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Ava wakes slowly.
It’s the gentle warmth on her face that gives away the morning. She blinks her eyes open groggily and almost immediately shuts them with a groan – sunbeams assault her helpless retinas as their cheeriness peek out from between the curtains, half-closed from the night before.
She turns away from the light but it’s fruitless. A lost cause and Ava knows it already, but even so, she stubbornly keeps her eyes closed out of spite; if she ignores it, maybe she’ll return to slumber. She turns her head into the pillow and snuggles deeper under the covers to shield herself from the brightness, away from the gentle caress of the day.
Her body aches at the small movement and Ava flushes as she remembers why, exactly, the curtains were neglected to be fully closed the night before.
Deep, even breaths from behind her bring her back to the present. Slow and steady exhales against the nape of her neck – comforting and familiar in their cadence. Ava doesn’t have to turn and look to know the sight that would greet her: relaxed brows, eyes closed and moving restlessly, still in the midst of a dream. Cheek squished against the pillow and mouth slightly open as a thin trail of drool dampens the pillowcase.
Ava doesn’t have to see it to confirm but she does so anyway. Her muscles are tight and they ache in protest as she turns around, but she perks up when she hears a sleepy grumble and feels the arms around her waist tighten in accompaniment.
It’s been years so Ava’s no longer surprised by the accuracy of the image that greets her, but her heart still skips a beat all the same. She maps out a path as her gaze traces the contour of Beatrice’s face – lingers upon the curvature of her cheek, on the gentle slope of her nose, the soft plush of her lips. A well-thumbed photograph; faded in places where hungry fingers had traced over the subject’s details in a path privy only to its sole owner.
A few more wiggles to get comfortable before Ava lets out a quiet sigh. A soft breath escapes Beatrice then and Ava feels herself being pulled closer, feels Beatrice’s hand travel up her back to rest between her shoulder blades, thumb idly brushing against the concentric scar of the Halo. (Beatrice, ever so protective even in her unconscious state; something learned, something became instinct. Is it too early in the day for swooning? Ava’s just woken up, but – no. Any time of day is the right time to swoon over Beatrice.)
The warmth from Beatrice’s palm seeps through Ava’s skin and blooms over her back like watercolour on paper, and it feels so nice that Ava can’t help but press back a little bit, can’t quite contain the contented hum that radiates from her chest. As if in agreement, the Halo gives a quiet whir behind her.
Alas, her mind and body are well awake. Ava still wants to revel in the warmth and coziness of being in bed with Beatrice, but she can multitask. She goes through a mental checklist of things to accomplish today, set out in categories: purchase aromatics for tonight’s dinner (need). Visit the nearby dog park for the particular brand of serotonin that only fluffy canines can deliver (want). Take Beatrice out for a hike and a swim in the lake (a bit of both). The cogs in Ava’s mind turn furiously as they work, rearranging and correcting the timescale of each event to fit into the day’s agenda that she’s piecing together.
As if Beatrice can sense the growing impatience brewing between her arms, she breathes deep once through her nose, the tail end of her exhale gently transforming into a yawn. Torn from her reverie, Ava keeps her gaze on Beatrice as her back arches slowly and her legs lengthen in a stretch. The arms around Ava tenses in place as the muscles contract briefly before relaxing once more, the point of contact between her hand and Ava’s spine intact all the while. Connection unbroken; conduction of heat uninterrupted.
Comfortable once more, Beatrice settles back into position and cuddles closer to her, fingers flexing and splaying across Ava’s back. Burrows her face into the pillow beneath her and cracks an eye open to look at Ava, the other half of her face fully smushed into the pillow, and Ava feels her heart beat particularly hard at the visual; an acute tha-thump on the off-beat, and she knows that she’s helpless to reign in her affection.
Ava feels the warmth of the sun channel through her, her body a conduit, and it cascades between her words when she greets Beatrice with a smile. “Zou san.”
The two simple words tumble out gracelessly despite how much she’s been practicing, still feeling foreign in her mouth as her tongue refuses to position accurately in place.
Ava had been learning the language on the sly. Under the guise of many solo grocery trips in the morning, she would visit the little Chinese bakery on her way home to buy a box of almond cookies for Beatrice. (Although no longer a staunch denier of simpler pleasures, Beatrice still rarely admits when she wants something. She’d never ask. So, of course, the duty and pleasure rests on Ava.)
Over the course of a few weeks, the owner of the shop had noticed Ava’s favour for the treat. Ava had chuckled softly as she let slip that the cookies were really for her wife, that Beatrice was still fond of this particular treat from her childhood.
They had built up a rapport after that. Ava’s first attempt to return the shopkeeper’s greeting had them both in stitches, and he had taught her the right way to say it once their giggles had subsided. Since then, she had become an informal pupil of his, with him correcting her pronunciation patiently as she practiced simple greetings and expressions.
And it’s different from the romance languages that Ava’s most familiar with; a challenge, although not a hurdle. This new language is clipped and cacophonous but elegant, too, depending on how the words are rounded out by the wide variety of tones. So she’d let the words tumble around in her mouth and note how the consonants would feel as they travelled from the back of her throat. How some syllables would resonate in the cavern of her mouth, how sibilance is emphasized by a quick release of breath through teeth and tongue.
She’ll return to her linguistics musings later though, because in the present, Beatrice is staring at her blankly, and Ava is starting to panic.
She’d even conducted extra research. Had accessed the modern tomes of knowledge (thank you, Wikipedia articles), but still – did she get the pronunciation wrong? Ava can feel sweat start to accumulate at her temples. Maybe the phonetics were correct but the inflection was off and she ended up swearing at Beatrice, or worse, still – saying absolute gibberish at her face.
Ava’s about to apologize and take her words back, but –
Beatrice smiles.
She blinks slowly, mouth twitching at one corner, and the gesture reminds Ava of the stray tabby around their neighbourhood that would greet her the very same way; a little bit shy, a little bit curious. Beatrice bites the corner of her lip in a poor attempt to keep her mouth in a neutral line as pink comes to the surface of her cheeks, but her feelings are transparent: amused, pleased, and dare Ava suggest – smitten.
It’s only when the pieces of the puzzle have finally been matched and laid in place does Ava register Beatrice’s slow lean into her space to greet her with a kiss. Ava’s fears melt into nothing and she accepts the gift offered to her, bad breath be damned, as Beatrice murmurs against her mouth, “Zou san, Ava.”
Ava shivers at the hoarseness in Beatrice’s voice and she’s suddenly reminded of why the words scrape their way out of Beatrice’s throat so rough and gravelly. But it’s the best reaction she could have hoped for, and Ava grins into the kiss. Beatrice mirrors the same against her lips, both their mouths curving up so much that it becomes less of a kiss and more just a press of lips against lips, until it becomes merely an impression, and it’s perfect.
It’s perfect, and they continue trading chaste kisses as Beatrice shifts so that she’s half on top of Ava. A touch of tongue to the seam of Ava’s mouth and she acquiesces, inviting Beatrice in, and their tongues move in languid swipes against each other. Beatrice eventually moves to place open-mouthed kisses along Ava’s jaw, blazing a searing trail from chin to ear before sucking on an earlobe, and Ava’s breath leaves her all at once in a gasp. Her hands find purchase in the dips of Beatrice’s hips, nails digging in when she feels the press of a smirk against her neck like a warning, like a promise.
Good morning, indeed. The day can wait – maybe she’ll stay in bed for a little longer.