In Good Time {1/3}
Thank you as always to the lovely @scribbledquillz for letting me borrow her Warden Revka for @ockissweek. She and Wen are such utter disasters together that I couldn't help but go a bit overboard. (I have broken this into three smaller parts to post while I get comfortable with the editing on the other pieces for this week.)
(Part 2 | Part 3)
(Female Warden/Female Warden | 2,101 Words | No warnings)
"For a chance to make your little much, To gain a lover and lose a friend, Venture the tree and a myriad such, When nothing you mar but the year can mend: But a last leaf---fear to touch!" --Robert Browning, "By the Fire-Side"
Somewhere in the alienage, a bell rang.
It was not the bell of a clocktower, nor the bell of some stalwart city watch. The alienage was afforded neither luxury. It might have been someone’s musical instrument, or perhaps the little bell over the general store in the central courtyard. From this distance, echoing through the fall fog and the alleyways in between, it was difficult to tell much about it.
Arianwen, who’d already been lying awake, held her breath until she was sure nobody had roused from their sleep at the sound. Around her, her cousins and father went on sleeping, snores rising above the faint ringing.
Good. Now must be the time.
She slipped from her bed, careful to avoid putting too much weight on the floorboard that creaked the loudest. She slipped her feet into her worn shoes, took her threadbare cloak from the hook beside the door, and slipped soundlessly into the mists of night.
Somewhere behind her, the bell chimed. Wen found her feet matching its cadence without intending to as she dodged the puddles waiting in the center of the road. It was never a long walk to her dearest friend’s house, but it seemed longer in the mist with the lonely ringing behind her. She passed the burnt-out wreck of a house, a lean-to with a lamp burning inside, and one of the little nests she’d assembled for the stray cats in the neighborhood. She paused there a moment, fishing a cloth from her pocket and shaking her dinner scraps out before the little den. The street seemed less lonely when the tabby crept from within and butted her head against Wen’s fingers.
“Shh,” Wen told her, trailing her fingertips over the cat’s back. The cat made a soft noise, twining around Arianwen’s ankles before taking her spoils and darting back into her little den.
Wen waited a moment, listening, and heard the soft sounds of satisfaction from within. There’d been a night much like this, years ago now, when the fog had clung to the banks of the Drakon and she’d slipped through alleyways with her best friend in hand. This very cat had been a newborn kitten then, her little eyes unopened. Wen had fed her mother all through the pregnancy, had watched the kittens be born herself, and she’d been so punch-drunk with happiness that it had seemed the most obvious possible thing to track down Revka and show her, too.
The tabby was, incidentally, also named Revka. Only her favorite people ever got to share their names with the animals she cared for.
Wen deposited other scraps as she went, leaving trimmings of fat on this wall or along that gutter. She could hear the stray dogs and cats making their way from the shadows, and the occasional skitter in the refuse of the street that told her the rats had found it, too. Fine enough. Her other creatures could hunt the rats if they were quick enough—and if they were not, she made this trip every night. She would leave more for them later.
The fire was still lit inside Revka’s house. Wen sighed in relief (she always felt bad climbing through the window, even if nobody here minded) and rapped her knuckles against the door.
“C’min,” a drowsy voice murmured beyond. Wen turned the knob and slipped through the open door into the golden-lit room beyond.
Rev was slumped over the table, her mending strewn over the surface before her. There were creases on her cheek that suggested she’d recently fallen asleep on the uppermost piece, and she blinked owlishly at Wen when she shut the door behind her.
“You should be asleep,” Wen whispered. She slid the latch home and paused to Revka’s left. Rev fought a yawn, pressing her hand to her mouth, and fussed with the things on the table for a moment.
“Would be, if you’d been earlier,” Revka said, but there was no accusation in her voice. Wen shrugged and offered a hand, which Revka took readily to stand. There were calluses and welts across her fingers, a sign that she’d been long at her mending and the sewing needle had taken its toll. Her fingers were stiff, too, and Wen ran her thumbs over the swell at the base of Rev’s thumb until her joints loosened slightly.
“Shianni couldn’t sleep.”
“Course not,” Rev said absently, her eyes on their hands. Wen dropped the first and took the second, pressing into the palm until Revka sighed and her shoulders relaxed.
“Come on,” Wen said, slipping out of her shoes and shrugging her coat loose. “You never lie down unless I make you.”
“’S not true,” Revka yawned, but obligingly unbuttoned her stiff vest and set it aside.
The two of them fit neatly on Revka’s bed as long as they were both lying on their sides. This was fortunate, because they’d been sleeping precisely like that for a very long time—before Revka had lost her parents, even. Wen slept with her back to the wall because she was never at ease with her back to an open room. Revka, for her part, slept huddled against Wen’s chest. The blanket wasn’t really enough to warm both of them otherwise, as they’d found out many winters ago. Rev had patched it with scraps from the tailor’s shop she worked for, so it was far thicker than it had once been. Even so, they had their routines—both liked their routines very much, in fact, and this was one of the most important.
“Your day?” Wen asked when they were both amply covered by the blanket.
“Fine,” Rev said, but the corner of her mouth turned down.
“Hmm,” Wen said.
“Was awful.”
“Thought so.”
“Bastards all day,” Rev said, tucking her face into the crook of Arianwen’s neck. “Didn’t get a thing finished.”
“Mm,” Wen said, smoothing a hand over her friend’s hair. Revka sighed, and it was a weary thing.
“Couldn’t leave at the end,” Revka went on, her breath heating Wen’s throat, “were people against the door—nevermind.”
“What?” Wen asked, pulling back slightly. Revka wrinkled her nose. There were dark circles under her eyes. No matter how early she crept through the streets to Rev’s door, the circles never seemed to get any lighter.
“Kissing,” Rev said, and her voice was odd around the word. Hesitant—no. Something else. Something strange. “Had to leave through the back.”
“Oh,” Wen frowned. “I don’t know why people do that.”
“Block the door?”
“Kiss.”
“You…?”
Even in the shadows, Wen could see the faint flush against her friend’s cheeks. She shrugged, then pulled the blanket back over her exposed shoulder.
“You know I haven’t. I would have told you,” she paused, considering, and went on: “It doesn’t look as interesting as people make it seem.”
“You’re not—” Revka swallowed audibly and shifted on the bed against Wen. Their knees knocked against each other. “Not curious?”
Arianwen considered this seriously. She was curious about very little, actually, and kissing was one of those odd marks of growing up that had seemed irrelevant to her. That sort of landmark only seemed to apply to other people, just like having lots of friends and feeling comfortable in conversations. Rev was more knowledgeable about this sort of thing. She always seemed to know more about which of these questionable necessities Wen actually ought to care about.
“Should I be?” she asked.
Revka squirmed under the blanket. Her cold feet brushed against Wen’s calf.
“Dunno,” Revka said, but she was dodging Wen’s eyes. Arianwen frowned.
“Who would kiss me?” she asked, because this was clearly some important thing she’d been missing. All the years she’d been alive and it hadn’t come up until now; perhaps this was some threshold she’d been meant to cross before tonight. How odd that nobody’d told her so.
Revka made a strangled noise.
“What?”
Rev didn’t answer.
“Rev. What?”
“I’d,” Rev cleared her throat. “I’d do it.”
“Oh,” Wen said, sinking further into the blankets. “Why?”
“Well. If you’re curious.”
Was she curious? She couldn’t tell. But Revka was the sort of person who always knew what to do, and even when she didn’t she usually had an idea of what ought to happen. If she thought Arianwen needed to be kissed, it was probably for a very good reason. She’d never steered Wen wrong before.
“Alright,” Wen said. She propped herself up on her elbow, thick braid slipping from the pillow to rest against her arm.
“I—really?”
“Why not?”
Revka’s eyes were dark and warm in the firelight. Wen watched them, looking for some second meaning. This seemed like one of those conversations that was happening twice, and she only understood one half of it. A pity; Rev was usually one of the few who told her precisely what she meant.
“’f you’re sure,” Rev said, licking her bottom lip and shifting on the thin mattress.
Wen shrugged and leaned forward, pressing her mouth to Revka’s. The air had cooled her lips, especially the lower one, but they warmed against Arianwen’s. Rev made a small sound—surprised—and moved her lips in turn. It was slow at first, then slightly faster. She could feel the ridge of Revka’s teeth beneath her skin, and the small but noticeable scar where her lip had once been split defending Wen in an alleyway.
Her lungs ached. Wen leaned back, taking a sharp breath, and lay back against the pillow again.
When she felt steadier, Arianwen blinked at Revka. Revka pressed her hands over her cheeks, then rested one palm over her eyes. Wen eyed her hands for a moment, resolving to steal some hand cream from somewhere. The colder it got, the harder the weather was on poor Rev’s hands. Someone ought to do something about it.
“Well?” Rev asked after several silent moments.
A bell chimed somewhere in the alienage, the rhythm uneven and halting.
“Guess it’s nice,” Wen said. “Don’t understand why people are always doing it, though.”
Rev squeaked and rolled over, burrowing under the covers. It was awfully chilly in here, Wen supposed. She found Revka’s hip under the blanket and pulled her closer, looping an arm over her stomach.
“Thank you,” she added belatedly, and Revka made another indistinct noise.
The bell went on ringing somewhere in the distance. Wen pulled the blanket up and over her pointed ear, wishing that everyone else in the world would just go away. Hesitantly, pausing halfway through, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to Revka’s hair. She didn’t know why. Seemed like the thing to do, maybe.
“Go to sleep, Rev,” she said, already comfortable enough to feel the pull of slumber. She never slept better than she did tucked into Revka’s cramped bed. She might even go so far as to say that this was her favorite place to be in all the world—the fire flickering past the kitchen table, Revka’s brother breathing softly in the other room, and Rev herself held tightly in Wen’s arms.
Maybe she’d try to find something else for Revka, Wen thought, yawning slightly and nestling into Rev’s shoulder. A thicker blanket, maybe. Rev was shivering against her, so she must still be cold, and true winter would come very soon.
Yes, she decided. A thicker blanket would be just the thing.
Long after Wen fell asleep at last, Revka lay awake. The pillow was damp under her cheek and her hand was pressed hard against her traitorous mouth. It wasn’t even worth wondering what she could possibly have been thinking. She hadn’t been thinking. Obviously.
What a fool she was—let me show you what a kiss feels like—an utter fool. How close she’d come to giving it all away. If she ever did—if she ever let on how crucial Wen’s company was to her—she would surely lose this closeness forever. Ruin it, and for what? Because she couldn’t help but wonder what Wen’s touch would feel like against something other than her palms?
Because kissing her had felt like liquid fire running under her skin? Because she had, for a moment, thought that Wen might feel the same?
Ridiculous—stupid, to think that the hope of something beyond their friendship could ever be worth more than what she already had.
When they woke in the morning, when Arianwen asked why she looked so tired, Revka told her only that some fool with a bell had kept her awake all night.
What else could she possibly say? The truth was beyond consideration. She would just—hold it inside forever, and Wen would never, ever have to know.
