Archive of Our Own

Unbound Restraints

When Suletta is six years old, in a fit of rage and loneliness, she takes a pair of clippers to her hair for the first time.

Suletta’s six and her mother is out on a business trip, leaving Tamark, the usual babysitter, as the only person around to look after Suletta while she’s gone. Tamark’s a younger man, one of the few under forty years of age here on Mercury, but he’s also one of the people who believes that this planet would have been better off without Suletta and her mother at all, and so he doesn’t tend to keep a very close eye. 

She's used to sneaking out when Tamark is supposed to be watching her; she goes and visits Aerial, finds empty rooms to practice her movement in zero-g and even just wanders the halls sometimes, looking for food and ducking behind corners whenever she hears someone else coming towards her. It’s the one thing she keeps from her mother, that Tamark isn’t really a good watcher, and it delights her to keep even that one secret.

The only people that do know are Aerial and Tamark himself, and neither of them will tell. Aerial enjoys those late nights as much as Suletta does, and Suletta doesn’t like to think it, but she’s fairly sure Tamark wouldn’t care if she disappeared forever, and so he never worries. 

These nights are usually happy, but tonight, she’s angry.

The last time she saw her mother was nearly a month ago. “I’ll only be gone for a week or so,” she’d promised, patting Suletta gently on the head, “so I’ll be back for your birthday. Don’t worry,” she’d promised, “I’ll be back in time for us to have a small celebration.”

Yesterday was Suletta’s sixth birthday. Her mother hadn’t even called. Suletta’s six, and she and Aerial had celebrated all on their own, locking herself in the cockpit for nearly the entire day. She’d spent her birthday sad and lonely, despite Aerial’s attempts to cheer her up, and now, the day after, that loneliness has turned to something bitter and foul-tasting on her tongue. 

Aerial is the only witness to her idea.

She’s been sitting in the pilot’s seat for the past few hours, trying to come up with something that sufficiently demonstrates her irritation with her mother. Aerial’s been playing some anime for Suletta to watch, but she isn’t really paying attention—that is, until a character in the show makes a big show out of cutting her own hair in order to separate herself from her twin sister.

Suletta’s six, and she’s never claimed to only ever use original ideas.

“Aerial,” she says.

There comes a questioning flicker immediately, the anime shutting off; her sister is always here, always listening. She is curious. Suletta is never usually this quiet, and Aerial is never usually unsure about what she’s thinking. 

Suletta says, smiling for the first time today, “I know how to get back at mom.”

She finds the pair of clippers in the main commissary. There’s nobody around, and she’s able to bring them all the way back to the main hanger. She’s six, and that’s perhaps why she doesn’t take much care with it; Suletta shears her head nearly to a fuzz and she does it in Aerial’s comforting cockpit, using the large screen for a mirror and letting the clumps of fuzz drift down around her feet, hair undoubtedly finding its way into every little crack and crevice. Her sister, for her part, never tries to stop her. 

An hour later, Suletta saunters back towards the handful of rooms that she and her mother share, her hair barely flopping against the back of her neck, and Tamark steps outside just as she approaches the door. 

His eyes meet hers; she sees the way he takes her in, the sneer that rises to his face as his gaze catches on the top of her head. Suletta worries for a half-second that she’ll be in trouble, but he just places his hands in his pockets. Tilts his head down at her. 

“Well,” he says. “You’ve certainly looked better.”

Bristling, Suletta squares her shoulders as best she can. “A—At least I don’t look l—like you!” She’s still clutching the pair of clippers in her left hand, fiddling with it anxiously— angrily, she tells herself—as she struggles to meet his gaze. 

Tamark smiles; it’s a slow, quiet thing, like he doesn’t quite understand how to do it correctly and learned from watching other people. Suletta’s never liked his smile. “Right. Well, at least I’m not about to get yelled at.”

She blinks. “What do you mean?”

His head is shaking before the words are even out of her mouth. “Your mother’s home. She says she rushed to get here the day after your birthday. She’s waiting for you right now, kid.” 

Suletta goes stock-still. “...Mom?” 

“Suletta.” 

It’s her mother, all right. Tilting her body to the side, Suletta looks past Tamark to see Prospera leaning against the door to their rooms, face a mask of nothingness. Something cold twists in Suletta’s stomach; she wasn’t expecting to see her mother at all, let alone directly after she’s just done something she definitely isn’t supposed to do. 

Tamark passes her; Suletta would stick her tongue out at him if she could move at all, and her mother—

Her mother looks as if she’s been slapped. 

Her gaze is stuck somewhere just above Suletta’s right shoulder, frozen as if there’s someone behind her. Suletta turns her head to look, but there’s no one there. It’s just her, which makes something ache—preemptively, almost—in her chest. Her mother’s expression is stunned, almost, but she still never quite meets Suletta’s eyes. It’s as if she’s not even there. Prospera’s never looked at Suletta like this before, but she doesn’t like it at all. 

Then her mother’s expression smooths out into something much angrier, and that’s not much better. 

“What did you do?”

Already Suletta’s folding; being angry with her mother is far less scary when she’s not right in front of her, and that fury has already near-disappeared, replaced with all-consuming guilt. Already there are tears forming in her eyes, her hands curling tight around the clippers. 

Still, she replies weakly. “Cut m—my hair.”

“So I see,” Prospera says, striding closer. “Why?”

Her lower lip trembles. “I don’t know.”

She used to have a reason, Suletta thinks, but that reason is with the rest of her anger, gone away to let more room in for feeling bad about the entire situation. She wishes she could just disappear and never have to deal with this at all, but that thought doesn’t seem to work. 

“Right,” says her mother shortly. Then, blazing forward to grab her: “In. Now.” 

Her mom’s grip is tight on her hand as she steers them both inside; not quite to the point of pain, but uncomfortable enough that Suletta lets out a whine, tugging at her arm. Prospera only lets go when the door is shut, allowing Suletta to back further into the room, hanging her head. 

“I’m s—sorry,” she whispers. 

“What’s that? Speak up, Suletta,” her mother snaps. “I rush home so that we can celebrate your birthday, and this is what I come back to? You know better than this.” She takes the pair of clippers from Suletta, waves them pointedly. “You know better.” 

Suletta knows better. “I’m sorry,” she says again, unable to look her mother in the face anymore. It’s all she can say. 

“In Aerial, too?” Prospera gives her head a disappointed shake. “So you’ve left your sister with your own mess. Is that right?”

Suletta whimpers. It’s true. She had just up and left the ruins of her hair in Aerial’s cockpit; she hadn’t even thought about cleaning up, too full of victorious positivity and that brilliant kind of rage only young children can wield. She needs to apologize to Aerial. 

“I—I’m sorry,” she croaks for a third time, tears slowly starting to trickle down her cheeks. “I’ll c—clean it up, I swear! I don’t know why I did this,” Suletta goes on, sniffing pathetically. “I was just—”

“I know why you did it.” Her mother kneels down to meet her gaze. Her eyes are cold and blue with not a drop of sympathy to be found. “You wanted to make me as angry as you felt you were yesterday. You succeeded. Does that make you happy?”

“No,” Suletta cries.

It takes a moment, but eventually Prospera’s face smooths out; she pinches the bridge of her nose as Suletta fights to regain her composure and stop crying. With a sigh, her mother says, “It’s all right. It’s not okay, but it’s all right. Now you know better, don’t you?”

Suletta sniffs, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “Y—Yes,” she replies quietly. “I know better. I’m sorry.” 

Then her mother hugs her. 

She’s always been able to calm Suletta better than anyone, her touch an instant comfort, and that’s true even now; she wraps her arms around Suletta, holding her gently. Suletta takes deep breaths as she stands there, hugging her mother back. She can only hope her own embrace gives Prospera a third of the warm feeling that it gives Suletta. 

“I think you owe your sister an apology,” her mother says finally, pulling back. “Go and clean her up. You shouldn’t leave her with such a mess.”

Suletta nods. “I—I know.” It’s already late, but she won’t dare upset her mom further. “I’ll go now.” 

“Good idea,” Prospera says. Then, as Suletta swivels, ready to leave the room: “And… Suletta?”

Suletta turns to face her mom. 

This time, Prospera’s anger isn’t cold. Her eyes burn into Suletta’s own, sending shuddering trails of fire licking down her spine. Suletta can’t breathe, can’t look away, can’t do anything but stay frozen in place, waiting for her to speak. Her throat is dry, her mouth hanging ever so slightly open. She couldn’t even move if she wanted to, her mother’s gaze is so piercing. 

Then: “Never do that again.”

She won’t. She knows she won’t, not again, not after this. She’s such an idiot, so stupid for thinking this would ever go any way. She deserves to be yelled at. Her mother deserves a better daughter. She should be a better daughter. 

“Yes, mom.” Finally breaking away from her gaze, Suletta goes to stare down the floor, biting back more tears. She doesn’t want her mom to comfort her; she doesn’t deserve comfort. “S—Sorry.”

Her mother nods once, jerkily. She says, “We’ll celebrate your birthday next year. Is that understood?”

Even as her heart sinks, Suletta’s sure that’s a relatively small punishment, considering. She nods in return: “Yes m—ma’am.” 

She understands. Her mom’s stressed enough without Suletta acting out just to irritate her. Missing birthdays or not, She’s never had a reason to not listen to her mom. Suletta knows better, and so she never cuts her hair again. 

In the end, Suletta mostly forgets about that entire day, anyway. Her hair grows quickly, and it’s hardly a few months before it’s right back at the length it’d been before she touched it; her mother’s furious eyes never leave her memory, but she buries the image under the thought that she’ll never have to see it again. 

This is the truth: Suletta’s never had a reason to not listen to her mom.

(Until recently, that is.)

.

.

.

Suletta does it on a whim.

When she snaps, it’s approaching near four in the morning, and Miorine’s still gone. Being a fairly busy day, she hadn’t even seen her since this—well, yesterday—morning, and even that had been a fleeting moment; they’d woken up early as they often do, Miorine had gotten ready for her day full of meetings, Suletta had made her lunch to go, and they’d parted ways before the clock had even ticked past 8am. 

“I’ll see you tonight,” Miorine had said, backing out of the door. Then, “Sorry. Please don’t stay up if I’m late.” And then, in finality: “I, um—have a good day.” Fumbling, she’d turned around and stalked away. Suletta had watched her go until she disappeared around the corner, wondering what she’d stopped herself from saying.

Suletta hadn’t even had a chance to return the goodbye, Miorine had left so quickly. She wonders if she’d just been jumpy about her busy day or if something else had been bothering her, but either way, Miorine hadn’t responded to any of Suletta’s usual three emails. This isn’t entirely out of the ordinary, but she’s usually able to find the time to reply to at least one, so Suletta worries. 

Asticassia is approaching four in the morning, it’s been nearly twenty hours since Suletta saw Miorine, and while that’s not the only reason she’s not doing well, it’s also not helping. 

Really, the issue started for real last night. 

She’d had a nightmare. At the time it’d hardly been anything; she’d woken up from it, but had been able to fall back asleep within a few minutes. She hadn’t even woken Miorine, who’s a remarkably light sleeper. 

Suletta couldn’t even remember it by the time they were both getting up, but it had come back to her in flashes throughout the day. Aerial’s hand slamming down on that one Earthian, turning him to something completely inhuman. His arm bouncing off of Miorine’s shoulder, Miorine’s expression. 

At the time, Suletta hadn’t understood why Miorine looked so shocked. She does now. 

And she can’t stop remembering it. 

Besides the nightmare itself, Suletta doesn’t even have an excuse—it hadn’t had a particularly bad day. Certainly not as busy as Miorine’s had been, though it hadn’t been very slow either. She’d spent her time darting back and forth between the Earth House to help out with the proceedings for GUND-ARM and then back to Miorine’s greenhouse to water the tomatoes, to double check the soil, to reset the temperature control. She’d always had something to do—which is nice, she enjoys that—but it’d also ensured that she was alone with no one else but her own thoughts for nearly half the day. 

There’s a tingling feeling in her head, one that hasn’t gone away since she woke up. It’s been present through the entire day, slowly growing louder and louder, and she’s sick of it. Her entire body feels wrong in some way, lanky and awkward and off and stumbling through the motions even clumsier than usual. Thoughts come slow and muffled, something dark and cloudy dulling her senses. 

Now she’s back in Miorine’s room, the place she’s slept in for the past month and a half—despite having a very capable bunk with her name on it in the Earth House—and while being here usually gives her soul a sense of calm, the itching under her skin has only worsened over the hours. Suletta had tried sleeping around nine and then again around one, but neither had managed to take, and so she resorts to pacing around the room, making tighter and tighter circles as time drags on. 

Suletta’s already cleaned the entire place top to bottom today, taken out the trash and mopped the floor and restocked the fridge with healthier things that Miorine would never buy herself, and that horrific buzzing that keeps her up and moving still will not go away. 

She’d leave and go for a walk, but she doesn’t want to miss Miorine’s return and make her worry. Plus, she’s not sure she’d be able to talk to anybody she met along the way, even if the late hour would make that a strange occurrence. Miorine is the only one who knows, is the only who can know, and Suletta would much rather deal with it herself anyway. She doesn’t dare want to burden Miorine, not when she’s so busy and stressed, and this is something Suletta should be capable of dealing with herself. 

It doesn’t help that she knows exactly what the problem is. It’s always the same problem, that being her mother. Her family, really. 

Tonight it’s worse than usual. She still can’t stop thinking of her mother, dead and gone. Her sister vanished into the ether of space alongside Aerial’s physical form. Suletta’s tried to avoid grieving for them for months, ever since it happened, and while she’s had successful days, there are some where the pain is still so tangible she can taste it. 

It’s just—for so long, it was just the three of them; just mom, Aerial and Suletta. Her mother and her sister were the only consistent things in her life during the years on Mercury, the people she knew, above all else, that she could rely on. Aerial was the one to go to whenever Suletta had a problem, but only if she needed someone to listen to her. Aerial, for all her beauty, could never do much more than convince Suletta to either take matters into her own hands or to tell mom and have her fix it. 

She’d usually end up telling mom. 

Who—clearly—isn’t an option anymore. Not that she was ever a good one. Suletta knows that much now. 

Tonight is simply too—loud. There’s not a sound in this room, she knows that, too, but knowing doesn’t stop the ringing in her head. Her mother’s face is everywhere she looks, Ericht’s happy smile every time Suletta closes her eyes. Those aren’t all. 

Her nightmare from last night. Red all over, Miorine’s terrified face. Suletta had caused that. Suletta had caused that and hadn’t even realized something was wrong. That’s what her mother had done to her head, how she’d raised her. Prospera holding out her hand to Suletta. Prospera encouraging her to move forward and gain two against all else. Her mother giving Suletta everything that she’s ever had, giving her the skills with Aerial, the strength to do anything at all, giving her rules to go bye, things to live for.

Giving her that fucking headband. 

Suletta’s not worn the thing in months; on most days her hair hangs wild and free like it never really did in the time before. She’s worn it up every once in a while, but only when she absolutely has to—when she’s representing GUND-ARM or when she’s in front of a lot of people or when she’s standing beside Miorine for something important. She has to look put-together. For Miorine, if nothing else. 

It’s been hard to accept, the realization that her mother controlled everything about her. The way she acts, the way she feels about herself, even the way she always tries to move forward through the world had been taken from Prospera’s own view of the world, hard-hitting and cold.

Move forward and gain two. 

A saying that had almost always brought a comforting tone to any decision now sinks like a cold stone in Suletta’s stomach. Move forward and gain two. She’d killed someone for that, reduced him to mush with a single move of her hand. She hadn’t even cared. 

That’s the part that still gives her pause, even more than half a year later. She’d single-handedly destroyed someone’s life and hadn’t even missed a beat; it’d been worth it, at the time, worth it all to save Miorine. But she hadn’t even thought about it when it happened, hadn’t even considered the man she was killing. 

The bile has risen to her throat. Suletta swallows forcibly, shaking her hands. It’s like she can still feel the blood on them, even now. Her pacing has moved upstairs, nearly enough to wear a hole in the tiled floor. Eventually, it just gets to be too much. 

Next, Suletta’s digging through the bathroom cabinet with scarcely a single coherent thought. She hardly even knows what she’s looking for, but she does know that she’s found it when her fingers brush against something cold and metal. She pulls the thing out and stares at it for a long moment. 

A pair of silver clippers, closed and waiting. Something in Suletta’s chest goes bum-bum when she looks at it; the feeling is oddly nostalgic. 

Actually, they very well could be the same pair that she’d used back when she was six. They’re a pair that had certainly come from Mercury with her, and Suletta’s not sure where they’d come from before that. For some reason, it’s that memory that finally gives her pause; she hesitates, passing the thing from one hand to another. 

“This is stupid,” she says to her reflection, her voice a hoarse croak. But saying it aloud doesn’t make her want to do it any less, so she allows herself to voice it once more. “This is stupid.” 

Then, fidgeting, she looks at herself in the mirror. 

This is the worst part, maybe. That she’s changed so much on the inside and still looks the same on the outside. Even without her ponytail and headband, nothing’s changed at all, not really. She still looks like she always has. 

Her mother’s hair used to be the same color as her own—a little lighter, maybe, but not even close to the black russet that eventually came to be the usual. But even that hadn’t been her mother, not really; that had been Ericht’s mother. Elnora Samaya had died years before Suletta was even born. 

Or, well… made. She doesn’t like to think about that, either. 

Suletta takes a deep breath. 

(She’s six years old and her mother’s face is colder and more stern than it’s ever been before. There’s scattered bits of hair all over Suletta’s hands, her shoulders. Her mother’s voice, sharp and final. “Never do that again.”)

Sorry, mom, she thinks, and there is a part of her that’s sorry; maybe she’ll always feel that somewhat, no matter how much time passes or how different she becomes. I’m doing it again.

“Never do that again,” Prospera said; Suletta had been six, and she’d said, “Yes, mom.”

Suletta is so sick of listening to her, even beyond the grave. She’s so sick of being Aerial’s— Ericht’s —stand-in, sick of pretending she’s still the same. She’s not. She doesn’t want to be. Miorine’s still not here, but now Suletta’s glad. She’d probably try to stop her and Suletta’d probably listen. This is something she has to do on her own. This is something in which she can only listen to herself. 

So, with trembling hands, she raises the clippers to her head. 

.

.

.

Miorine is exhausted. 

It’s five in the morning, and she’s only just now getting back to the Chairman’s office that they still call a room. She’s been swamped by meetings all day, and most of which were off-world, so while it had been increasingly later and later for her, the people she’d been talking to had only been halfway through their day. She’s confident in her ability to act as if she’s not dead on her feet, but it had gotten ridiculously tough as time wore on. 

Still, it's been a fulfilling twenty or so hours. Grueling, but important too; GUND-ARM has never been doing better in the polls, and Guel’s presidency is going well, from his own words. With any luck, the last of the threats to his legitimacy will be wiped out in the next few weeks, and Miorine will have much more time to herself then. Suletta will like that.

She’s proud, even if it’d been tiring. She’s also already disabled her usual 7am wakeup alarm for tomorrow—today, really—and preemptively canceled the three meetings that would have happened. None of them are nearly as important as the ones earlier had been, and she’d be too tired to focus anyway. Plus, Suletta will enjoy spending a day together, even if half of that day is spent sleeping.

It stands to reason that Suletta would enjoy anything, so long as it’s Miorine who’s giving it to her. Another thing they need to talk about sooner rather than later. 

But not now. Just the thought of her bumbling goodbye in the morning makes her head spin, and even just the concept of trying to explain properly—explain the things she’s thinking now, the things she’s thought for months—fills her with dread. Sitting down and talking things out have never been her strong suit, especially when it’s so much easier to just ignore literally everything that they may need to talk about. 

Besides, they’ve got a good thing going now. She shouldn’t ruin it, not when Suletta’s still trying to figure herself out. 

It’s 5am, she’s been up since 7am, and Miorine’s tired when she finally makes it back to their quarters. With just about the last of her strength, she enters the password and opens the door, ready to fall into bed and not wake up for two days. Immediately, there’s an issue.

The lights are on. 

Suleta is able to sleep during the most strange circumstances, sure (once, Miorine swears she fell asleep while driving a scooter, which had not been fun for Miorine herself, riding behind her at the time) but unless it’d been completely involuntary, she would’ve turned the lights off before she went to bed. The light is so unexpected that it stings at Miorine’s eyes, and she shuts them with a sudden grunt, instinctively raising a hand to shield her face. 

The next thing she realizes—albeit unwillingly, risking blindness to open her eyes once more—is that Suletta must have cleaned today. The floor is spotless with not a single tripping hazard in sight, the desks dusted and now organized, and the full trash bag that Miorine had forgotten to take out this morning is now gone. Despite the shock of the light, she can’t fully restrain the smile that rises to her lips when she notices. Suletta’s still keeping her promises, even after all this time. 

Trying and failing not to yawn, Miorine steps inside, sliding off her shoes with a pained hiss. Her feet are sore and aching from being in heels for too long, and she makes a mental note to wear shorter ones for the rest of the week, even if that’ll only exaggerate her smaller stature. It’s either that or she’ll break an ankle. 

There’s no sound coming from the bedroom, so Miorine goes with her earlier assumption of Suletta being already asleep and proceeds with caution; blinking sleepily, she starts up the handful of stairs that lead towards her—their—bed. She does hope Suletta’s asleep; the girl sleeps like a rock, and it’s always very easy to slide into bed just across from her. She’s warm, too, and Miorine can already imagine curling into her side, letting Suletta’s steady breaths lull her to unconsciousness. 

She used to not be able to sleep unless it was absolutely silent, but now she finds it’s too hard to relax unless Suletta’s next to her. There had been a time where they’d been apart for too long—her own fault—and Miorine’s not willing to go back to the bone-tired exhaustion that had followed her then, like her own personal raincloud. 

The bedroom door is shut, which is somewhat strange, but Miorine doesn’t dwell on it; Suletta can be somewhat of a strange person. Beyond ready for bed, with a hand on the door, Miorine starts to quietly slide it open—

“Don’t look!” 

The shriek comes from directly in front of her; nerves already shot, Miorine flinches so hard she nearly falls backwards over the railing, only just managing to catch herself with her elbows. Her first thought, coming fairly slower than usual, is that Suletta must be changing, and so she spins around to face the other way, face burning with embarrassment. 

“Suletta? Why are you even awake?” She shuts her eyes just in case. From behind her comes sounds of scrambling—most worryingly, the clatter of something metallic as it hits the tiled floor—and muffled grunts as Suletta hurries to make herself presentable. “The sun’s nearly up! I told you not to wait up for me, what if I decided to sleep in my office?”

All she receives in return is another grunt, this one with a hint of genuine panic, and still turned away, Miorine frowns. When Suletta still doesn’t reply, she adds, “Are you okay?”

“Um,” says Suletta. 

“Suletta,” Miorine presses. She itches to turn around and check on her pilot with her own eyes, but Suletta had asked her not to look, and so she doesn’t look. “What’s going on?”

It takes Suletta a long time to reply, but finally she hums once, twice, and then says weakly, “Don’t be mad, okay?”

Miorine tries not to sigh; it wouldn’t be taken the right way, and she’d rather not contribute to whatever spiral is clearly happening. “I won’t be mad,” she says steadily, “as long as you’re okay. You’re okay, yes?”

Another hesitation, until finally there comes a quiet, “I’m okay.” Her voice still wavers somewhat, but Miorine chooses to believe her. “It’s just—um—I did something that’s m—maybe weird.”

“May I see? I won’t be mad,” says Miorine. She’s racking her brain for whatever Suletta could have broken, if there’s anything expensive that’s been kept in the bedroom. She won’t be mad, not when there’s genuine fear prickling in her chest, worry still surging deep in her stomach every time Suletta’s voice pitches higher. “I promise you.”

Suletta lets out a short breath. “Okay,” she says after a moment, and Miorine can hear her shaking. The fear twists sharper, striking with claws towards her heart. “You can look.” 

I won’t be mad, Miorine promises to herself, determined to remember it. No matter what. She’s scared enough as it is. Suletta’s not fragile—thinking of her in that way would be a disservice—but there’s not much Miorine wants more in this world than to protect her. No matter what, she won’t be mad. 

Keeping that in mind, Miorine turns around and opens her eyes.

For a moment, she’s not sure at all what or who she’s looking at. Her vision is fuzzy, delayed by both the lack of sleep and the economical jargon she’d just been spouting for the last dozen or so hours, and given that she’d assumed she’d already be in bed by now and is instead having to understand things, it takes Miorine a second or two longer to realize what’s apparently happened while she was out. 

The first thing she really notices is that Suletta’s eyebrows are much easier to see now, and then, comparatively, the first thing that comes out of her mouth, as jumbled as the rest of her, is: “Oh.” 

Suletta squeaks. There are tears forming in her eyes, and Miorine feels some part of her brain click into place when she notices; a crying Suletta has always had some sort of horrible effect on her, and Miorine isn’t sure she’s awake enough to process those feelings right now. 

But she so desperately doesn’t want Suletta to cry, and so she steps forward, blinking, trying to comprehend better—faster. 

“Oh,” she says again stupidly, and then, somewhat alarmed, “you cut your hair!”

Suletta cut her own hair, that much is immediately clear. Gone are the long curls and steady waves that had rippled over her shoulders, replaced now by stubby, uneven locks that look, almost charmingly, as if they’ve been chopped by a mobile suit’s blade. The tips of her hair still stick up a little bit in the front, but are overall much less noticeable than they used to be, giving her more of a purposefully-messy look. 

For a moment, Miorine’s not sure how to reply. For a moment, she’s not sure how she feels about it—this is a huge change, one she hadn’t expected or even considered—and now that she’s being presented with such a difference, she’s fumbling for a proper response.

“Well?” Voice shrill, clearly losing patience, Suletta throws her hands up in the air in exasperation. “It’s terrible, isn’t it? I know it’s terrible. I didn’t even realize until too late—I just needed it to be gone—” she gulps for air, meeting Miorine’s gaze with wide, anguished eyes. “Say something!” 

Maybe Miorine panics, just a little bit. “I—what do you want me to say?!”

“I don’t know!” Now Suletta squeezes her eyes shut, face screwing up in some sort of haircut-inflicted agony. “A—Anything, please! Just tell me it’s not t—terrible!” 

Miorine pauses. 

What Suletta’s done exactly is simple: she’s haphazardly lopped off about three quarters of the hair she’d still had when Miorine last saw her, if not more. Previously long enough to reach all the way down her backside, it now sticks up in the back and curls ever so slightly towards the front of her face, placing even more of an emphasis on her eyes than before. In all, Miorine’s certainly seen worse, and now that she’s slowly getting used to it, she can arrange her thoughts into some semblance of an order. 

“It’s not terrible,” she says, and she means it. 

Slowly, Suletta opens her eyes. “You r—really think s—so?” 

Her stutter’s not come back like this in weeks. Miorine’s heart aches, and she steps forward to lay a gentle hand against Suletta’s warm cheek. Not a tear’s been shed, though her eyes still look a tad wet, and her skin under Miorine’s fingers is warm to the touch like always. Miorine’s still working on the whole physical contact thing, but Suletta is too, and they’ve always progressed more when they’re together.

“It’s not terrible,” Miorine says again, leaning slightly backwards in order to survey the scene from up close. It’s not terrible; Suletta’s face will never not be nice to look at no matter what, and the now-revealed curve of her jawline, previously hidden behind curls, is certainly not the worst thing Miorine has ever seen, either. With just a few changes, it could even be attractive. It’s cute already, short and sticking up in odd places, and Miorine can already see what it could become if a professional were to fix the few bits of inconsistency. It fits you, she thinks, but saying that would be poking very roughly at a tender spot, and so she holds her tongue.

“What I think isn’t important anyway, dummy,” she says eventually, now giving in to the desire to sigh. “Do you like it?”

Something flickers across Suletta’s face, too fast to catch. She opens her mouth and then closes it as she struggles for an answer. Finally, she says, “I don’t know. I think I like that it’s different, but—” she closes her eyes again, just for a moment, before meeting Miorine’s gaze once more. “What if it’s too different?”

That’s the problem, then, Miorine thinks sadly, dropping her hand back down to ball it awkwardly at her side. It’s times like this that she wishes she could bring Prospera back from the dead, just to be able to do away with her in a worse way, but she’ll never say that to Suletta’s face. That really wouldn’t help with how she’s already processing her mother’s death. Instead, Miorine says, “I think that’s just up to you.”

Her fingers itch—she wants to take one of Suletta’s hands in her own, wants to comfort her in any way she can, but she holds back, unsure of how that touch— any touch—would be taken in this moment. “You’re the only person who can decide for yourself, right?”

Immediately, Suletta’s expression softens. That’s something else she’s still working on, the concept of choosing for her own self rather than just going along with whatever someone else says. Something they’re both working on, really, and Miorine is not at all blameless in that regard. They try, and in the end, that's all they can do. 

“R—Right,” Suletta says, and this time it doesn’t seem like she’s repeating someone else. A little bit like that, maybe, but not as much as before. It’s an uphill battle, the concept of self-worth, but Miorine’s determined to push her when Suletta can’t continue on her own. That’s the least of what she owes her. “It’s my decision.”

“You don’t have to like it, either,” Miorine adds gently, trying not to trap her into any idea. “It’s your own hair, right?” She hasn’t changed her own style in years, and she can only imagine how jarring it must be to have it all gone so quickly, even if it’d been Suletta herself who cut it. 

“I don’t know,” is all Suletta can say, opening and closing her palms in frustration. “I—I don’t know.”

Miorine lets out a soft breath. “Okay. So how about we go to bed— hear me out,” she says sternly, watching Suletta’s face start to crumple once more. “It’s ridiculously late, I’m exhausted and you must be too. I say we go to sleep and figure it out in the morning. Tomorrow, I can make an appointment with a proper hairdresser who’ll give you something you’re happy with.” When Suletta still hesitates, she adds, “Do you think you’d be able to sleep?” 

Now Suletta meets her eyes; a question, it seems, that she can finally answer. “With you here, Miorine? Of course I could,” she says, not a trace of embarrassment to be found. 

For her part, Miorine fights back the reflexive flush that tries to rise to her cheeks. “Fine. Good,” she says, only stumbling a little. “Then let’s sleep.”

“N—Now?!” Suletta’s face goes slightly more pale; she flaps her arms a little, gesturing all around her. “But the mess!”

Miorine looks. She’s right; there’s piles of red hair all over the floor of both the bathroom and the bedroom, like Suletta had been walking back and forth as she cut it. Maybe she had. Miorine doesn’t ask. 

But this isn’t as important as sleep, she thinks, and she doesn’t only think that because she’s been up for almost twenty-four hours. Besides, it’s not as if Miorine’s ever had a pressing desire to clean things up as they’ve gotten messy. 

“We can clean tomorrow.” 

“B—But—”

“Suletta,” Miorine says sharply, and then reconsiders her approach when Suletta flinches back. “I’m tired, okay? It’s been a long day, and I just want to sleep. I’m not mad, really,” she adds when Suletta still doesn’t meet her gaze. “But I want you to get some rest.” 

Suletta swallows, but now that her hair’s so short, there’s no more hiding that she can do. She meets Miorine’s eyes after a moment, and Miorine watches as she visibly calms down. “Okay,” she says, still hesitant but agreeable. “We can sleep.” 

They’re both in bed within two minutes, the lights finally off. Miorine’s limbs feel like lead as she hits the pillow, sinking into the mattress with a sigh. All she wants is to finally surrender to the pull, to allow herself to get the rest that she’s been craving ever since her first meeting ended. 

But Suletta’s still anxious. She can feel Suletta’s uncertainty, even just with the way she’s laying down, the way she’s breathing. Miorine can’t sleep, not yet. 

“It’ll be okay,” she whispers. Her eyelids are drooping, exhaustion finally catching up with her. “We’ll get this figured out, I promise.” 

Suletta doesn’t respond for a long second, and when she finally does, it comes with a change in subject. 

“...Miorine?”

Miorine can hardly open her eyes anymore, but she still turns just enough to be able to better hear her. “Yes?”

This time, there’s no hesitation. “May I hold you?” 

There’s no fear either; this is a question Suletta knows the answer to, though Miorine’s sure she’ll still always ask. This is how they fall asleep every night, and it’s always the part of Miorine’s day that makes her feel the safest. 

Words seem to have left her, so in response, Miorine reaches behind herself to find Suletta’s arm. Once she locates it—Suletta had been further away than she’d expected, nearly pressed up against the wall—she tugs her closer, wrapping Suletta’s hand around her waist. She sinks backwards into the touch, sighing inaudibly as she’s enveloped in Suletta’s usual heat. She’s so warm and soft, so soothing, and all Miorine can hope is that her presence gives Suletta even a fraction of the comfort that Suletta’s presence gives her. 

The last thing she feels before she drifts off into oblivion is exactly that; Suletta’s calm warmth as she too calms down. Her arms tighten ever so slightly around Miorine’s middle, and it doesn’t take longer than fifteen seconds before her breathing starts to deepen. 

Yes, Miorine thinks dazedly. Everything will be better when we wake up.

And then she thinks nothing more at all. 

.

.

.

By the time Suletta wakes up, it’s nearing three in the afternoon, and the bed is empty. 

She rolls over, eyes sticking shut, and grasps around for a moment before concluding that Miorine is indeed gone. This isn’t a rare occurrence—Suletta tends to sleep longer than she does on most days—but there’s always a small tug at her heart when it happens. She wonders what it’d be like to wake up first, to be able to catch Miorine in a state of utmost vulnerability. 

She wonders what Miorine thinks when she wakes up first. 

The second thing that comes to her mind is the memory of the previous night, and that’s what gets her right out of bed. Stumbling to her feet, Suletta sways worryingly for half a second before she’s able to find her balance, and shakes the remaining tendrils of sleep from her mind. Her head feels strangely light, and knowing why doesn’t make it any less weird. Trying not to think about it—not yet—Suletta immediately starts looking for a trash bag, remembering the mess she’d made. 

In the end, a trash bag isn’t necessary; the floor is clean. Suletta frowns. 

Several minutes later she finds Miorine in the other room, sipping on a cup of coffee at the table. She’s got a tablet in front of her and is plucking away at the keyboard, but her face is calm, and so Suletta thinks an interruption is acceptable. 

“Miorine,” she says, quietly, as not to startle, “d—did you clean the bedroom?”

Looking up, Miorine meets her eyes. “I did, yes. You were still asleep, and I didn’t want to bother you. It only took a few minutes,” she adds, probably seeing the way Suletta winces. “Wasn’t a problem at all, don’t worry.” 

“But it was my mess.”

“Oh please. How many times have you cleaned this room? You’ve done plenty.” Miorine blinks at her, gentle and reassuring and maybe even still a little bit sleepy, Suletta thinks; she must not have been up for very long. “In any case, it’s done, so there’s no point in arguing about it. There’s other things we need to discuss anyway.” 

Silently resigning herself to losing this argument, Suletta takes a seat next to her. She reaches backwards so that she doesn’t snag her hair on the back of the chair, but her fingers catch on empty air instead. This is going to take some getting used to. 

Miorine notices, of course. She pushes her tablet away just a tad, giving Suletta more room. “Last night I mentioned perhaps going to a proper hairdresser today,” she says, slowly, as if she’s gauging Suletta’s reaction. “Would that be something you’re interested in?”

Despite herself, Suletta can’t bite back a smile. “Do you think I need one?” 

Miorine’s expression goes very carefully blank. “It truly is up to you, but—well. If you don’t want to go somewhere else, I can try—”

“So you do think it looks bad,” Suletta says teasingly. 

“Not bad!” she yelps, frowning. “I think you look very nice. It’s just… a little uneven on the sides, just a bit. It’s not bad.” Then, seemingly realizing that Suletta doesn’t mind hearing it (the truth, that is), her eyes soften. “You do seem to be feeling better.”

Suletta is, she knows that much. Maybe she shouldn’t be, considering how awful last night had been, but she’s actually kind of excited. For what she’s not entirely sure; that’s something she can figure out later. But that goes without saying—Miorine knows her better than anyone—and she ignores the comment. “You’re so well-organized anyway, you’ve probably already made me an appointment.” 

Something in Miorine’s face twitches. “Maybe. You don’t know. Is that something you’d be interested in?” 

She totally already made an appointment for her.

Suletta softens. She hopes Miorine knows how much she appreciates her organization, her everything. She’s always so strong when it comes to Suleta’s weaknesses, so gentle when necessary and stubborn at the right times, when Suletta needs to be told no. 

“I think so,” she says, and it’s exactly like that; there’s still a big chance that this change will end up bad, but right now it’s still a change, and that’s enough for this moment. “Thank you.” 

“Good. Your appointment is at five,” Miorine tells her. Then, smiling, “Do you want something to eat before?” As if on cue, Suletta’s stomach rumbles. She flushes, but Miorine’s smile only blooms brighter. “I suppose that’s a yes. I’m about done here, so if you want to get ready to go, we can leave in just a minute.” 

Despite getting the vast majority of her meals through a delivery service, Miorine hardly ever eats out, almost always preferring to tuck into dinner in the safety of her own room. This is something Suletta’s gotten accustomed to as well, and though she’ll usually eat lunch with the rest of Earth House, in times like this when there’s no classes to attend for a short stretch, she eats with Miorine more often than not. This sudden switch-up is strange, and Suletta’s instantly suspicious. 

She’s also not sure how she feels about potentially being noticed. Suletta swallows, suddenly nervous again. “You want to eat somewhere else…? Even with how I look?”

The thought is making it settle in, how strange her current appearance must be. She’s comfortable with it now—or at least more so than she had been last night—but she’s not sure how other people will react. Her stomach twists violently at just the thought of seeing anyone from the Earth House right now. Perfect strangers would be fine, probably, but what if they run into someone she knows?

But Miorine just waves a hand dismissively, seemingly unconcerned herself. “You still look better than most students anyway, and even if you didn’t, most of them already have crushes on you, so I’m sure your popularity won’t be taking too much of a hit.” 

Suletta’s face goes hot. “What?” 

“What?” Miorine’s already moved back on her tablet, and she doesn’t even look up as Suletta continues to stammer. 

“What are y—you talking about?” 

A beat. Miorine meets her gaze once more, squinting. “You seriously have no idea?” When Suletta doesn’t respond—she can’t —Miorine only blinks, letting out a soft hum. “Interesting.” 

Suletta doesn’t get anything else out of her, though she tries; Miorine keeps her mouth shut, and Suletta eventually concludes that she must have been teasing her. 

By the time they leave it’s nearing four in the afternoon, which is okay because neither of them are particularly slow eaters—Suletta in particular tends to gulp down her food, still somewhat unused to eating properly for every meal, while Miorine just hates sitting around anywhere—and despite the fact that they end up eating in a fairly well-populated area, Suletta’s not sure she ever catches a single strange look in her direction. She does, however, notice that Miorine’s head is on a swivel the entire time, as if daring everyone to say something.

It makes her feel warm, the same way she always feels when she’s reminded that Miorine cares. Cares the same way Suletta cares about her, or at least close to it. The thought is dizzying even now. 

(Growing up, Suletta had eaten so many of her meals alone. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever be able to convey how much it means to her to be able to consistently eat alongside Miorine.) 

When they leave, Suletta pays for their late lunch as a thank you and Miorine hardly even argues, which means she’s trying very specifically to be nice. She still grumbles, though, all the way to the barber. She’s capable of being a surprisingly sullen loser sometimes, which is something Suletta’s only recently learned, and the trait is almost unbearably cute. 

“It was supposed to be my treat…” 

Smiling, Suletta nudges her with her shoulder, sending Miorine stumbling away. She sends her a glare, though it’s not at all scary (not anymore). “You’re already paying for my haircut. Plus, we get the same paycheck now, so it’s not as if you’ve got more saved up than I do!” 

Miorine’s face could be carved in stone; this too is cute, for better or worse. “I should have never told you about that.” Then, “Also, we do not have the same amount saved. You buy far too many little trinkets for that to be true.” 

Which may very well be true. Suletta can’t help herself. There are so many things in this world, and who is she to deny herself of them? But she’s not going to let Miorine win just like that either. “Still,” she says. “Our accounts have got to be close to balanced with how often you pay for food.” 

She receives another grumble in return, but Miorine drops the subject afterward, which means Suletta’s officially won. 

It’s a beautiful day. It’s always beautiful here in Asticassia, true, but that doesn’t make Suletta appreciate the nice weather any less. Back on Mercury it had either been far too hot or far too cold with nothing in between and she’s gotten entirely spoiled with the near-constant breeze and warm sun of the school. 

As they head on their way, neither of them speak, and Suletta busies herself with watching the landscape around them. Today there are students heading in nearly every direction, and Suletta tries her best to steer Miorine around any possible bumps. She’s stubborn, and often Miorine will just allow herself to plow into someone before moving out of their way, which would be something Suletta admired if Miorine weren’t also shorter than almost everyone else. To avoid anyone being bowled over, Suletta takes the lead—something she doesn’t mind doing much anymore—and happily weaves them through the crowd, content to walk in silence. 

Every so often, their knuckles will brush, and every time it happens Suletta thinks of reaching out—of holding Miorine’s hand properly, like a real Groom would—but she doesn’t. She’s not even a Groom anymore. She hasn’t been for months. 

They’ve not talked about it. 

Well, they’ve talked about some of it, talked about why Miorine arranged for Suletta to lose the duel against Guel and how she’d almost instantly regretted it. They’ve spoken about the promises made all the way back in Plant Quetta— stay at my side forever —and what that means now, and throughout those conversations, Suletta had never once lied. 

She’d made it clear from the start that she would be keeping her word, even if Miorine doesn’t believe she deserves it. They’ve grown past that, months later, but Suletta wonders now if she hasn’t accidentally stagnated them both. She hadn’t lied, but she hadn’t been entirely honest, either. 

Suletta wants to hold her hand, is the problem. Miorine’s hands are so small, Suletta’s own would surely dwarf them, but that only makes the idea more intruguing. Would her fingers be cold? The rest of her is, usually, when they’re lying in bed. If Suletta’s able to do that every night, why can’t she work up the courage to take Miorine’s hand when they’re just walking? She doesn’t know, and it gnaws at her. 

But by the time she’s thoroughly worked herself up, they’ve arrived at the barber, and Suletta’s allowed to be anxious about something else entirely. She comes to a sudden stop, nearly tripping Miorine right as they near the entrance. 

Miorine simply steps closer. She has to raise herself up to nudge Suletta’s shoulder with her own, and even then it’s a pretty weak touch, but it’s the thought that counts. 

“We can leave if you want.” 

Suletta doesn’t want to leave. “I don’t want to leave,” she says, curling her hands into fists. “I just—I don’t know, it’s weird.” 

“It’s not weird.” Miorine pokes at her shoulder again, this time with her finger. It’s sharp, but the sting actually feels as if it grounds her, just a little. “If the person makes it weird, we’ll leave and figure something else out. This is for you.”  Then she pulls back, tips her head up so that Suletta has to meet her gaze. In Miorine’s eyes, she finds nothing but care. “Do you still want to do this?”

When Miorine’s looking at her like that, Suletta’s never been able to deny her an answer. She shifts on her feet, body still half-desperate to escape, but she finds that she’s unable to look away. She says, “Yes, I do,” and that’s the truth. They both know Suletta’s an awful liar, even to herself. 

Miorine’s face softens. “Okay,” she says. “So let’s go.” 

So, swallowing her nerves, Suletta heads inside, holding the door open for Miorine to follow. The building is fairly small, considering where exactly it is. It’s also surprisingly low-tech; there’s not a single automated feature that Suletta can see. They pass one other customer on his way out, and as he leaves, there’s only one other person inside. The man is shorter than Suletta and wears a long black apron—an employee, obviously—with what looks to be a plethora of metal objects tucked into the pockets. As Suletta comes to a stop in front of the counter, he starts to turn around, having heard them. 

The man’s face goes slack as he recognizes Miorine, probably, and then he reacts again and just as worse when his eyes reach Suletta. “Oh no,” he says, drying his hands off with a towel. “Oh, darling, who did this to you?” 

Suletta blanches. In the corner of her eye, she sees Miorine straighten up, setting her jaw in a firm way that usually means someone’s about to be thoroughly chewed out. 

“I didn’t realize it was part of your job to ask questions.”

He blinks, immediately backtracking. “It’s not—sorry,” he says, giving a good-natured chuckle. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’ll be right with you, just let me clean up for a second.”

“It’s okay,” Suletta says quickly, fiddling with her hands. She doesn’t want to hide anything, not anymore, and while she appreciates Miorine’s instant defense, this is something she has to own up to, if only for her own peace of mind. “I did it myself… I know it’s not very good, I just—” she doesn’t know how to explain it. “I had to.”  

It takes the man a moment to follow her. His gaze tracks back and forth between her head and her eyes, and then he smiles, crooked, half-disbelievingly. “You did that yourself?”

She swallows. “Y—Yeah.”

“Oh. Well in that case,” he replies, throwing the towel over his shoulder. “It’s not bad at all. I can get you fixed up in no time. My name’s Javert, by the way.” He does not ask her for her name in return. The possibility that he knows of her is uncomfortable, but the reassurance about her hair cancels that out. Suletta relaxes, just a little bit. 

“Suletta.” Miorine gets her attention with a gentle tug to her uniform. “I’m going to sit up here in the front. You’ll be okay?” 

“Yeah.” She will be. Javert seems kind, and Suletta really doesn’t want to have to hold Miorine’s hand— metaphorically —through this entire process. Miorine seems placated by this, and so she goes to take a seat in one of the chairs by the door, pulling out her tablet as she does. Work again. Suletta needs to remember to confiscate the thing when they’re done here. 

The man finishes cleaning up the rest of his previous job and is quickly beckoning Suletta further into the building, giving her a tall chair to sit on. Her feet scrape awkwardly against the footrest, legs too long to fit comfortably, and he gives an apologetic hum, but Suletta’s used to it, and she doesn’t mind too horribly. 

Drying his hands and settling himself behind her, Javert says, “You just want it to be a little more even, yes?”

“Um. Yeah,” Suletta scrambles to reply. “N—Nothing fancy, just—you know.” 

“All right, that’s no problem.” Perhaps sensing her nervousness, he doesn’t probe any further and gets right to work. First he ensures the remains of her hair is thoroughly wetted, and then he takes out his—again, fairly low-tech—razor. Without another word, holding her head with gentle fingertips, he begins.  

Suletta closes her eyes. 

In the end, the entire thing hardly even takes ten minutes. The employee is nice and talkative through the process, which Suletta appreciates, and he’s also extremely efficient. Suletta’s able to have relaxed herself as much as she can throughout it happening, and by the time he says, “Okay, you can look now,” she’s almost forgotten to be worried. 

When she does look, blinking a few times to get used to the light, every single part of her goes still. 

“What do you think?” asks Javert proudly. “You love it. You love it, right?” 

This morning she’d avoided looking at herself in the mirror, scared of what she’d find. She’d caught glances, sure, but the full image hadn’t been taken in at all. Now she wishes she could have looked earlier, because surely the difference between then and now has to have been like night and day.

Her hair, once so long, now comes to a delicate stop only a few inches down the back of her neck. It’s short in the back and fluffy in the front; her curls are still noticeable, but much less overpowering now.She blinks at herself once more, unable to fully associate the person in the mirror with herself. Her entire head still feels so light, so cool, and with a shaking hand, Suletta reaches up to run her fingers through the back. A shiver runs down her spine; it feels strange, but in a good way, she thinks. She doesn’t look a thing like how she always has. 

(She doesn’t look a thing like Ericht Samaya.)

And—

Suletta does love it. 

Her mouth hangs open for a few useless seconds, unable to process her own reflection. Then, trying to pull herself together even just a little, she croaks, “I— thank you.” 

Javert laughs kindly. “I’ll take that to be a yes, then. All right, that means you’re all done! Told you it wouldn’t be a problem.” He allows her to hop down from the chair, able to stretch out her legs once more, and then heads over to grab a broom. “Everything’s all already paid for, so you’re free to leave. Have a good day!”

“Thank you,” Suletta says again, because that’s about all she can think at the moment. “Thank you.”

This time, as she heads over to where Miorine’s been waiting, Suletta’s not nervous in the slightest.

Okay, she is a little bit, but it’s a different kind of nervous. She likes what she looks like now, and she’s sure that Miorine won’t hate it either—especially if she hadn’t hated it earlier—but there’s still something twisty and trembling in her stomach when she approaches the front chairs. Miorine’s sitting in the one furthest from the door, typing furiously away at her tablet. There’s a crease in her brow; someone must be frustrating her. 

She says, without looking up, “Oh, all done already?” 

“Yeah,” Suletta replies. She folds her arms behind her back, trying not to preen so obviously. “Um—I’m ready to go whenever you’re finished.” 

Immediately, Miorine turns the tablet off with a huff. “Believe me,” she says, folding it up and packing it back into her pocket, “I’m finished.” 

Then she finally looks up, takes Suletta’s new silhouette in for the first time, and she doesn’t say anything at all. In fact, it takes a full seven seconds before Miorine even does so much as blink—Suletta knows, she’d counted. Instantly the nervousness is gone entirely, and Suletta has to stop herself from visibly puffing out her chest. She feels as if she needs to stand taller, to look cooler, but she’s not exactly sure how. 

“Well,” Miorine says finally. “Don’t you look dashing.” 

She still hasn’t looked away, and Suletta finds that her gaze is almost too much to meet, wide and bright and warm. No one ever believes her when she says Miorine is one of the kindest people she knows—though at this point, it’s mostly an inside joke to the rest of Earth House than a legitimate opinion—but Suletta thinks she’s always known; Miorine talks a big game, but at the end of the day, her expression gives away just as much as everybody else’s does. 

Today, right now, her expression is a little too tender for Suletta’s own good. 

“I—I like it,” Suletta admits, shifting on her feet. “It’s a lot different, but in a good way, I think.” She wants so badly to ask flat-out: Do you like it too? but she’s unable to open her mouth, words fizzling to nothingness on her tongue. 

Miorine tilts her head, as if looking for a different angle. “Definitely in a good way,” she says, and Suletta beams. “Careful,” Miorine goes on, finally turning her back on Suletta as she starts to leave, “you’re going to have everyone fall in love with you even more now.” 

There’s a heat rising up on Suletta’s face, but this one’s pleasant, like the sun on Earth when it’s been a cool day. She’s still not sure what to say about the implication that other students look at her—she’s also still not entirely sure it’s a joke or not—and so she quickly moves past it, following Miorine out the door. 

“Actually,” she says quietly, “I think I’ve been wanting to do this for a while. I was just too afraid.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” Miorine sighs softly, shaking her head. “Tell me when you start thinking these things, okay? We’ve got the time to do them.” 

And they do. Suletta always forgets this, always finds herself measuring nice moments with the thought that she won’t have them forever. There’d been a time that she assumed would break them entirely, and though she doesn’t like to admit it, she still sometimes acts as if the world is still stuck in that week of loneliness and anguish. Now she can enjoy the nice days and go to bed with her favorite person every night and learn to plant things other than tomatoes. She has time. 

Suletta makes a decision. Stopping dead on the sidewalk, Miorine keeps walking for only a few more steps before she too comes to a halt. She looks up at Suletta questioningly. 

“I have a thing I want to do,” Suletta says, as quick as she can. She has to say it fast. If she doesn’t say it fast, she won’t say it at all.

“Okay,” Miorine says. She crosses her arms over her chest as she waits, surveying Suletta with a neutral look. (Suletta can’t help but notice her eyes linger on her new haircut, though, and the thought sends something sparking and warm down Suletta’s spine.) “What is it?” 

And, really, there’s so many things, but this is the one she always thinks of first. Every day. She has no idea if Miorine thinks the same, but she hopes she does. 

Exhaling slowly, Suletta tells her. “I want to sleep in.”

“You did that today,” Miorine replies, tilting her head to the side. She doesn’t sound condescending, just curious, and Suletta takes that as permission to continue. Not that she needs permission—it’s still nice to receive it sometimes.

“I want to sleep in with you,” she says finally. No more beating around the bush; the full truth. “Like—I want us both to take a day off so we can stay up late the night before and wake up together. I want to wake up with you still in bed. I want—” she swallows. “I want more.” 

Suletta hardly even knows what that means; what is more when she already has more than she ever has before? But that hasn’t ever stopped her fingertips from itching in the morning, desperate to reach across the bed and find something warm. Waking up together is just the beginning, and Suletta’s sure Miorine knows that, too. 

Miorine, for her part, hasn’t looked away, though she seems as if she’d very much like to. Her shoulders have stiffened, her entire form tensed in some way. But she still meets Suletta’s gaze, and that’s what’s important.

It takes her a moment to reply, but as long as she’s still looking at her, Suletta doesn’t mind. It’s maybe a hard thing to ask for, shaking the steady comfort that they’ve grown from each other in the recent months, but she doesn’t regret it. 

Finally, Miorine says, “...Suletta.” Her voice is shaky, but it’s hardly noticeable; what is important is the way she says Suletta’s name, soft and exasperated. It sends a shiver down Suletta’s spine. “We—I—” she casts around for a moment, frustrated, and Suletta tries not to be so endeared. “Do you think I don’t?” 

Suletta blinks. “Don’t—don’t what?” She wants to be sure they’re on the same page. 

Miorine’s face is pink, she realizes, just a little bit. Still, Miorine hasn’t broken eye contact, though her brow is furrowed more now than it used to be. 

“Want—more.” She sounds like she’s speaking through her teeth, but Suletta’s not offended. This is hard for her, too. “Because I do.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do!” Miorine snaps. Finally her gaze dances away, though that’s just for a second, as if she’s ensuring there’s no one around close enough to overheard. “I was just—I don’t—” unable to finish a sentence, she huffs, arms tense. “I hurt you so badly, before. I would never rush you into anything.” 

Of course. Suletta sometimes forgets how much guilt Miorine carries on her shoulders about that, even though Suletta’s long since forgiven her. She appreciates it, of course—her mother certainly hadn’t cared this much about Suletta being hurt—but sometimes it’s a little much. Suletta wishes she could stop beating herself up about it. 

She opens her mouth to reply, but she’s not sure what to say. Finally, she croaks, “It wouldn’t be rushing.”

“Oh.” Miorine freezes. Her eyes search Suletta’s as if looking for any semblance of hesitation. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Suletta can hardly hide her excitement, not that she really cares to anyway. She finds herself unable to stand still, shifting her weight between her feet as something light and pleasant settles high in her chest. 

A few seconds pass; Miorine’s mouth opens and closes a few times before she seems to decide on something to say. “O—Okay, so we’ll talk about… that. At home,” she adds hurriedly, shooting another desperate glance around them. Suletta can’t see anyone watching, but it’s probably not a bad idea. 

Taking her silence as the agreement that it is, Miorine starts to walk again. Suletta scrambles to catch up, proudly noting the red tinge to Miorine’s ears. 

“And you’ll sleep in tomorrow?” Suletta asks, still focused. 

“Tomorrow? But today is our day off!” Miorine darts a look towards her, her steps faltering. It only lasts a second, but it’s enough to allow Suletta to match her strides once more. “...We’ll see.” 

Suletta smiles. 

They walk for a few moments, Suletta careful not to leave Miorine behind—something she’s liable to do with her long legs—and it’s not until she spots another pair of people across the street does she remember the second thing. She stiffens. 

Though she doesn’t make a sound, Miorine notices, head craning to look up at her. “What?” 

This time, fighting back her concerns, she doesn’t hesitate for a single second. “Um, also,” Suletta says, voice higher than she’d like it to be, “I want to do this, too.” 

She leans down to take Miorine’s hand in her own. 

She’d been right. Miorine’s hands are cold, and they’re about half the size of Suletta’s. Still, her fingers seem to fit perfectly in between Suletta’s own, and maybe it’s just the blood pounding in her ears, but Suletta thinks the icy touch melts away quickly. She hopes her palm isn’t clammy, but even if it is, Miorine hasn’t pulled away. 

They continue on, and Miorine doesn’t say a word, but when Suletta musters the courage to sneak a glance down at her, the red tinge to Miorine’s ears has gotten brighter. But Miorine only tightens her grip, and neither of them let go until they’ve made it back home. 

Suletta smiles.