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Things had been going wrong for longer than Yaz wanted to admit. None of them had been entirely okay when they got back from the Isla Nublar, and she and Sammy were no exception. Her anxiety, Sammy’s hypervigilance - both had taken their toll on the relationship. Surviving dinosaurs was a cake-walk compared to dealing with adolescent mental health crises.
Then there was the issue of sex. For most of high school, Yaz couldn’t help but fret about what they were supposed to be doing or not doing. Was it embarrassing and juvenile if all they did was kiss? Was it gross and immoral if she put her hand up her girlfriend’s shirt? Was there something wrong with her if she didn’t want to have sex yet? Was there something wrong with her if she did?
They never talked about it and Sammy always let her set the pace - which, like her new race times, was slow. When she went to college, that pace became harder and harder to want to maintain. When Sammy would drape an arm around her shoulders or press a kiss to her cheek or even just take her hand, Yaz was always a bit surprised her skin didn’t burst into flames from the contact.
She started dodging kisses and sitting farther away on the couch, refusing to share a bedroom even though Sammy’s parents weren’t around much anymore. It hurt to see the crestfallen look on her girlfriend’s face, but she didn’t know how to put the feelings she was having into words. Instead she kept pretending that everything was normal while she tried to beat her own unruly thoughts into submission.
It wasn’t working well for her.
She didn’t want to think about how long it might have gone on that way if it weren’t for Brooklyn. Yaz went to visit while their friend was staying, and for her it was a relief - someone else in the room, someone to keep them apart. But as the week went on, Brooklyn looked more and more suspicious.
On the fifth night Sammy was cooking dinner while the other two played cards at the kitchen table, when Brooklyn tossed her hand down in the middle of her turn. “Yaz, let’s go out for a few minutes.”
“Are you sure?” Yaz asked, glancing over to her girlfriend. “We should keep Sammy company.”
“I could use a few minutes alone to focus on this sauce,” Sammy said, stirring the bubbling pot and flapping a hand vaguely at the door. “You two go enjoy the night air.”
Yaz was more than a bit suspicious, but she relaxed as they stepped outside and took in the view. It was a warm evening and the sky was still orange above the little farmhouse, a dozen stars just starting to wink into view. They set off through the field and after a few moments of silence, Brooklyn finally spoke.
“Alright, Yaz, let’s hear it. What the fuck is going on in there?”
Yaz looked sideways at her, startled. “I don’t know what you mean.”
She did know, of course - or at least, she probably did, but she didn’t want to drag her relationship through the mud if it wasn’t what Brooklyn was referring to.
“You and Sammy. You’re sleeping in a different room, jumping whenever she touches you… she looks at you like a wounded puppy. What is happening?”
Another long moment of silence, while Yaz waited for her internal marathon of words to clarify into something at least semi-coherent.
“It’s - um - ” she started, and then stopped. She had found the words, but she didn’t know if she could actually say them.
“Hey.” Brooklyn reached over and squeezed her upper arm briefly. “It’s me, okay? There’s nothing you can say that’s gonna make me judge you. Or Sammy, for that matter. I know you guys.”
“I-think-I-want-to-have-sex-but-I’m-kind-of-freaking-out-about-it.” Yaz felt like her face had gotten a very sudden sunburn. “But I’m not even sure if I do? Much less if she does! And if she doesn’t want to and I try to start something - is that going to ruin everything? Or if she does want to and I don’t know what to do - is that worse? And also, is there something wrong with me that I’m even thinking about it yet? Are we too young? Have you and Kenji… ”
Brooklyn looked over to see if she was going to finish her sentence. When she didn’t, Brooklyn grinned. “Yeah, Kenji and I are fucking,” she said, a chuckle warming the sentence. “We have been for a while.”
“Oh.” Yaz thought about that, and then tried not to think about that. “How did - I mean - did you talk about it? Or just, like, go for it?”
“We pretty much just went for it,” Brooklyn said, shrugging. “But our relationship is different than yours. Talking might be exactly what you need.”
“How did you know that you wanted to?” Yaz asked.
“I’d been thinking about it so much it was making me feel like I was going crazy,” Brooklyn said. “I finally decided that the only way to stop thinking about it was to actually do it. And I figured if I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t do it again, at least for a while. But it turned out I liked it, and luckily so did he.”
“Oh,” Yaz said again. Another long moment of quiet as the tall grass rustled under their feet.
“So you think you want to?” Brooklyn asked at last.
“Yeah,” Yaz said quietly. “I think so. What if Sammy doesn’t want to, though? Will she be upset that I do?”
“First of all, Sammy would never be upset with you for wanting or not wanting to do something like that. Second of all, she definitely wants to.”
She hadn’t realized it was possible, but her cheeks got even hotter. “How do you know that?” Yaz demanded.
A smug grin crept over Brooklyn’s face. “You’re not the only one who tells me secrets.”
Brooklyn went to bed early that night, raising her eyebrows just slightly at Yaz as she slipped out of the living room and to her guest room. She had been on the couch with Sammy and as she disappeared, Yaz switched over from the armchair, settling down cross-legged on the cushion.
“Hey,” she said quietly. “I want to talk to you.”
Sammy, who had been reaching for the TV remote, froze in place for a moment, and then retracted her hand into her lap and turned to face her, wide-eyed.
“Okay,” she said, and her smile was just a bit nervous. “You can always talk to me. What’s up?”
“Um. I don’t really know how to say this.” Yaz took a deep breath. Go on one. Three-two-one - “I’ve been wondering if you want to do more things physically,” she said at the exact same time as Sammy burst out - “I’ve been wanting to talk to you too so if you want me to go first - “
They both started laughing, and Yaz reached out and took her hand.
“Sorry,” said Sammy, and her shoulders seemed at least three inches lower. “I’ll actually let you talk this time. What did you say?”
“I was wondering if you want to - um - try more things physically.” Yaz squeezed her hand. “But it’s okay if you don’t!”
“Just to make sure I’m really clear here,” Sammy said, eyes sparkling. “When you say more things physically, do you mean like, go for a run or go rock climbing? Or - “
“Um. Or.” Brooklyn had been able to talk about it so easily. Yazmina had never been more jealous of her confidence than in that moment.
“And or means sex, right? I just really, really want to make sure we’re on the same page.” Sammy was blushing slightly, but her voice was unwavering as she spoke. With the suggestion finally all the way out in the open, Yaz felt her own shoulders relax too.
“Yeah. That’s exactly what I mean.”
“Okay. Yes.”
“Yes, as in - “
“Yes, I would like to do more things physically,” Sammy teased. “I would very much like that.”
“Oh. Okay! Good! Um - what were you going to say?” Yaz asked.
“Honestly, I thought you might have been about to break up with me because I was being too touchy and you were uncomfortable so I was going to tell you I could tone it back.”
“It’s the opposite, Sam,” Yaz said, running her thumb over Sammy’s knuckles. “I wasn’t uncomfortable. Or, I mean I was, but not because of you. Because of me. Because of how much more touchy I wanted you to be.”
“More touchy I can do,” Sammy said, and used their tangled hands to yank Yazmina towards her. Laughing, Yaz let herself tumble into her, pressing her down onto the couch. Their laughter subsided as the air became charged around them. Their faces were just a few inches apart and Yaz was suddenly very aware of how long it had been since they had really kissed.
“Is now a good time?” Yaz asked, stroking a lock of hair back from her face.
“No better time than the present,” Sammy murmured, and Yaz closed the space between them. They kissed fiercely in a way they hadn’t in months, tongues and teeth and lips colliding, Sammy’s hands running up Yaz’s back above her shirt and then beneath. Yaz put her weight on one elbow so that her other hand could trace up Sammy’s ribs to cup her breast. She loved the sounds her girlfriend made when she touched her there. She moved her mouth to Sammy’s neck, then down to her collarbone, then pulled up her shirt so she could press kisses to the soft skin of her chest. Sammy pressed herself a few inches off the couch, enough to unhook her bra. A brief tangle as she tried to get it off and it got caught in the sleeves of her shirt, and then both pieces of clothing came off and Yaz pushed her back down with her mouth around her hard, perfect nipple. At this, Sammy moaned loud enough that Yaz worried Brooklyn would hear.
“Quiet,” she whispered, and Sammy immediately fell silent. “Sorry, was that too bossy?”
“No, I - I liked it,” Sammy said, and now her voice was shaking slightly. “You can be bossy if you want.”
“Okay,” Yaz said tentatively, then tried again. “If you want me to keep doing this, then you need to be quiet, understand?”
“Yes,” Sammy said, raising a hand to run it through Yaz’s hair, tugging her ponytail loose. “I understand.”
“Good.” Yaz dropped her head back to her breast and Sammy gasped but otherwise stayed quiet. Yaz hummed in approval, and then, as she kept sucking on her nipple, started to move her hand down her girlfriend’s body to her waist, then slowly over towards her center.
“Yes,” Sammy gasped. “Please, Yaz. I want you - I want you to touch me.”
Yaz thought her name had never sounded better in anyone else’s mouth. She undid the button on her jeans, then the zipper, and Sammy was already thrusting her hips up against her hand as she slid it under the denim. She ran her fingers lightly over the fabric of her panties and Sammy let out another moan. Yaz lifted her head. “What did I say?” she asked.
“I’m sorry,” Sammy said, and it was nearly a whimper. “I’ll be quiet, it just - it feels good.”
“That’s what I want,” Yaz said, putting every bit of brain power she had into saying something moderately dirty without sounding like an idiot. “For you to feel good.” She started moving her hand again, pressing harder now, hard enough to feel a bit of wetness soaking through the fabric. She finally pulled it aside, her fingers meeting the soft, warm skin underneath. Sammy’s hand flew up to her mouth, holding her moan in.
“Very good,” Yaz told her, fingers lightly playing around her entrance. She almost couldn’t believe that they were doing this - that she was this close to pressing her fingers inside of her girlfriend - “Tell me you want me.”
“Please , I want you so bad,” Sammy whispered, and Yaz slowly, gently, started to slide her finger into her. Sammy was suddenly holding completely still, eyes closed, and when her finger was all the way inside, Yaz paused.
“Does this feel okay?” she asked, the bossiness completely gone from her voice. “Do you want me to keep going?”
“It feels - it feels really good,” Sammy said. “Please keep going.”
Yaz started to move her finger again, still slow and gentle, out and back in. She loved that it was coated in her girlfriend’s arousal, loved how tight she was, loved that she was slowly starting to move her hips again to thrust against her hand. The next time her finger was all the way in, she cocked it forward against her front wall and Sammy’s breath caught in her chest.
“Yaz, that feels so good.” Sammy was practically whimpering. “Please keep doing that.”
Yaz leaned forward to kiss her breast again as she started flexing her finger again and again against that spot. Sammy was twisting now, coming apart beneath her. “I’m gonna - please keep going, I’m gonna - “
“I want you to come for me,” Yaz told her, and moments later she did. She could feel Sammy’s muscles pulsing around her finger as her entire body seemed to tighten - legs bracing, head tipping back, hands grasping frantically at the blanket underneath them. She kept moving her fingers in that exact same way until her girlfriend’s body went soft all at once and the breath she’d been holding flooded out of her. Yaz pulled her hand away slowly as Sammy propped herself up on her elbows, flushed and wide-eyed.
“Was that okay?” Sammy asked her anxiously.
For a brief moment, Yaz wondered if she had heard her incorrectly. “I should be asking you!”
“No but - I mean - I wasn’t - weird, or, anything?”
“You were beautiful,” Yaz told her, and sat up to kiss her, gently. After a moment, Sammy pulled back.
“Can I touch you?” she asked almost bashfully.
Yaz's stomach flipped all of a sudden. Everything about this had been perfect. She didn’t want to risk ruining it. “Is it okay if I say not right now?”
“Of course,” Sammy said, reaching out to stroke her cheek. “Whenever you’re ready, I would like to. But not until you’re ready.”
“Thank you,” Yaz said. “This was all I wanted right now.”
Sammy smiled at her. “Will you please sleep in my room tonight?”
“Only because you said please,” Yaz teased, and finally the pair headed to bed.
Yaz loved making her girlfriend come. She loved finding new tricks to make her gasp and whimper, she loved the way Sammy clung to her, she loved the softness in her shoulders and hands and jaw afterwards. She loved everything about it. Unfortunately, it was usually a one-way street.
It certainly wasn’t that Sammy was bad at it. The second time, Yaz had let Sammy touch her, and she was as thoughtful and enthusiastic and lovely in bed as she was in every other aspect of her life, but just as the pressure was building to a peak, something in her had sensed some sort of danger and panicked. She had twisted away from her girlfriend’s hands, bit her tongue, waited for her body to shut down the feeling. The same thing had happened the next time, and the time after that. Any time she got close - something in her closed off.
It was getting in Sammy’s head - Yaz could tell that she blamed herself for it. It made Yaz feel ill, grabbing Sammy’s hand to stop her from moving and then watching something shutter in her eyes, a mask come down over her face, as they both tried to apologize. Yaz tried to tell her that she couldn’t come when she was by herself either, but it didn’t seem to help.
Maybe they would have figured it out, maybe not, but then Brooklyn died. Sex stopped completely. Neither of them discussed it, things just never went further than a kiss. There was so much that was wrong in the world, it felt like too much to have to face this thing that was so wrong in their relationship. It wasn’t just the sex, either - Sammy stopped offering details on her fights with her parents and Yaz moved to Wyoming. She figured that they loved each other and that was enough to make it through. They just had to wait out the badness and the wrongness until it all got right again.
Once again - and she was starting to feel like this was a horrible pattern - she was wrong.
The first time Yaz was able to come was the night that she and Sammy broke up. She stood in the shower, water as hot as she could stand, forehead pressed against the cold wall tile, and pictured her ex-girlfriend slipping into the shower and wrapping her arms around her from behind. Yaz slipped her own hand, slick with soap and water, between her legs. In her head it was Sammy pressing her against the wall, kissing her neck, whispering promises into her ear - never again, I’ll always be here for you, I’ll always take care of you, I love you. This time as the pressure built she ignored the twist in her stomach and the spike of anxiety shooting through her, focused on the sound of Sammy’s voice in her mind - and then her whole body was shaking with an intensity that bordered on painful, that made her bite down on her lip to stop from making a sound. As the feeling receded, she realized that she was crying.
The next few weeks were some of the worst of Yaz’s life, excluding the (thankfully false) deaths of friends. Even as she seemed to have forgiven Brooklyn, Sammy barely looked at her and only spoke vaguely in her direction only when she had to.
When the entire Camp Fam finally gets a few days to catch their breath at Darius’s cabin, Yaz decides that she wants out of purgatory. They’re all sitting around the living room discussing what movie to watch when she loses her patience and stands up mid-conversation.
“I’m going out for some fresh air,” she says, slipping on her sneakers. Glances over at Sammy, who’s not looking back. “If anyone wants to come.”
“I will - “ Ben starts, and then Kenji smacks him. “Oh. Oh! Never mind.”
A long silence follows and Yaz starts to think that maybe she is just going out for some air after all. When she turns and puts her hand on the knob, however, Sammy finally speaks up - far more quietly than Yaz is used to. “I’ll come.”
They walk in silence through the trees, the dirt path illuminated by a pink sunset that’s reminiscent of Brooklyn’s Isla Nublar hair. There’s a pond a few minutes away with a wooden dock stretching over the water, and that’s where Yaz is heading. She’s trying not to look at Sammy but even so she’s keenly aware of her - the slight hitch in her breath, her slumped shoulders.
They reach the pond and Yaz sits on the end of the dock to dangle her feet in the cold water, shoes abandoned on the grass. The sky is quickly fading from pink to purple overhead. Sammy sits next to her, a few inches away, not touching.
“You’ve forgiven Brooklyn,” Yaz says at last, trying to sound calm, not like the whining mess she feels. She’s not sure if she succeeds. “Why not me?”
“It’s not about Brooklyn anymore,” Sammy says. “You - you were right about her. We needed to be there. Even though she was being - “
“Monumentally stupid and a little bit cruel?”
“Yeah,” Sammy says. “She is still family.”
“Then what’s wrong?” Yaz asks.
“You were there for Brooklyn, ready to throw your life away, even after what she did to us. But you haven’t been there for me.”
“If you were in danger - “
“I know, I know if I were in danger you’d be there. But what about when I’m not in danger?”
Yaz takes a deep breath, thinks about something one of the therapists in Wyoming had said. Choose curiosity over defensiveness. It doesn’t feel as good as the therapist had seemed to suggest, but she sticks with it. “What do you mean?”
“After Brooklyn died I needed you, and you needed to not be with me.”
“That’s not what it - “
“Isn’t it?” Sammy demands, and she’s finally getting heated, voice rising in volume and pitch. “I was smothering you, wasn’t I? I was trying to protect you and you were suffocating. Isn’t that how you felt?”
Yaz doesn’t want to say it aloud. She looks down at the gentle ripples spreading out from her feet in the water.
“But instead of trying to talk to me about it, you ran away. You stopped visiting, barely took my calls - I didn’t know where you were or how you were. And you didn’t know how I was either. We tried to pretend it was okay when we got to Wyoming. But it wasn’t, and I can’t keep pretending.”
“How were you, Sammy?” Yaz asks as gently as possible. Her stomach is sinking. This isn’t what she had expected from this conversation - an accusation that feels like a slap. An accusation that feels true.
“My parents basically told me that I could have the farm if I would stay out of their lives until I came to my senses.”
“About what?”
“About you. Us. Who I am. It was one thing when I was a traumatized little kid and they had just spent a year thinking I was dead - there was a lot they were willing to overlook. But once I was growing up and not growing out of it? They weren’t so accepting anymore.”
“Sammy, why didn’t you tell me?”
“You knew I wasn’t talking to them anymore but you never even asked why. You made your assumptions, and when did I have the time to correct them?”
Yaz fights the urge to throw herself in the water to get away from this conversation. Sammy is right, and she can’t run away again.
She turns to look at her ex and is startled to see tear tracks glimmering on her cheeks as she gazes up at the sky. She hadn’t sounded like she was crying. Sammy had gotten good at hiding in her own way.
“I’m so sorry, Sam,” Yaz says. “You’re right. I’m so, so sorry.”
“Thanks,” she whispers. Another moment of silence where Yaz studies her profile, lit by the moon that had risen into view above the pond. The dark freckles on her cheek, the curve of her lips, her long eyelashes. She loves her, she loves her, she loves her.
“Is there anything I can do to fix this?” Yaz asks. “Sammy, you’re the best thing in my life. And I know I’ve messed up, but when we’re good, we’re so good.”
“I don’t know how I’d survive it again,” Sammy says. “You disappearing, I mean. Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice - “
“Will you look at me?” Yaz whispers. Sammy wipes the tears off her cheeks, then finally turns her beautiful brown eyes onto Yaz.
“I love you so much. I’m so sorry for shutting you out when you needed me. If you’re willing to try this again, I will do everything I can to make sure you know that I’m there for you, for the big things and the small things and everything in between. And if you’re not willing to try this again - then I’m still going to make sure I’m there for you as a friend, because that’s what you deserve.”
A moment of silence where an ache swells to fill Yaz’s chest, then Sammy lifts her free hand up to Yaz’s cheek, strokes her thumb over her cheekbone. Yaz’s skin feels like it might catch on fire, like it had back at the beginning of college. She had been afraid Sammy might never touch her again.
“I’m scared,” Sammy admits. “I feel like you could hurt me worse than I could ever hurt you.”
Yaz can’t think of anything to say to make this better, but she’s always been better at actions than words. “Can I kiss you?” she asks. Sammy hesitates, then nods.
Yaz reaches out to rest her hand on the back of Sammy’s neck. She’s gratified to see goosebumps rise along her arms, and then she pulls her in. She kisses her feather-light at first, lips barely brushing as she tangles her fingers into Sammy’s hair at the base of her skull. Then all of a sudden she tugs, pulling her head back and exposing her neck. Sammy lets out a breath as Yaz kisses down her jaw and onto her throat, then back up to her ear where she slides her earlobe slowly through her teeth.
She makes her way back to Sammy’s mouth, and this time she kisses her hard, teeth and tongue, wanting to leave her mouth red and swollen. Her free hand moves to rest on Sammy’s waist, then slides upwards to her breast. It’s an unfair move and Sammy moans against her mouth, the thrill of it shooting straight through Yaz.
“Sam,” Yaz gasps, breaking away for a moment. “I want you to touch me.”
She says a silent prayer that this will be interpreted correctly - not as an ask but as an offer, a promise to open herself up in ways she hadn’t been able to before.
“Are you sure?” Sammy asks, her voice low and husky in her throat, the sound of it making Yaz ache between her legs.
“Please,” she says.
“Lay back,” Sammy tells her. Yaz obeys, feeling the coolness of the aged wood against her arms. Sammy stretches on her side beside her, running her fingers along her waist.
Yaz starts to reach for Sammy’s chest again but her hand snaps up to catch her wrist.
“Not right now,” Sammy orders. Yaz had always been the bossy one in bed, but she likes this new dynamic too. She drops her hand and Sammy resumes tracing light patterns across her lower stomach. Now Yaz is the one with goosebumps.
“Does that feel good?” Sammy whispers, moving her head down to whisper in Yaz’s ear then bite it.
“Yes,” she murmurs. “God, yes.”
“Good,” Sammy says, and slides her hand under fabric. Yaz gasps as she presses her palm against her pelvic bone and slides two fingers between her lips to find the wetness at her entrance. She draws a painfully slowly circle, then drags them up to her clit. It’s been over a year since Sammy had touched her like this but it’s clear she still remembers what Yaz likes - firm pressure, steady motions, gradually increasing speed. “Did you miss this?”
“I missed it so much,” Yaz whispers, grinding against Sammy’s hand. She had tugged her shirt up and her sports bra down, fingers teasing her own breasts - she would have liked to be touching Sammy but an order was an order.
“Good,” Sammy says, eyes following the movement. “Keep touching yourself just like that.”
Yaz is having a hard time speaking by now, and then Sammy’s fingers dip lower again, gently circling her entrance.
“Tell me you want me, Yaz,” Sammy whispers. “Beg for me.”
And as they lie there in the dark with the night noises of the forest all around them, Yaz understands exactly what Sammy is asking to hear. Not just an “I want you right now,” but - “I need you as much as you need me, here’s the loaded gun, you can hurt me in all the ways I hurt you.”
“Please, Sammy, I need you, I don’t need anyone the way I need you,” Yaz whispers back. “I love you, I love you more than anything. Please.”
Yaz thinks that she wouldn’t blame her if she pulled her hand away and disappeared back through the forest - and then Sammy kisses her as she presses her fingers into her. Yaz cries out against her mouth as she starts to move them, the pleasure after the fear so intense she almost can’t stand it.
“Just let go,” Sammy is murmuring. “I’ve got you, okay?”
And just as the pressure in the pit of her stomach builds past what she can usually stand, just as she would normally be twisting away, she wraps her arms around Sammy’s back, buries her face in her neck, and comes. Sammy keeps twisting her fingers, drawing it out, as Yaz feels her whole body slip out of her control with a sense of free-falling joy. Nothing matters but this, the taste of Sammy’s neck on her lips and her arm around her back and getting to spend even one more moment with her.
Finally she stops shaking and Sammy pulls her hand away. When Yaz lifts her head, she realizes her cheeks are wet again and has a brief moment of wondering if crying is part of her orgasm - but Sammy’s face is wet too and really, there’s no better reason to cry than the idea that this might be their last time together, or the first of many more.
They lie there on the dock, just a few inches apart, studying each other in the starlight. Yaz shivers as the wind dances across her skin, and Sammy shifts forward and drapes her arm over her waist.
“Are you okay?” she asks softly, her familiar drawl Yazmina’s favorite sound.
“I am,” Yaz says. “Are you?”
“Yeah.” Sammy smiles at her - the first smile she’s received in quite some time. It still makes her stomach flip.
“Do you want to keep going?” Yaz asks, suddenly desperate to touch her again, make her feel good -
“Not right now,” Sammy says. “I just wanna look at you for a minute.”
“Not right now. Does that mean maybe later?”
Sammy is smiling again. “Yeah. It means definitely later.”
Yaz closes her eyes against even more tears. “I love you,” she says. “And I mean every word I said.”
“I believe you,” Sammy says, and kisses her nose. “I love you too. I missed you. For a while now, I’ve missed you.”
“I’ll try to make sure you never have to miss me again.”
The wind blows again, harder, and this time they both shiver.
“Should we go back?” Sammy asks.
“I want to be wherever you want to be right now,” Yaz says. It’s true. If Sammy said “alright then, back to the Isla Nublar,” it would be okay by her.
As they sit up and adjust their clothes, find their shoes in the shadows, Yaz can’t stop smiling, pulling Sammy back in to kiss her lips, cheeks, forehead, neck, nose, anywhere she can reach.
“Alright, I’m gonna need you to cut that out,” Sammy admonishes at last. “I’d like to at least make it back to somewhere with a bed before we get to later.”
“A bed sounds nice,” Yaz murmurs, weaving their fingers together. “Let’s go find one.”
Hand in hand, they make their way home.