@girlseething — nonsexual acts of intimacy: cuddling in a blanket fort
she’s never experienced this before.
when she dives under blankets, it’s always to hide, to make herself as small as possible, praying she’s invisible just enough to avoid danger. when she clutches to a pillow, it is not as soft nor full as this; it is always thin, more folded sheets than actual pillow, and hard as a rock. she is unfamiliar with soft; she is a stranger to joy. she doesn’t understand why set up shelter when you’re already within your housing area.
the canopy is makeshift: bedsheets straightened over wooden chairs to make a cave. the dim glow of candles in their glass containers give a near-ethereal glow. she ignores the holes in the sheet and the wobbling of old furniture. instead kanao shifts just enough to smooth the wrinkled blankets beneath her, and in her hand, she holds onto a smaller pillow.
dorothea is before her, legs folded underneath her thighs, animatedly telling the next story of her opera career. it must be a funny one from the way her eyes light up, but kanao doesn’t follow the story well. she’s too preoccupied by the makeshift shelter surrounding them.
the brunette gives her a glance when she doesn’t hear a word from kanao.
as if pressured by the gaze, kanao asks what blanket forts are for.
for fun, dorothea says smoothly as if the answer is obvious.
maybe dorothea can see the confusion lurking past kanao’s blank stare. but she doesn't press it. instead, she lies on the covered floor with a serene smile, tresses splayed around her like wings. she gently pats the space next to her. kanao hesitates for a second; after a second, she shifts her position to lie down next to her.
the arm that envelops kanao is --- warm. not suffocating, not painful, just comforting. it’s a foreign enough feeling that kanao squirms a bit, and dorothea raises her arm just a fraction, as if expecting kanao to worm her way out of the grasp. instead, she merely leans her forehead onto dorothea’s collarbone, held ever so gently by her warmth.
she doesn’t hug her back. she does not relax her stiff shoulders. but her eyes go half-lidded as she indulges - only a fraction - in dorothea’s familial embrace.
just for a moment.