

She reached instead for the bottle of wine Valentina had opened earlier, her hand wrapping elegantly around the dark glass.

There was something uncharacteristically careless in the way she lifted it to her lips, skipping the formality of a glass, taking a long, unapologetic sip from what little was left.

"You did it?" she asked. "Just like that?"

"Yes," Valentina replied.

Nothing more.

Just that single word—simple, clean, without apology or grandeur.

She wasn't angry.

Not exactly.

But there was a flicker of something sharp in the air, something that didn't feel like gratitude. And Valentina, who rarely expected praise and even more rarely required it, found herself quietly taken aback.

Was what she had done not something the blonde-haired girl would have wanted?

She had removed a problem.

A small act, efficient and final. A woman who had disrespected Lilith no longer worked under her roof. It hadn't felt like a choice, not really. It had felt like instinct.

She hadn't done it for thanks.

She hadn't done it for recognition.

But still—this?

This awkward laughter, this fast stirring, this sudden interest in wine and sauce and anything else that wasn't the space between them—it wasn't what she had expected.

And because of that, Valentina found she had nothing else to say.

The conversation unraveled quietly into silence.

Lilith, as she always did, folded the moment neatly into the drawer of her mind where difficult things went to be softened, ignored, or reimagined.

And Valentina, as she always did, let her.

?

Lilith loved horror films.

There was something almost sacred about the way she would sit in the dark, eyes fixed on every flicker and shadow that crept across the screen, drinking in each moment of suspense as if it were a ritual.

Watching those chilling stories unfold, silently rating each scare and plot twist, was the only kind of film she could truly focus on.

It was a strange comfort—inviting more horror into an already often unsettling life.

Lilith's apartment lacked a proper dining table; the small kitchen counter barely accommodated two.

So they ate the pasta on the couch—Lilith cross-legged, plate on her knees; Valentina carefully balancing hers in her hands, setting it down on the coffee table between bites.

After they finished—surprised by how rich and flavorful it had turned out—they stayed there, lingering in the quiet comfort.

They watched the movie together, the flickering screen casting pale light over their faces, shifting in color and intensity.

Lilith made it her mission to scare Valentina every time something frightening happened on the screen—letting out sharp little gasps, grabbing at her arm, hoping to startle her.

But Valentina remained unfazed, her expression steady, composed, almost amused.

And every time Lilith failed, she pouted—frustrated, but determined to keep trying.

When the credits finally rolled, however, Valentina looked tired—more than physically drained.

There was a softness to her now, a subtle ease that made her seem more homey, more present, more human.

After a long day of work, Valentina had spent her evening on simple tasks—grocery shopping, cooking.

Tasks she would have refused if they bothered her, because she never concealed what she didn't want to do.

Lilith knew this well.

"That ending was terrible," Valentina said, breaking the silence with a light smile.

Lilith cringed dramatically in response, the disappointment on her face undeniable.

The girl in the movie returned to the haunted house solely to argue and break up with a terrible boyfriend, only for the ghost to kill them both abruptly—an ending so careless it felt almost insulting.

"Thank God I've never been involved in something like that," Lilith whined, sinking deeper into the cushions.

She didn't notice the subtle raise of Valentina's eyebrow.

Perhaps that was why Lilith had seemed so panicked about the kiss—why she struggled so much to explain herself or even try.

Valentina told herself she was being impatient.

But maybe the explanation had been laid out plainly in front of her all along.

"Explains the commentary," Valentina said softly.

Lilith turned towards her, a jokingly offended "Hey" on her lips.

Her gaze met Valentina's, and in that moment, Lilith finally noticed the exhaustion etched quietly around the edges of the woman's face.

"Are you sleepy?" Lilith asked softly, her voice barely more than a whisper against the quiet hum of the apartment.

But before Valentina could answer, Lilith was already rising from the couch, moving with an easy, practiced grace towards the light switch.

With a quick flick, the room brightened, warm pools of amber spilling into corners that had been softened by shadow.

"Alright—skincare time," she said, her tone casual but edged with a subtle command, like a ritual she was both eager and relieved to perform.

Valentina rose calmly, gathering the two empty plates from the coffee table, intending to carry them to the dishwasher and slip seamlessly back into quiet routine, while Lilith moved restlessly through the living room, her eyes scanning absentmindedly over the scattered clutter of books, candles, and half-finished cups of tea.

Then her gaze snagged on something out of place—a delicate piece of lace lying crumpled on the floor.

Her bra.

Forgotten in the casual chaos of the evening, it was sprawled near the edge of the couch, the fragile bow slightly twisted.

She hadn't noticed it before.

Only now was she really seeing the mess—distracted earlier by the weight of what Valentina had told her.

A flush of embarrassment heated her cheeks, and with a sudden, almost frantic motion, she bent down, snatched it up, and flung it across the room towards the open door of the bathroom.

At least it was a pretty one, she told herself.

Valentina remained standing—but Lilith didn't stop moving. She gathered the rest of the mess in quick, purposeful gestures.

Valentina waited.

Her eyes stayed fixed on her, wide and unblinking—watching with barely-contained laughter as the blonde-haired girl looked truly possessed, like she'd been taken over by the ghost they'd just seen on screen.

Lilith gave her an innocent tilt of her head, then let her gaze flick away, searching the room until it landed on a small black lighter resting near the rug—adorned with a few tiny crystal diamonds, the kind you could glue on yourself.

With a quiet sigh, she muttered, "Olivia must've left this," and without hesitation, picked it up and tossed it onto the coffee table.

"Olivia?" Valentina murmured, her voice tinged with curiosity, as if the name itself carried secrets she hadn't yet uncovered.

The unspoken invitation hung in the air—Valentina could now move freely, roam the apartment as she pleased, while Lilith tidied the remnants of unnoticed clutter.

"My friend," Lilith said softly. "Not like Gabrielle though—Gabi's number one."

She drifted towards her bedroom, fingers brushing against little bottles of her skincare lined up like small sentinels on the vanity.

"We hang out sometimes," she called out, continuing. "She smokes even more than I do. You'd hate her."

They returned to the couch in silence, their bodies moving in quiet sync as though this part of the night required no language, only the familiarity of shared breath and soft cushions.

Lilith came back with a cotton pad in one hand and a half-used bottle of micellar water in the other, her steps light across the wooden floor. She didn't explain her intent—there was no need. With gentle confidence, she turned towards Valentina and waited.

Valentina didn't hesitate. She sank back into the couch, her posture loose with exhaustion, her hands resting in her lap as though she had surrendered herself, for now, to whatever Lilith had planned.

The first touch was careful, the cotton pad gliding across Valentina's skin in slow, deliberate strokes.

Lilith moved with precision, her fingertips brushing over high cheekbones, the curve of a temple, the faint outline of mascara smudged beneath one closed eye. It wasn't rushed or mechanical—it felt like care sculpted into a gesture, quiet and reverent.

With her eyes closed, Valentina didn't see the way Lilith looked at her.

Didn't see how intently she studied each feature as the makeup faded away—the way her skin appeared softer in the warm glow of the lamp, the natural shadows of her face giving shape to something both striking and gentle.

Without the usual polish, Valentina looked not diminished, but sharpened.

Her beauty became something else entirely—more pronounced, more human. As if her face, stripped of artifice, revealed something truer than it ever had before.

Lilith didn't try to hide her fascination. She didn't have to, not while Valentina's eyes remained closed.

And then, without warning but with unmistakable fondness, she reached out and tapped the tip of Valentina's nose.

She had done it once before and ever since, she'd carried an unspoken fondness for it.

This time, the touch made Valentina shift ever so slightly. She exhaled, and in a voice rough with fatigue, asked, "Is it always this cold here?"

The question wasn't accusatory, only curious, but the words floated into the air like soft condensation, visible for just a second in the chill.

Lilith blinked and followed her gaze towards the open window, where the night pressed against the glass in icy silence.

Her apartment was cold.

Valentina wasn't someone who typically minded the cold—her body moved through winter like it had been carved from it—but tonight, even she noticed.

The air was sharp, biting at her hands and face, leaving a faint flush blooming beneath her skin. She felt her breath in her chest, heavier than usual, touched with the kind of cold that settled in slowly.

Lilith, on the other hand, seemed completely unaffected. She wore only a soft sweater, her legs tucked beneath her, calm as ever, untouched by the draft that drifted in from the window like a ghost.

Valentina watched her, quietly impressed.

?

"Is Olivia Langford... studying?"

Lilith's voice rose with theatrical disbelief as she stepped through the doorway, letting her bag slide from her shoulder to the floor with a soft thud.

Her eyes landed on the black-haired girl sprawled unapologetically across the expensive-looking couch, one leg hanging off the edge, a few loosely gripped papers resting in her tattooed hands.

The ink on Olivia's skin looked fresh—stark black lines winding across pale knuckles and the soft stretch of her forearms. Lilith could still see the faint redness surrounding them, the way the new tattoos caught the light like art that hadn't yet settled into the body.

Her hair, too, was freshly dyed—now actually black, not just the deep brunette it had been before.

"Can I take a picture?" Lilith asked, smirking as she took a step closer. Her tone was teasing, but her gaze lingered long enough to make it clear she was genuinely surprised.

At the sound of her voice, Olivia lifted her head slowly, deliberately. With a dramatic flick of her fingers, she pushed her thick, inky hair out of her face, then adjusted the neckline of her tank top just enough to lift her breasts a little higher, striking a mock-provocative pose.

"Go ahead," she purred, lips curling around the words like smoke.

Lilith only rolled her eyes. Before she could sit, she turned at the sound of footsteps and found herself wrapped in Daniel's arms as he emerged from the hallway, freshly showered and still damp at the temples.

"I thought you died," he said, grinning as he pulled her into a warm, familiar hug.

"Not yet," Lilith pouted, just as he reached down to tickle her side, making her yelp with laughter and push him away.

His sleeves were pushed up, and as he moved, Lilith caught a glimpse of fresh ink on his bicep—another new addition, clearly done alongside Olivia's. There was something oddly grounding in the fact that they still did things like this together, like time hadn't touched their chaos.

"Where's Gabi?" Daniel asked as he ran his hand through his short, wet hair, the strands curling slightly from the steam of a recent shower. He looked clean and tired in the way people do after long, full days.

"She couldn't come," Lilith replied, her voice dipping slightly in disappointment as she finally sat beside Olivia, their shoulders brushing.

Olivia gave a dramatic sigh and her lips twisted into a smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes, though her tone was rich with sarcasm.

"How sad," she murmured. "Not my beloved Gabrielle."

Lilith gave her a soft smack for that, nearly knocking the blunt Olivia was holding from her hand.

She inhaled slowly, her long black nails steady around the blunt, then offered it to Lilith without a word.

The blonde haired girl shook her head gently.

"Why so boring, baby?" Olivia murmured, voice low and teasing, her breath fragrant with smoke and lavender oil.

"It's Monday."

Olivia didn't argue. She only inhaled again, then nodded once, her eyes half-lidded.

"Come this weekend."

The words weren't a suggestion. They weren't even really an invitation. They were a summons—softly spoken, already accepted before Lilith could think to refuse.

And though she looked every bit the picture of restraint now, her legs crossed neatly, her posture perfect, her hands folded in her lap like someone who knew her limits—

She wouldn't say no to a weekend.

But maybe, this time, she should have.