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All things considered, it wasn’t that bad.
Sitting on the porch of the country house she had been banished to, she looked at the novel in her hands without really reading it. Beau’s thoughts were elsewhere this evening, sitting under the soft violet sunset, partially blocked by the big willow tree in front of her, wispy branches waving in the breeze, staring out into the fields of nothing, stretching into the horizon..
God, she was bored. So incredibly bored.
Still, it could be worse. When she heard that the Evening Nip had been raided, and her father had discovered some of his own, top shelf wines among their stash, she sure expected a hell of a lot worse than an angry letter that she hadn’t even bothered opening. Luckily for her, she had been sent away before as a “precautionary measure, Beauregard.”
She scoffed, even at the memory.
What she did in the haze of speakeasies, under those flickering lights and fueled by the tang of illegal whiskey on her tongue, might’ve involved her father’s business, but it wasn’t for him to know.
It was never for him to know.
And of course, he couldn’t have his troublemaker of a daughter running rampant with her female lovers, imagine what that would do for the brand, for the reputation!
Of course, the brand came before Beauregard Lionett, daughter, bootlegger, and heir to the vineyard.
So now, she was stuck in the middle of nowhere, with a bare-bones house staff that wouldn’t let her leave the property, while Tori was somewhere being arrested and probably blaming her for the whole ordeal.
Fucking perfect.
“I take it back,” She said into the empty air, “This is pretty fuckin’ bad”
Her words were swallowed by the deafening silence. Bored and restless, but not wanting to go back and run into the people her father was paying to watch her, she simply sat, abandoning all pretense of reading, and watching the sky darken and the stars blink into view.
She leaned forward, resting her head on her knuckles, and let out a heavy sigh, filled with bitter anger and pointless regret. No one was here. No one was here to witness her anger as they usually were. Her actions, scrutinized for hours, her words, never even considered. Not now, though, no one was here to see her on the wrap-around porch of the cobalt-painted farmhouse.
The stars really are beautiful.
For a brief, blissful moment, Beau relaxed.
Then-
A chill ran up her spine and she felt a prickle on the back of her neck - a familiar sensation, from her time in back alleys, selling her father’s stashes of wine.
Someone was watching her.
Instinctively, she tensed up, sitting up and scanning the darkening landscape for something, anything.
She was almost disappointed when nothing happened.
(She missed the thrill of a fight, the feeling of a bleeding scrape across her knuckles after she got into a tussle, the moment where she could turn her brain off and let adrenaline take over - but of course, she was out in the middle of fucking nowhere, and of course, her father put her there so she had to do nothing for once, and feel the restlessness that came with sitting still and looking pretty. Because, regrettably, he knew her.)
Still, she started pacing, walking as silently as she could across the wooden planks of the deck.
“Hello?” She called out, “Who’s there?”
Silence.
“Hello!?”
The prickling at the nape of her neck disappeared.
Goddammit.
She exhaled sharply as she squinted at the field, trying, praying, to find something besides grass and farmland.
Nothing.
Another deep exhale.
And a shiver.
It was getting cold outside, especially for a breezy set of pyjamas.
She sighed.
Oh well. She could figure out what that feeling was another time.
As she turned and walked into the house, barefoot and bathed in moonlight, she just hoped she wouldn’t have to explain why she was out after her supposed “curfew” to one of the servants.
But of course, she never gets what she wants, does she?
Because a few nights later, after helping the cook load her weekly supply of food and waving goodbye to the man that drove her groceries out, during the early hours of the morning, she was recording her day in one of many empty notebooks she had with her (journaling was the only way she could stay sane, she found, when there was fuck-all to do and the other two people in the house were about as good conversation as a dung beetle) when-
Beau straightened up at the heavy thunk sound of the door-knocker.
That was odd.
Did one of the neighbours decide to introduce themselves? Not that those existed, the nearest homestead was a small white building, a few acres away from Beau, and she was of the mind that no one lived there anymore, since she’d never seen anyone near that house. Ever.
But it was the only explanation that made sense.
(There was the option that her father came out, all this way to find her; or that the delivery guy came back for some reason, but Beau hadn’t heard any of the roaring engine noises she should’ve heard if the delivery man had returned - and frankly, she didn’t want to think about the sinking feeling in her stomach that she felt when she thought about her father coming to get her.)
“Miss Lionett, what-” The airy, tired voice of the housekeeper called out throughout the upper floor of the house, interrupted by Beau calling back,
“Yeah! Don’t worry, I got it.”
She flipped her journal shut and raced down the staircase as quietly as she could, coming to a halt right at the door.
Knock-
Beau threw the door open before the mystery visitor could finish knocking again, revealing a tall, pale woman, terrifying in stature and wearing a fluttering grey dress, a dark fur shawl over her shoulders, and an inscrutable look on her face. The moon was full and bright, almost a halo behind her head, casting her face in shadow. As she stood barefoot (Barefoot? What was she thinking?) before the door, Beau felt a tug in her belly; a strange familiarity in this person she was sure she’d never seen before.
(she would’ve remembered someone like this.)
Eyes wide, Beau stared up at the woman, who simply stared back, green and violet eyes piercing.
“Uhh,” Beau said, intelligently.
The woman smiled, turning her head slightly to the side, her long, white and black hair, braided elaborately and pinned up, falling over her shoulder.
Beau leaned her shoulder on the doorframe, arm up, and flipped her own curls out of her eyes. “Uh, hello there, miss, what can I do for you?” At this godforsaken hour , she thought, but didn’t add.
“Hello,” The woman responded, a foreign lilt in the word.
Beau raised an eyebrow.
“Hello, yes. What are you doing here?”
The woman simply continued looking at Beau, a strange, thoughtful look in her eyes.
“Miss Lionett? Is everything alright?” The groggy voice of the housekeeper called out again. “Do you need assistance?”
Sudden panic jolted through her.
You will have no contact with anyone besides the staff until you have learned to act as a proper lady, do you hear me, Beauregard?
She whipped her head around, hands going up to the doorframe to unsuccessfully try to hide the mystery visitor.
“No! No- nothing’s happening, it- just the wind, you know! I’ll be-” She began pushing the woman back out to no avail. In a hushed voice, she hissed, “C’mon, move!” Before shouting over her shoulder, “I’ll be back up in two seconds!’
The woman frowned as Beau continued trying to push past her.
“What’s wrong?” She asked.
Beau looked up urgently and pressed a finger to her lips, finally managing to push the woman back a few steps and slamming the door behind her.
She breathed out, and leaned her head back on the wooden door, eyes closed.
“...Can I speak now?” The woman whispered.
Beau groaned quietly and nodded.
The woman still said nothing.
“Well, why ask if you aren’t going to say anything?” She said under her breath, a bite in her words. Beau opened her eyes to the ceiling of the covered porch with a sigh. “Look, it’s- I’m in a bit of a situation right now. Long story short, I’m not supposed to be talking to people, and if the people my father hired to watch me see a random person show up at my door, I don’t think it’ll go all that well for me.”
She heard a soft exhale coming from the general direction of the woman.
Beau snuck a peek from her place leaning on the door, seeing the woman standing in the cold, just looking, still just looking.
Beau turned her head and raised an eyebrow, to no response.
She sighed sharply.
“Listen, not to be rude, but I’m not quite sure why you’re here. Or who you are. Or literally fucking anything about you.” She shrugged, “Could I know?”
The woman simply kept looking.
Pushing down the annoyance that was beginning to bubble up in her chest, she stood up straight, crossing her arms.
“A name?”
At that, the woman opened her mouth.
“Yasha.” She murmured, not breaking eye contact.
Finally, some progress.
“Okay, Yasha. What are you doing here?”
Yasha continued looking, the same fucking unreadable expression on her face.
“And for God’s sake, will you stop looking at me like that!” The words burst from her mouth before she could tamp them down.
Her visitor immediately looked away, and mumbled, “Sorry.”
“Ugh, God, I’m bad at this,” Beau said. “You just- You can’t be here, okay?”
Yasha glanced back at her and nodded.
Silence filled the gap between them.
“I’m- I’m gonna go now.”
Yasha shrugged. “Okay.”
“You should go too.”
“Okay,” Yasha said again.
Beau nodded, making no move to escape the cold night and go back inside. “Okay.”
They stood there, wind whipping Beau’s hair around, for a few moments that lasted an eternity, before Yasha spoke up again.
“I wanted to say hello to my neighbour. That’s- That’s why I’m here.”
Beau chuckled, despite herself. “Yeah, just a tip, maybe next time you want to get to know someone, don’t...come up to their house in the middle of the night without warning.”
Yasha smiled, soft and uncertain, and she laughed quietly along. “Yeah...not a good idea.”
They stood in silence for moments longer, and Beau kept searching her mind for somewhere, anywhere she could’ve seen this woman because she looked so familiar, even just standing there, wrapped in a shawl and a soft look in her eyes, Beau felt like she had known this woman for years, instead of her being a stranger from a cottage a mile away.
“Well, goodbye,” Yasha’s voice spoke up. “Maybe I can talk to you tomorrow night?”
Beau frowned, confused. “Uh, sure. Yeah. Why at-?”
“I am...busy, in the day. And, um, if you don’t want the people in the house to see me, maybe the night...would be better? If you even want to talk again, of course.”
“I- Yeah, yeah, that makes sense. I do want to talk again, for...some reason. I need to-” I need to figure you out. “ You-” You look so, so familiar. “You’re-” You’re beautiful.
Beau cleared her throat.
“I don't know why, but I feel like I’ve seen you before. Have I?”
Yasha smiled enigmatically. “You have now.”
Beau nodded, confused. “Yeah, I- I guess.”
“Well, goodbye, Beau.”
“Bye. Good night.”
Yasha waved, and climbed down the steps, walking barefoot (Again, barefoot, why?) back to the distant cottage, leaving Beau to watch her leave, with plenty to think about.
Yasha’s words replayed in Beau’s head.
“Well, goodbye, Beau.”
Beau frowned.
She didn’t remember telling Yasha her name.
Yasha thought she was ready, this time. She really did, she had everything planned out, but she supposed that even after all these years, Beau still rendered her speechless.
The walk back was slow, as her mind raced faster than she wanted to move.
Despite her high-strung nerves, a smile managed to worm out.
Oh, how she had missed those sapphire eyes.
It had been, what, decades since she last saw her? More?
Yasha shook her head, pulling the furs on her shoulders closer around her - not really feeling the cold, but enjoying the softness of the pelt on her skin.
She had never really been good with time, that pesky thing.
Years seemed to pass as fast as seconds, and sometimes a day took an eternity. When you’ve existed for as long as she has, years, months, days, it all blends together. A sort of soup, she supposed, with the identifying factor, separating the centuries, being her.
Beau.
Oh, Beau.
Yasha reached the fence surrounding the abandoned church she had taken up residence in (already? She could’ve sworn she was at Beau’s house just seconds ago), just as the wispy clouds above began to gather and darken.
She smiled, smelling the ozone in the air; feeling the tingle under her skin that told her it was going to storm.
As the first few droplets fell, she let them touch her cold skin.
“I found her,” She whispered in the old language, letting her words blend into the steady, light beat of the rain.
“I found her.”
The next morning found Beau restless and thinking, dreams filled with nonsensical battle scenes in which she was at the forefront, mind racing trying to place her neighbour’s - Yasha, who refused to wear shoes apparently - face because she looked too familiar to not be someone she hadn’t seen before.
Why? Why was this woman staying, ingrained in her mind, so quickly after one meeting with her?
This had never happened before. This was so unlike Beau, and yet that feeling of knowing her, more than just a chance meeting some years ago, the feeling of truly knowing her…
Beau couldn’t shake it.
The day passed in a blur, like so many of the days she had spent out here, among the washed out scenery and the bare walls of the house.
Eventually - all too soon and yet not soon enough - the sun dipped over the horizon, plunging Beau’s world into the purple-tinted darkness of dusk.
Supper was had, and after a few more hours of pacing aimlessly in her room while the rest of the household went to sleep, Beau changed into a warmer collared shirt and pants, creeping down the stairs as quietly as possible to maybe, maybe , find answers to the feeling in the pit of her stomach, insisting that she knew Yasha.
As the sun fully dipped below the horizon, Beau sat on the porch, watching stars blink into existence, one by one.
Just like last night, she thought. And the night before. And the one before that.
The previous nights had never left her with sweaty palms and a sense of anticipation, though.
Time ticked on.
Beau waited.
And waited.
She was beginning to regret not bringing something to do.
After roughly an hour with no sign of Yasha, she sighed and quietly stood up.
There was a choice laying in front of her.
She could either go home and leave this whole situation behind, ignoring her curiosity and trouble-seeking instincts in favour of getting out of this godforsaken house earlier, or…
Or she could follow this thread. Figure out what the fuck was up with Yasha, find answers about the mysterious woman and about the deja vu running rampant through her head when she saw her.
It was an adventure. She was a mystery, just begging to be solved.
Beau sighed.
There really was no choice, was there?
As quietly as she could, she climbed down the porch and landed with a soft thump on the grasses below. With a soft exhale, she turned around, slowly making her way in the general direction of the white house in the distance.
Yasha was scared.
She sat on the steps to the run-down church she had made her home around, fur shawl warming her cold skin.
(There was no need for warmth anymore, there hadn’t been for a while - the familiarity of the garment brought her some comfort, though.)
This always happened, whenever she found Beau again.
Thoughts, memories would run through her head, worries and fears.
( What if she doesn’t come back? What if she isn’t the Beau I know? What if she remembers and doesn’t want me? What if, what if, what if…)
She would look down and remember Beau’s smile, long, long ago, on a nighttime watch for the rest of their friends.
Yasha would smile.
Then, she would feel a burning on the nape of her neck.
Then, she would feel the weight of a blade in her hands.
Then, she would smell blood and sweat and desperation.
Then, she would hear Beau choke off her scream, see the light fade from her eyes.
And she would break.
After what had happened, she ran.
Like she always did.
And when she met Beau again (as promised by the storm, even as she didn’t believe it) after years and years and years, she feared that that was what she would remember.
But no, Beauregard Lionett, well and alive and strong and lovely - an archivist, this time around, rather than a monk, looked at her and smiled.
Just like she did all that time ago.
And she did it again, as an explorer.
And again, as a bartender.
And again, as a teacher.
And again, now, as the estranged daughter of a Mr Lionett.
Oh, how Yasha missed that smile. Seeing it again was as much of a rush as it had been the first time. She had been searching for so long, but after the third go-around, some decades ago, she had stopped actively searching. It was safer, this way. No risks, nothing that could harm Beau again, not like before. They would find their way to each other, eventually. Still, it didn’t stop Yasha from yearning every once in a while, for a snarky comment and a grin; a flash of sapphire blue on deep brown skin; a gentle kiss from a fiery soul.
Hopefully, Yasha would find her again.
Hopefully, this time would go as well as the others had.
With a sigh, she pulled her hair back and stood, gauging the darkness and the distance she would have to run in order to make it to the house, only to find…
Wait.
Was that-
Yasha, well accustomed to seeing in the dark, clearly saw a figure, approaching quickly through the night. Outlined by the soft glow of the moon and her blue coat whipping around her legs in the wind, a figure that was unmistakably Beau sped towards Yasha’s home.
Oh, Yasha thought, stricken by the image, bringing to mind countless other times Beau had run towards her ( or away, Yasha thought with a shudder.) There she is .
My God, it’s fucking cold, Beau thought, slowing her pace slightly in order to wrap the wool housecoat she’d grabbed on a whim tighter around her body.
Maybe she should’ve just waited at the house.
But it had been 10 minutes already, and the little white house - which, she could now see looked more like a small church - was rapidly approaching in the distance (running around darkened alleyways turned out to be great practice for this), and Beau was getting more curious about, well, everything as time went on.
There really was no turning back, not for Beau.
As she got closer, she could see the church (it was a church) come into sharper view - dirty, greying white walls; vines and mosses crawling up the sides; beams falling apart, part of the ceiling caving in - it certainly looked abandoned.
In fact, the only part of the house that looked cared for in any capacity were the flower beds around the structure; dark, fertile earth dotted with small, white and blue flowers and streaked with green vines.
Huh , she thought, slowing down. Interesting.
Beau stood, silently, facing the church for a moment longer, taking it in. It really was a sight. Not beautiful, but something about the crumbling structure struck a chord in her. The small, abandoned church seemed so far and yet so oddly familiar - memories of a vaulted arched ceiling and shattered stained glass and pain , memories that weren’t hers, flew around the edges of her mind.
God, what was going on with her?
Shaking her head, she turned and began to walk again, around to the front of the building, when suddenly-
“Ah!” Beau yelped as she almost ran headlong into Yasha’s body, who happened to be standing there now, as silent as the night she existed in.
Yasha’s eyes went wide. “Oh, did I scare you?”
Beau exhaled, a hand to her chest. “No,” she said, voice annoyingly high, “No, no, no, I’m fine, I was just caught off guard, is all.”
Yasha nodded, and said nothing.
Beau stood, facing her - still wearing that shawl and no shoes, silent for a moment longer.
What was with this woman?
She cleared her throat, seemingly catching Yasha off guard this time. “So.”
“So?” Yasha responded.
“You wanted to get to know me, right? That’s why this is a thing?”
Yasha’s soft smile stayed playing at the edge of her lips. She whispered, barely audible, “I do.”
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
Yasha looked away and smiled sadly, a smile full of memories and grief and something Beau couldn’t quite place.
“Nothing. Nothing, it’s nothing.” Yasha said. “You just- you interest me, that’s all. And, um, I’m a bit of a- I don’t really know how to talk. To you. So-”
“So you decided to just come to my house in the middle of the night?”
Yasha nodded.
“Well, like I said, not the best choice for getting to know someone, but,” Beau gestured around the decrepit building, sighing. “I guess I’ve returned the favour now.”
Yasha laughed. “Yes. You have. I’m sorry I- I don’t really know how these things work.”
Beau smiled joylessly, thinking back to her hometown and her family and her inability to do anything right .
“Yeah. That makes two of us.”
They stood again, in silence, facing each other. It struck Beau how beautiful Yasha looked in the moonlight, pale skin seemingly glowing against the deep blue backdrop of the night, her mostly black hair contrasting sharply against her skin, her colourful eyes - the only colour on a monochromatic canvas - staring, unknowable, into Beau’s soul.
Yash jolted up, breaking the moment, as if remembering where she was. “Oh, right. Do you, um, want to go sit down?”
Beau knew she had to go back eventually. She knew she had to go back inside, make sure the housekeeper would go check on her room and see her sound asleep so her father wouldn’t catch wind of Yasha, but she couldn’t shake that feeling, the certainty that she had met Yasha before. It stayed, coiled within her stomach, a taut string pulling at a phantom memory in her mind.
And the memory was telling her to stay, to sit down, to chat with this stranger-but-not until the sun came up.
“Do you want to stay?” Yasha asked, as if reading her mind.
Beau opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, saying, “I shouldn’t, but…”
Yasha walked around the church, Beau following her instinctually, and sat on the stone steps to the door. She patted the spot next to her and smiled, softly, invitingly.
Beau slowly, quietly, walked over and sat down.
This is the best chance you’ve got to figure this out, Beau told herself, justifying staying here a bit longer. Figure this out, then we can leave this situation be.
“So,” Beau started again.
Yasha nodded. “So.”
Beau’s gaze drifted from Yasha to the earth below her, blooming with floral life.
She nodded to the flowerbed below. “Are those yours?”
Yasha looked, surprised, at the flowers. “Oh. Yes, they are. I like flowers.”
“Do you?”
She nodded. “Yes. They’re- they’re beautiful. They’re a reminder, kind of.”
“...of...?”
Yasha smiled and reached down, plucking a collection of blue blooms from the garden. “Just so I don’t forget.”
Beau frowned, nodding. “You’re really fuckin’ cryptic, has anyone ever told you that?”
Yasha laughed. “I haven’t had anyone to tell me that in a very long time.”
Beau frowned, again. “How do you mean?”
Her eyes turned somber, still fixed on the flowers in her hands.
“I’ve been alone. For a while. It’s easier that way.” She gestured to the ruin behind them. “It’s why I’m here. It’s easier to disappear when no one knows who you are.”
“But why would you try to disappear?”
Yasha rolled the stem of the flower between her fingers. “I’ve done things,” She said, simply.
“...What sorts of things?”
Yasha shook her head, but whatever she was going to say was interrupted by Beau.
“I mean, I’ve done things too. That’s...also why I’m here...wow, maybe we have more in common than I thought?” Beau shook her head, “Anyways. We’re trying to...get to know each other. You can tell me.”
Yasha smiled that sad smile again. “Maybe later.”
Beau nodded, a twinge of irrational disappointment in her heart.
“Um,” Yasha began, “Why are you here? This place doesn’t seem like...your style.”
Beau raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What is my style, then?”
Yasha shrugged, suddenly seeming a lot smaller than her large frame really was. “I don’t know, you seem like you like action and not…” Yasha waved to the empty fields ahead. “This. I came here because it’s...well, it’s calm. It’s nothing. I guess that’s what I wanted. But…”
“Yeah, this is far from what I wanted.” Beau kicked the stair below her, sending a pebble flying into the distance. “My dad’s a dick.”
“He made you come here?”
“Uh huh, yeah.”
“Why?”
“He wanted me to become a ‘proper lady,’ whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.” Beau shrugged and leaned back on the railing, turning to face Yasha more.
Yasha frowned. “Are you not?”
Beau snorted, “No. I’m about as close to a total disappointment as anyone could get.”
“You don’t seem like it to me, Beau.”
She looked up to Yasha, raising an eyebrow. “Really?” She asked, dryly.
“Well, I-” Yasha looked away from Beau, suddenly sheepish. “I know I- I only just met you but...well, you- I-” Yasha put her head in her hands. “Ugh, I don’t know what I’m saying.”
Beau laughed at that, fondly, as if she had known Yasha her whole life (and in a way, she felt like she had.) “I think I got it.”
Beau stayed there a while, talking about whatever came to mind with Yasha, and despite her reason for coming here originally being to figure Yasha out, as the first rays of the sun peeked over the horizon, long grasses tickling her legs as she walked home and exhaustion somehow not catching up to her quite yet, she realized she had left with less of an idea of why or how or what Yasha was than she had came with.
She weirdly didn’t really care as much, though. Not anymore.
Beau returned as silently as she had left (well, maybe a bit more noise, it wasn’t her fault someone decided to lock her bedroom window) and tucked herself into bed, the night prior feeling like a whirlwind of a dream.
The only reassurance she had that the time with Yasha had actually happened was the collection of forget-me-nots resting in her palm when she woke up.
As the months went on, Beau saw Yasha as often as she could without anyone getting suspicious. Nights, which had previously been for push-ups, journaling, midnight snacks and general sleeplessness, were now reserved for quiet talks with Yasha; either at the church or at Beau’s house, or even just walking in the fields beyond.
And slowly, Beau began to see Yasha as more than a mystery to be unravelled. Instead, she was a friend, a welcome presence in her life.
She learned more about her, slowly, over time.
She learned Yasha loved flowers, through wistful gazes and a notebook full of pressed flowers (“Flowers are beautiful,” she said. You are too, is what Beau thought.) She learned that Yasha was really fucking strong and could lift a fucking fallen support beam in order for them to get into the church (and that same day, she learned that her hands were calloused and rough and really really cold, but also gentle and firm, when she had helped Beau up onto the roof - not that Beau needed the help, but, well… Yasha’s hand in hers was worth sacrificing some acrobatics.) She learned that Yasha liked to braid her hair and if she was feeling particularly nice that day, she would braid some wildflowers into it.
When Yasha had come to see her on one particularly snacky night, Beau discovered that she had a sweet tooth (and after living for so long in a run-down church, eating hunted animals and bugs, who wouldn’t? Beau wasn’t much of a cook but she could take pride in the fact that Yasha liked her pancakes.)
And slowly, Beau started noticing things herself.
Beau noticed that Yasha had scars, many, many scars, criss-crossing her muscled arms and chest, but only one seemed to really bother her - a burned circle on the nape of her neck.
Beau noticed that Yasha would only laugh softly, and quietly, and that her laughs were rare but when Beau managed to get one out of her, it was the best feeling in the world.
Beau noticed that Yasha seemed to glow in the moonlight, that her eyes seemed to surpass the colour of even the most beautiful flowers she had collected, that her gentle strength was not only reflected in her built frame, but in her quiet care for Beau.
And Beau, despite herself, was beginning to care for Yasha too.
In a way that her father would definitely not approve of.
In a way where she thought of Yasha’s strong arms around her, lips on her forehead, on her cheek, on her lips, in the gentle way that Beau came to know from Yasha. In a way where her cheeks would darken at every smile, every laugh, every compliment, every show of strength (god, she was strong,) everything about Yasha.
Fuck.
Beau was a mess.
It had been a month and a half.
Only a month and a half, stop being such a disaster Beau, it doesn’t matter how pretty Yasha is, this is the exact opposite of what your dad had sent you here to do.
She was meant to be better, be normal, but here Yasha was, glowing in the moonlight.
Ah, well, fuck my dad anyways. It’s to figure Yasha out, that’s all it’s for. That’s all.
Any number of justifications for the butterflies she felt around Yasha were useless, though. Yasha stayed devastatingly attractive, and Beau stayed. She had grown to love the woman’s presence around her.
God, there was so much left to know about her, about why , or how , or what was with her, but Beau didn’t care anymore and that was the most mind-boggling part of it all.
Somehow, knowing Yasha, seeing her everyday, that was enough for Beau.
Still, she was curious.
And that curiosity drove her to ask.
They were sitting in Beau’s kitchen around midnight, eating pancakes as quietly as possible in order to not arouse suspicion.
Sitting on a countertop while a tall, strong, white-and-black haired beauty sat on the floor, eating her pancakes was definitely not something Beau saw coming.
She wasn’t complaining though.
Through the ambient sound of wind and insects outside and the clinking of their cutlery, Beau cleared her throat.
“Yasha…” She began.
“Beau?”
“Can I ask you something?”
Yasha shrugged, halfway through a bite.
Beau put her plate down and silently pushed off the counter, sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor, next to Yasha.
“Why?”
Yasha frowned, swallowing her bite and carefully placing her fork down. “Why...what?”
“Just-” Beau sighed. “Why? Why are you here, why did you want to talk to me, I just- I just want to know, why?”
Yasha pursed her lips. There was silence filling the little space between them, and for a moment, Beau was transported back to that first meeting with her - Yasha, quiet and mysterious and lit by the moon, and Beau, confused and curious, not knowing where this woman would take her.
Beau moved closer, ignoring her thumping heart.
“Can you tell me?”
Yasha looked back at her, young blue eyes meeting unfathomable green and purple ones. “It’s a long story.”
Beau smiled, not bothering to hide her affection. It had been so short a time and yet she felt like she’d been with Yasha for years. Yasha felt...comfortable. She felt right, more right than she had felt in her life. Who would’ve thought her father sending her here to hide away would’ve led to this ?
She didn’t say anything to Yasha. Nothing about her feelings, her care, her...her love for her. She didn’t mention how beautiful Yasha looked in the moonlight, how cute her smile was, how comforting it felt when she said Beau’s name.
She didn’t need to.
Beau moved closer, shoulder-to-shoulder with Yasha. She felt the woman next to her stiffen with surprise. Gently, she rested her head on Yasha’s fur-clad shoulder, smiling softly up to her.
Yasha looked down at Beau with those beautiful, inscrutable eyes. She smiled.
“A long story, you say?”
Yasha nodded, not breaking eye contact.
Beau’s heart felt fit to explode.
“It’s okay,” Beau whispered. “I have time.”