Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

JUNE, 2012

06.15.12

I’ve spent days in silence, wordless,

my thoughts racing faster than I can write.

My words climb the back of my throat

and get caught behind my uvula,

then crawl along the expanse of my tongue

only to kill themselves leaping into the void of my throat.

They all die the moment they reach the heart.

A mass extinction of scattered thoughts,

multiple murder inside the pit of my stomach.

But I swallow silence compulsively

and smile for my audience.

I am executioner, witness, and victim.

Before you left, you told me

that to see you,

I’d just had to close my eyes,

and then we’d be together.

I spend my days with eyes shut tight,

in a desperate attempt to keep you near.

But it’s been years

since that magic stopped working.

And I’m so scared I’ll forget the sound of your laughter.

The village hadn’t changed.

It still smelled of cracked pine bark, of the smoke that lingered in shutters long after winters were over. It still rang with the hollow clinking of church bells at six, and the metallic creak of bicycles left to rust against whitewashed stone walls. The same old houses leaned into one another along narrow roads, their windows open to let in the light, the flies, the endless gossip…

Time had moved through the place gently, like a polite guest wiping its feet before entering.

Jaycelyn hadn’t been back in nearly seven years.

And unlike the village, she had changed.

Violently. Vertiginously so.

There were entire versions of herself scattered in the years between—half-grown, half-wrecked girls she barely remembered being. And now, walking through those familiar cobbled streets, she felt like a mere echo. The quiet places of her childhood no longer fit the shape of her sorrow.

Her mother walked a few steps ahead, polite as always, carrying the appropriate gifts and small smiles for the relatives that waited behind thick lace curtains and polite hugs. Jaycelyn knew she didn’t want to be here any more than she did. But neither of them said so. They hadn’t said much at all since her father’s side of the family called.

A summer to reconnect, her cousins had said. To remember him.

As if he were a place they could visit.

As if grief could be rescheduled.

Her mother said it would be good. That the family wanted to see them, that her father would have wanted it. And maybe that was true. Maybe ghosts did have wishes.

But Jayce knew the truth in her mother’s silence: that they had come back not out of longing, but out of duty. A summer for remembering, for smiling too much and speaking too little, for performing the easy trick of being fine. It’s what she had always done. Tucked the ache behind her ribs and carried on, jumped through hoops, feigning normalcy with weary grace.

She had taken refuge in writing to survive her performative self, the version of her she showed to others, the smile-stitched girl who nodded at grief like it were a well-trained dog.

But in the pages of her journals, she bled.

She wrote torn verses and raw sentences, vomited her sorrow onto paper in hopes that the hole her father had left behind might one day begin to scab.

But it had been months since that had worked.

The words no longer came, or at least not in the way she wanted. Lately, even the verses she wrote for herself felt like a performance.

But even a practiced performance needs an intermission.

So that morning, before the house had stirred, she had slipped out early, notebook under her arm, feet bare in her sandals, and followed the old trail through the orchard and past the dry aqueduct —the one she used to run barefoot along, laughing, holding her father's hand— until she reached the lake.

Her lake.

A quiet, small pool tucked between low hills and overgrown reeds, half-forgotten even by the locals. She and her father had come here every summer. He used to read aloud to her from worn paperbacks while she floated in water.

He once told her the lake didn’t just show reflections—it remembered them.

She was seven and she believed him.

Now she was twenty-one, and the lake seemed even smaller, but the ache in her chest did not.

Jayce stepped through the last curtain of trees, the familiar scent of sun-warmed algae curling toward her like an old friend, and-

She stopped in her tracks.

There was someone there.

At the far end of the grassy bank, half in sun, half in shadow, a girl sat alone near the water’s edge.

Jaycelyn’s heart recoiled like it had touched flame.

What was she doing here?

This was hers. Hers and her father’s.

Not a tourist’s picnic spot, not a pretty postcard backdrop.

It was a memory. It was bone-deep. It wasn’t meant to be shared.

The sudden, irrational flare of anger caught her by the throat. She clenched her jaw and walked forward—not stealthily, but not loudly either, like someone rehearsing confrontation in her head and not yet ready to perform it.

But just as she reached the stranger’s spot, the sight of her stole the words clean from her mouth. Not with force, but with something gentler, as if language itself had knelt down, unwilling to interrupt what Jaycelyn could only describe, in that breathless instant, as the quiet violence of beauty.

Her knees were bent, one of them cradled by the delicate curve of an intricate metal brace that hugged her leg like something half-scientific, half-sacred. A cane rested on the grass beside her, unnoticed. Her long skirt —cream linen, paint-stained— was hitched carelessly up around her thighs, exposing pale skin mapped with moles and freckles. Her short brown hair, streaked with sun-kissed blonde at the tips, curled damp against her temples, matted in places from sweat and breeze, with a few stubborn strands clinging to her sharp cheekbones like question marks.

And she wasn’t lounging or swimming or even sunbathing. She was drawing.

She held a sketchbook in her lap, one hand lightly smudged with graphite, the other curled around the edge of the paper like it was the rim of the world.

And she was- God, she was beautiful.

Not in the polished way people mean. But in the wild, accidental way. Like dandelions blooming through the cracks in hot asphalt. There was something untouchable about her, not aloof, not fragile, just… elsewhere. As if part of her still existed in whatever image she was conjuring onto the page.

Jayce found herself standing still. The irritation slowly drained from her limbs and all that was left was a stunned, silent pulse behind her ribs.

Then, as if summoned by that very throb, the girl looked up.

Their eyes met.

And Jayce’s breath caught in her throat.

The stranger blinked, startled—she clearly hadn’t realized anyone was nearby. She tilted her head slightly, and in the slant of light, her eyes lit up: a light brown so clear it felt impossible. Fresh honey through sunlit glass, Jaycelyn thought. A bright shade of caramel, kissed through with amber, and made golden by the rays of summer sun.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Jaycelyn had come with the intention of asking the stranger to leave. Or at least to make her presence known. But now… the words felt too sharp. Out of place. Like trying to yell inside a cathedral.

The girl didn’t look hostile. Just surprised. She looked up at her, not with suspicion or apology, but with a kind of calm wariness. Like a deer that had seen too many hunters to startle easily.

Jayce shifted her weight, her fingers tightening around the spine of her notebook, suddenly aware of how loud the wind felt between them. She opened her mouth.

“Uh.”

A brilliant start.

The young woman raised one eyebrow, but didn’t speak.

Jayce cleared her throat. “You’re…” You’re in my spot. Why are you here? You shouldn’t be here. She thought. She immediately regretted starting that sentence, though. “Uh. Here.”

The other girl furrowed her brow faintly. “I am.”

Jayce nodded, as if she had confirmed something very profound.

Silence. A bird chirped somewhere overhead with the comic timing of a stage cue.

“I wasn’t- I didn’t think someone would be here.” She tried again, words tripping over themselves. “It usually is. It used to be. Empty, I mean.”

The girl’s gaze didn’t leave her, but it wasn’t unkind. Just quietly confused. “I didn’t see a sign.”

“A sign?”

“‘No trespassing’ or eh-” Her voice was dry, but not exactly sarcastic. “Reserved seating?”

Jayce almost smiled at that. A grin tugged at the corner of her mouth and stopped there, unsure. But something in the girl’s tone —a hint of amused restraint— managed to loosen the knot in her chest just a little.

Her voice was somehow calm. It wasn’t just what she said, but how. There was a rhythm to her speech, careful and sharp, and it carried a slightly foreign cadence—European, maybe, though Jayce couldn’t place from where. Soft vowels edged with pointed consonants, the sounds dipping and lifting with quiet precision, like footsteps on gravel. Something delicate and slightly biting.

She didn’t know why, but it stuck with her.

Maybe because it was the first voice she’d heard today that hadn’t spoken to her with pity.

“It’s not- I don’t own the rocks.” Jaycelyn said quickly. “I mean- that would be weird.”

The girl tilted her head. “Very.”

Jayce closed her eyes for a second, regrouping, then gestured vaguely at the water. “I just… used to come here a lot. When I was younger. I was hoping I’d be alone.”

The stranger glanced at the lake, then back at her. Her gaze softened a little, or perhaps it simply settled into her. She nodded once, then looked down at her sketchbook, as if considering whether to close it, hide it, or keep drawing.

“I can move.”

“No! I mean- You don’t have to.” She answered a little too quickly. “I just… It’s been a while since I’ve been here, that’s all.”

Jayce watched her for a beat, unsure what to do with her own arms, suddenly hyperaware of their existence. She crossed them. Uncrossed them. Brushed a loose curl —one that had slipped free from her high pony— behind her ear, and immediately wished she hadn’t.

“I didn’t mean to intrude.” The girl said simply, her expression unreadable.

And somehow, Jaycelyn believed her.

“You’re not.” She replied, looking down at the grass, heat rising in her face. “Sorry, I’m probably being weird. I’ll just- leave you alone.”

“You can sit if you want.”

Jayce looked at her, surprised.

A pause.

“You sure?”

The stranger nodded, then reached down to pick up her cane, shifting it to the other side of her body as if to clear the space beside her.

Jayce hesitated a heartbeat longer, then walked over, cautiously, unsure where to put her gratitude.

“Thanks.” She said before lowering herself beside the girl. Not too close, not too far. Just the exact distance of polite ambiguity.

Silence settled again, soft but no longer heavy.

The air smelled like sun on stone and something sweet—maybe wild mint, or algae. Jayce pressed her hands into the earth for balance. Her palms came up damp.

She glanced sideways at her new companion with quick, sharp little looks she hoped went unnoticed.

Now that she was closer, she could really look at her, truly observe her, as if her brain had finally caught up with her eyes. There was a sharpness to her features—not delicate, not dainty, but cut from stone. High cheekbones. A strong jaw softened only slightly by the curve of her lips, which looked like they had forgotten how to smile. Her eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, thick and wide-set, almost severe, but beautiful in their certainty, like brushstrokes on a painting made without hesitation.

Two dark moles stood out on her pale skin: one just beneath her right eye, the other near the edge of her mouth. Together, they felt like punctuation marks. Like a secret code.

She was watching the lake now, eyes half-lidded, as if the surface of the water held something worth reading, her graphite stained fingers tapping against the edge of her sketchbook.

Jayce cleared her throat. “You were drawing?”

The stranger didn’t look at her, but nodded once.

She tried not to feel like every question she asked was a pebble thrown into the quiet. “It looked nice. From- when I was walking up.”

A pause.

“It’s not finished yet.” The young woman murmured.

Jaycelyn nodded, unsure what to say to that. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”

The girl finally looked at her again. Her gaze lingered for a beat.

“No. You just… startled me. That’s all.”

“Right.” She offered a nervous smile. “Sorry about that.”

Another pause.

The breeze caught a few loose strands of the young woman’s hair and blew them across her face. She brushed them away absently, then nodded toward Jayce’s notebook.

“Do you draw too?”

“Oh- No. Well, I like to doodle, but I mostly write.”

The stranger tilted her head slightly, a curious glint lighting up her gaze. “So you’re a writer.”

Jayce laughed, a breathy, almost embarrassed sound. “I don’t know if I’d call myself that, but…”

“But you write, do you not?”

“Well- I mean, yeah, I guess I do.”

“Then I think that’s the definition of a writer.”

Jayce blinked. Then smiled. Softer. Sweeter. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“I know.”

The ease in her voice made Jaycelyn warm to her more than she expected. This random stranger she had nearly yelled at for sitting in her spot now felt oddly… familiar.

Her gaze dropped to the sketchbook in her lap. “Do you usually come here to draw nature and stuff?”

The girl shook her head. “No. I haven’t really… felt inspired lately. I just found this place. It seemed nice. Thought I’d practice a bit.”

“It’s beautiful. I used to come here all the time as a kid. It was kind of my secret hideout.”

“Was it?” Jayce nodded. A beat passed before the girl spoke again. “Sorry for stealing it, then.”

“It’s okay.” She chuckled. “I’m willing to share it.”

A small scoff, almost amused. “How generous of you.”

They both smiled then, tentative, lingering, as if afraid that the moment might dissolve if they moved too quickly.

“Can I see it?” Jayce tilted her head toward the notebook. “Your drawing?”

The girl’s hand moved almost instinctively, curling protectively over the page. “I still have to finish it.”

Jayce didn’t press. She let the silence stretch, her gaze drifting across the hills. Then, with a small breath, she offered, “Tell you what. I’ll write for a while. You finish your drawing. And then… I’ll let you read my poem, if you let me see your sketch.”

The girl blinked, lips parting like she might refuse. But instead, after a beat, she extended her hand—stained fingers and smudges of charcoal trailing down her wrist like shadows.

“Deal.”

Jaycelyn reached for it. Her hand was warm and against the cooler skin of the other’s, and for a brief second, they simply held on—longer than custom required, longer than strangers should.

Something flickered between their palms, weightless and unspoken. And just for a breath, Jayce had the absurd, impossible feeling that she’d met this girl before.

Not in this life, maybe. But somewhere.

Somewhen.

When their hands finally let go, the touch left behind a faint warmth, as if the air between them had remembered it.

Jayce studied her with quiet curiosity, eyes soft.

“Sorry, I-” She said, almost gently, like saying it too loud might break whatever spell they’d stumbled into. “I don’t even know your name.” 

The girl tilted her head just so, the sunlight catching in her irises like gold dust.

“It’s Viktoria.”

“Her collarbone held sunlight like a prayer.

I forgot every metaphor except her name.”

Chapter Text

06.28.12

The sickness of those who hold too much within their chest.

I love you sweetly, I love you fiercely.

How much despair can a heart hold?

Summer could be the perfect season to mourn you,

but I’d rather use it to find new pieces of myself,

or maybe to dust off the ones I thought were lost.

I touch my skin and find ghostly traces of fingerprints there,

ones that are slowly fading,

though they’ll be always etched here,

forever drawn upon me.

I was born to love.

No matter how much it hurts.

While the weak-hearted hesitate,

the lovers dream to the point of madness,

letting their soul slip in torrents through their fingers.

Follow the hunch, the calling of the heart.

Live chasing the feeling.

Jayce stood in front of the mirror, lips parted in quiet concentration as she gathered her hair into a high ponytail. Her fingers moved with practiced ease, twisting the thick, dark strands until they fell in soft waves down her back, exposing the clean line of her jaw and the faint shimmer of tiny gold studs decorating her ears.

She smoothed back a loose strand with her thumb, then leaned closer to the mirror and dabbed on a touch of lip gloss—just enough to glint when the sun found her mouth.

It had been a while since she’d bothered to make herself look presentable—at least, not for something as simple as wandering the quiet edges of town, or spending a few hours scribbling beneath a tree.

And yet-

Her reflection stared back at her, a little too composed, a little too polished to pass for casual.

It didn’t mean anything, she told herself. She just liked the ritual of it, the quiet preparation, the way it made her feel like she had control over something, anything.

But even as she slipped her journal into her bag and adjusted the strap over her shoulder, she felt the flutter in her chest again. Light and restless. That quiet hum beneath her ribs that had started days ago and hadn’t really gone away.

Maybe it was the stillness of summer.

Or maybe, it was the way Viktoria’s voice lingered in her memory, sharp and soft all at once, like the outline of a dream you’re afraid to touch in case it fades.

Since their first meeting, Jayce had found a kind of solace in Viktoria. A friend, yes—but more than that, a mirror. Another girl cracked open at the seams, carrying her grief in silence, trying to stitch herself back together in the soft light of summer afternoons.

They laughed together—awkwardly at first, then easier with time. They drank coffee in the sleepy café on the town’s plaza, their elbows touching across the table. They spent long, drowsy hours under the trees by the lake, the air thick with the scent of warm earth and ripening fruit, their notebooks open on their laps, words and sketches blooming in tandem.

Jayce had found something in this town she hadn’t expected. Something that didn’t taste like memory or ache of absence. Something that didn’t belong to her past or the long shadow of her father’s name.

Something new.

Unspoiled.

Bright.

Whatever it was, she didn’t know how to name it.

Or maybe she didn’t dare to.

She slung her bag over her shoulder, the worn strap settling into the familiar curve of her collarbone, and headed down the stairs with the quiet urgency of someone who didn’t want to be stopped. She reached the front door, her fingers already curling around the handle-

“Jaycelyn.”

She flinched slightly.

Her mother stood at the edge of the hallway, arms folded over her chest.

“Where are you going?”

She turned halfway. “Out. Just for a walk.”

“Out where?”

“I don’t know. Around.”

Ximena’s brows furrowed. “You’ve been ‘just walking’ every day since we got here.”

Jayce’s jaw tightened. “So?”

“So we didn’t come here for you to avoid us. You know we came here to spend time with your father’s family. With your tío and tía. With your cousins. This trip was supposed to be about being together. Remember?”

The young woman sighed through her nose. “I remember.”

“Then act like it.”

That stung more than she expected. She turned fully now, the door still ajar behind her.

“I am acting like it. I’m here, aren’t I? I show up to the lunches. I sit through the awkward silences. I listen to everyone pretend they’re okay.”

“No one's pretending.” Her mother snapped. “We’re all just doing our best.”

Jayce shook her head, laughter bitter in her mouth. “Yeah? Well, your best feels a lot like suffocating.”

Ximena blinked, her mouth parting slightly.

Jayce regretted it the moment she said it.

“Watch your tone.” The older woman said, low and firm, the kind of voice that didn't rise in volume but still silenced the room. “You may be hurting, but that doesn’t give you permission to speak to me like that.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“But you did.” Her mother cut in, her voice sharper now. “You meant it enough to say it. So at least be honest about that.”

“You want me to be honest?” Jayce’s arms folded across her chest, a defensive gesture she didn’t quite control. “Alright. Everything in this house, everything, reminds me of dad.” She said, her voice rising despite herself. “His chair, his books, that smell in the hallway- God, even the stupid wind chimes out back. It’s like he’s still here. But he’s not. And it sucks.”

Her mother’s mouth trembled at the edges.

“You think I don’t feel that too?”

Jaycelyn hesitated.

“I know you do.” She said, quieter now. “But it’s different for you.”

“How?”

“Because you had him longer. Because you knew how it felt to live with him. You got to enjoy a life with him. I was still figuring that out.”

A raw quietness settled between them.

When her mother finally spoke again, her voice had dropped to a hush.

“I lost my husband.”

“And I lost my fucking dad, má! Don’t you get that? Why do you act like I’m not grieving!?”

Silence. A heavy, dangerous silence.

Neither of them moved. The hallway seemed to grow smaller around them.

Ximena stepped closer, the weight of years and unspoken grief folding into her movements. The air between them thickened, charged with all the unsaid words and tender battles fought in silence.

“Don’t you ever raise your voice at me again.” She said, her voice sharp. “I haven’t bent my back crying over your father in silence and working my fingers to the bone to give you the best life I could, just to be treated like this.” Her eyes locked onto Jayce’s, heavy with a pain she barely managed to hold back. “Do you think I haven’t looked around this house and wanted to scream until I lose my voice? Huh? Or turn down the invitation to come here? Run away and never come back?” She softened just a bit, stepping closer still, but her tone stayed firm. “But here I am. Because despite everything, we’re trying to hold on to each other. I know you’re hurting. And I know you’ve lost your dad. But you’re not the only one grieving in this house, mija.”

Jayce stood frozen, her chest tightening as the weight of her mother’s words settled deep inside her. Her lips trembled, and a fragile catch formed in her throat, threatening to break free as tears blurred her vision. The anger that had flared just moments before dissolved into a raw ache, vulnerability seeping through her carefully held walls.

In a barely audible whisper, she managed, “I know. I’m sorry.”

Ximena’s eyes softened, glistening with a quiet sorrow that mirrored her daughter’s pain. Without a word, she stepped forward and wrapped her in a gentle embrace, a silent offering of comfort and understanding amid the storm of grief that surrounded them both.

Jayce let herself be held, tense at first, then slowly softening. Her forehead pressed to her mother’s shoulder. Her breath hitched, a single tear escaping down her cheek as her voice broke softly, almost swallowed by the weight of her sorrow. “I miss him so much.”

Ximena’s hand tightened gently around her, her own eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I know, mi amor.” She murmured softly, one hand reaching up to stroke the buzzed nape of Jayce’s neck with tender care. “I miss him too. And I see how hard you’re trying. I really do. I just wish you’d share more of what’s inside with us.”

Jayce closed her eyes. Her throat ached with words she didn’t have the shape for yet.

After a moment, Ximena pulled back just enough to look at her. She brushed the tears from her daughter’s cheek with her thumb and gave her a sad, gentle smile. Jayce studied her face—the lines etched by years, the silver strands growing more pronounced in her hair.

Yeah, Jayce was, in fact, not the only one grieving. Even if sometimes, it felt like she was.

“Go.” Her mother said. “Breathe. Just… be back in time for dinner, okay?”

Jayce took a deep breath, steadying herself before nodding softly. “Okay.” She turned toward the door, hand resting on the handle for a moment. Then, with a quiet voice full of warmth, she said, “Te amo, mami.”

Ximena’s smile deepened, eyes shining with affection. “Y yo a ti, corazón.”

She gave her mother one last smile and turned around. But just before she stepped outside, Ximena called after her again.

“Hey.”

Jayce glanced back.

“Where are you going all dolled up, eh?” She grinned, hands resting playfully on her hips. “Since when do you wear lip gloss and mascara just to go for a walk around here?”

The young woman groaned. “Mamá.”

“I’m just asking.” Her mother’s mouth twitched. “There’s a certain glow about you lately. You sure it’s just the fresh air?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Ay, come on, tell me, ¿te echaste novio?”

“Ay, má!”

Her mother chuckled and held up her hands. “Alright, alright!”

Jayce lingered at the threshold a moment longer, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Ximena looked at her with something quieter now. Something a little like pride. And a little like hope.

“Go on,” she said gently. “We’ll wait for you.”

Jaycelyn finally turned, the doorknob cool beneath her fingertips as she stepped outside into the warm embrace of the afternoon.

Somewhere deep inside, a gentle fire simmered, bright and restless, as the world stretched wide and shimmering before her—like a stanza waiting to be written, a quiet poem unfolding in the heat of summer.

•✦•

Jaycelyn spotted her from across the square, sitting in the soft shade of an olive tree whose branches swayed lazily in the afternoon breeze. She looked peaceful in a way that made Jayce’s chest ache a little.

Viktoria was hunched over her sketchbook, one foot tapping absently in time with whatever rhythm played inside her head. A pair of wired earphones trailed from her ears, the cord looping down to a small, scuffed-up iPod that rested beside her on the bench—quiet and unassuming, save for the silent world of music it poured into her.

She was wearing a short sundress, light and flowing, the fabric dancing gently around her thighs, leaving her legs bare to the warm sun. On her upper thigh —the one opposite to the leg with her orthopedic brace— a small, colorful bandage with tiny doodles clung to her skin, a delicate splash of whimsy against the pale tone of her exposed skin. Her hair was pulled back in a short, low pony —a couple of thin strands falling in front of her eyes— and sunlight pooled across her shoulders like honey.

Jayce approached, wheeling a rickety old bicycle alongside her. Its frame was rusted in places, the chain slightly loose, and one of the handlebars wrapped with duct tape. But it rolled. So that was enough.

Viktoria glanced up at the sound of squeaky tires, arching a brow.

Jaycelyn smiled, slightly breathless from the heat and the walk. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Her friend set her pencil down on her lap and gave the bike a skeptical look. “What’s… that?”

“I found it in the garage.” Jayce said, patting the handlebars. “Think it used to be my dad’s. It still works, mostly.”

“You sure it’s not gonna fall apart the second it moves?”

Jayce grinned. There was something wild and stubborn in the way the wind tangled through her hair, something rebellious in her flushed cheeks.

“Only one way to find out.” She said, settling into the worn saddle with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Wanna go for a ride?”

Viktoria stared at her, lips twitching, clearly fighting a smile.

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

Jayce’s smile only widened.

“Probably.”

•✦•

They spent the afternoon riding through the village like a gust of summer wind. The bike groaned beneath them but didn’t falter, wheels kicking up soft clouds of dust as they cut across the winding roads that curled through the hills. Viktoria sat behind Jayce, arms wrapped tightly around her waist, her laughter pressed against the crook of her shoulder like a secret. Every bump in the dirt path sent a ripple of movement through them, eliciting breathless giggles and half-hearted yelps, as if they were children outrunning the weight of the world.

The sun was high, spilling light like melted gold across the olive groves and half-cracked stone fences that lined the old roads. They veered off the main path, down toward the fields where the grass grew wild and tall, ducked beneath sun-dappled orchards as they strolled through the tangled rows of trees.

Jaycelyn grabbed hold of a low branch and hoisted herself up with a huff, climbing like she used to as a kid, barefoot and reckless. Viktoria stood below with her hands on her hips, shaking her head, trying (and failing) to hide her amusement. Jayce nestled herself higher into the crook of the tree, and reached out to pluck some peaches out of it, chuckling as she threw them down toward the girl below her. Their laughter spilled through the branches like birdsong.

One by one, she tossed them down, while Viktoria gathered the hem of her sundress in both hands to make a makeshift basket. The fabric bunched around her thighs, pulling higher as she scrambled to catch the fruits, revealing more of her mole speckled legs and the edge of her white cotton underwear—soft, plain, the kind that didn’t ask to be noticed, and somehow that made it all the more impossible to ignore.

Jayce definitely couldn’t ignore it.

Eventually, sticky-fingered and grinning, they wandered farther off the path, bags heavy with their spoils, until, somewhere between a forgotten fence and a patch of wild daisies, they found a slope that looked like it belonged in a dream. There, in the hush of the afternoon breeze, they let the world slow down again.

They let the bike fall onto the grass and collapsed beside it, catching their breath. For a long moment, they just lay there, half-hidden among the flowers that painted the earth in hues of white and yellow, watching bees drift lazily from bloom to bloom, the air heavy with the scent of summer and sun-warmed petals.

Eventually, each girl got lost in her own little world of creation. Viktoria sat with her knees pulled close, her sketchbook balanced on her thigh, charcoal smudging her fingers. Jayce was chewing on her pen cap, eyes narrowed at the half-finished paragraph in front of her. Her thoughts were muddled—still knotted from the fight with her mother, and still humming from the thrill of Viktoria’s arms around her.

She sighed, briefly looking up, only to find Viktoria staring at her. The pencil paused in her hand, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Are you drawing me?” Jayce asked, a flicker of amusement in her voice.

“Shh.” Viktoria murmured without looking away, her tone warm and playfully stern. “Don’t move.”

Jayce’s heart fluttered. Something in her tightened and softened at the same time, that strange, aching giddiness that made her feel sixteen again, a little foolish and entirely too exposed. She stayed still, watching as gaze flickered from her face to the page and back again, her eyes shifting over like they were memorizing lines of poetry carved into her skin.

She shifted slightly, letting herself fall back onto one elbow. “So,” she said, voice lazy, “is it weird that I’m kind of nervous about being turned into a sketch?”

Viktoria didn’t glance up. “Oh, you should be.”

Jayce laughed, a soft, delighted sound that fluttered up into the quiet air. “Wow. Reassuring.”

“I never said it would be flattering. I just draw what I see.”

Her eyes narrowed with playful suspicion. “And what do you see?”

This time, Viktoria paused. Her pencil hovered over the page, and for a moment, her expression shifted—not teasing now, but thoughtful.

“Hm…” She hummed, said, the pencil twirling slowly between her fingers as her eyes roamed over Jayce with exaggerated focus. “I see someone who bites her pen when she thinks. Who talks too much, then tries to play it cool like she didn’t just ramble for five minutes straight. Someone who rides a rusty bike like she’s in some corny coming-of-age movie where everyone’s in love with her and she doesn’t know it.”

Jayce’s eyebrows shot up. Her lips parted, stunned, and then she let out a short laugh—half flustered, half delighted.

“Well. That was… mildly insulting and weirdly flattering.” She said, absently brushing her fingers over the buzzed nape of her neck. “And alarmingly specific.”

“I pay attention.”

Jaycelyn didn’t say anything for a second. She just looked at her, at the careful concentration on her face, the way the sunlight caught the fine strands of her hair, the tiny crease between her brows when she was focused.

“You draw everyone you meet, or… am I special?”

The other girl snorted. “Oh, you’re something, that’s for sure.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

Viktoria met her gaze, eyes steady. “No. No, I don’t draw everyone.”

Something dangerous and bright flickered to life low in Jaycelyn’s stomach. Something that tasted like hope—sharp and uninvited, but impossible to ignore.

“Just-” Viktoria reached out, slowly, like she was deciding whether to act at all. Her fingers brushed lightly under Jayce’s chin, guiding her face to the angle she wanted.

Jaycelyn froze at the touch. Her breath caught, heart thudding like a drum in her throat. Viktoria was so close now that Jayce could see the faint gold flecks in her eyes. Could feel her warmth like a sunbeam hovering just out of reach.

The girl then tucked a stray lock of dark hair behind Jayce’s ear with quiet precision, and looked directly into her eyes, as if she were analyzing her, somehow. They stayed like that, suspended in the charged hush of the moment. The wind stirred the tall grass around them, but neither moved.

Viktoria’s voice came at last, low and careful. “Stay like that.”

Jayce didn’t dare move—not because Viktoria had asked her to, but because something about the moment felt impossibly fragile, like a drop of rain trembling on the edge of a leaf. One wrong breath and it might vanish.

She tried to focus on anything else —on the daisies swaying in the breeze, on the distant hum of summer insects, on the scratch of Viktoria’s pencil against her sketchbook— but her pulse was too loud in her ears, echoing like thunder. The space between them shimmered with something unsaid.

Jayce could feel verses blooming in her stomach, crowding her chest, climbing higher, pressing up against her throat, like they might spill out if she parted her lips.

Words unspoken, but aching to be born.

Each heartbeat felt like a syllable. Each breath, a stanza.

The tips of her fingers itched, longing for ink, for the coarse drag of paper beneath her hand.

But she stayed still.

Because right now, for the first time in forever, it wasn’t her hand shaping the verse—it was her breath, her body, her silence being held in someone else’s line.

Jayce felt like a poem waiting to be read.

And Viktoria was the one writing it, one line at a time.

They lapsed into a companionable quiet for a while. The kind of silence that wasn’t heavy or awkward, but rather soft-edged and easy. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once, then fell silent again.

Jaycelyn let herself sink into the moment, her eyes half-closed against the sunlight. After a long pause, Jayce sighed, the kind that came from somewhere low and tangled in the ribs. 

“You know,” she said, trying to sound casual, “I was kind of having a shit day before this.”

Viktoria didn’t stop drawing, but her pencil slowed. “Yeah?”

“Argued with my mom. Just… one of those days where everything feels a little too heavy, you know?”

Viktoria glanced sideways at her, then lowered her sketchbook into her lap. Her voice was gentler now. “You can talk about it. If you want.”

Jayce hesitated. Then she finally moved, elbows on her knees, fingers worrying at a torn blade of grass between her hands.

“It’s just… I’m here for the summer visiting my dad’s side of the family. And everything is so… weird.”

“How so?”

Jaycelyn let out a quiet sigh, shoulders sinking.

“Well, uh. My dad passed away a few years ago.” She finally managed. “And everyone’s trying so hard to pretend like nothing happened. But it’s obvious it did. And I just… hate the way they all look at me. Like they pity me, somehow.”

Viktoria gently closed her sketchbook, the sound of the pages folding in soft punctuation. “I’m sorry.” She said quietly. “Was it… a long time ago?”

“Five years.”

Her friend stayed silent for a second. She studied Jayce’s face, and then, gently, almost as if afraid to break something fragile, she asked: “Was it… natural? Or was he sick or something?”

“Uh…” The younger girl looked up at the sky, as if the clouds might offer some kind of answer. “Well, I guess you could say so.”

Viktoria frowned slightly, her brows knitting together as she tilted her head, confused.

Jayce’s throat worked as she tried to swallow the knot tightening there. Then she looked at the girl beside her and shrugged, offering a sad smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Suicide.”

The word hit the space between them like a crack in glass.

Viktoria’s expression shifted instantly. Her mouth opened just slightly, as if she wanted to take the words back, to unask the question.

“Shit. I’m so sorry. I didn’t-”

“No, no. It’s fine.” She said quickly, cutting her off with a shake of her head. “You couldn’t have known. It’s okay.”

For a moment, all they heard was the wind brushing through the tall grass and the distant hum of insects. Then Viktoria inched closer, just enough that their knees brushed together. She leaned gently into Jayce, resting her head on her shoulder with careful softness, as one hand came up to rub soothing circles against her back.

Jaycelyn didn’t move at first. But then she let herself lean into it, resting her cheek lightly against the top of Viktoria’s head. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply.

“It’s just… ever since he died, things haven’t been the same. Feels like my mom and I are grieving two different people, and being here just makes it worse. That house feels like it’s full of fucking ghosts. I don’t know...”

Viktoria was quiet, but not in a way that felt like judgment. Just listening.

“He was the coolest.” Jayce’s voice wavered slightly. “The kind of person who made you believe things could be beautiful just by noticing them. And now he’s gone and I don’t know what to do with all the stuff he left behind. Not just the boxes and books and records and things, but the way he made me feel about the world.”

There was a pause. The breeze picked up, tugging gently at the edges of Viktoria’s sundress.

“I’m sorry.” Jayce added quickly. “That was probably a lot.”

Viktoria lifted her head and shook it lightly. “No. It wasn’t.”

A silence fell again, but it felt different now—denser, full of shared breath and unsaid things.

“I’m sorry, I’m not too good at comforting people.”

Jayce gave her a small smile. “You are.”

After a while, Viktoria spoke, her voice low and matter-of-fact. “I lost my parents too. When I was little.”

Jayce’s throat tightened.  “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” The girl shook her head once again. “They were in an accident. I was too young to remember most of it, anyway, but… I remember the quiet after. That weird, stretched-out silence where everything feels like it’s echoing.”

“Right. I know how it is.”

“Yeah.” She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I live with my uncle Corin now. He’s… alright, I guess. Very quiet. A little weird.” She tried to smile at that, but it came out lopsided—more of a soft exhale through her nose than anything else. “And, eh… well, life here is pretty boring. Nothing ever really happens. The town’s small, the streets feel the same every day. Like someone pressed pause and forgot to hit play again, you know?”

Jayce also huffed a soft laugh through her nose. “Sounds about right.”

Viktoria looked at her, a small, tilted smile playing at her lips. “Do you live far from here?”

“Yeah. City’s about five hours away by car.”

“And…? How’s that?”

“Mmhm,” Jayce hummed. “Not much more exciting, to be honest, but there’s definitely more to do. More people, more noise, places open past ten…”

“Aha. I only ever go there for my doctor appointments, honestly.”

“Oh, right.”

“Yeah. Also to see my endocrinologist.” She said, voice a little quieter now. “To get, eh, well, my hormones, and all that.” She glanced away, pretending to smooth a wrinkle in her dress. “And for legal and medical stuff in general.”

Jayce nodded slowly, her gaze softening with understanding. She glanced down for a moment at the small, colorful bandage stuck to Viktoria’s upper thigh before speaking. “Makes sense.”

And it did. It also quietly confirmed a suspicion she’d had from the start—something subtle, unspoken, never voiced. But she didn’t say anything. It wasn’t her place. Wasn’t her business.

And besides, she didn’t care.

Not in the way people sometimes meant when they said that—defensive, dismissive. She truly didn’t.

Viktoria was Viktoria. That was all.

“But I mean, you’re not missing much. The city’s sort of overrated.” She continued, shrugging. “And I kinda like it here. It’s… pretty.”

Viktoria gave a small, noncommittal hum, her eyes drifting over the flowers around them. “Yeah, no, it is.” Then she bit her lip, thoughtful. “But it’s also claustrophobic. Like… everyone knows you. Everyone knows your story before you even get to live it. You grow up with a script you didn’t write and no one ever lets you change your lines.” A quiet beat. “I mean-” She laughed nervously, brushing a hand through her hair. “I know it sounds dumb, but… I wanna leave someday. Move to the city. Have my own gallery. Exhibit my drawings. Make a life that’s mine. Change the world, you know? Or… try to.”

“It’s not dumb.” Jayce’s eyes softened. “But it’s definitely ambitious.”

“Well. I think when you get a hunch, when your heart tells you something, you can’t doubt it. You just have to go straight for it. No detours before the calling of the heart.”

“Wow.” Jayce grinned, her hazel eyes shining bright. “Are you sure I’m the poet here and not you?”

Viktoria just rolled her eyes in response, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Then, she let out a breath and flopped back into the grass, arms sprawled beside her. “It’s just- My mom used to say… when you’re going to change the world, don’t ask for permission.”

Jayce looked at her for a moment, then lay back too, the blades of grass crinkling beneath her shoulders. She turned her head, catching the glint of sunlight in Viktoria’s hair, the arch of her cheekbone, the distance between them now only a few scattered petals wide.

“That’s a good line.” She murmured.

“I know.”

They looked at each other, half-hidden in the daisies, sunlight dappling their faces. They didn’t touch, not yet. But the space between them felt electric, like a line drawn in chalk just waiting to be smudged by an inch of courage.

Jaycelyn thought she could spend years writing poems about those golden eyes.

After a while, Jayce said softly, “Well… I’ll definitely come visit your gallery when you open it, then.”

Viktoria’s lips twitched. “You better.”

Jayce smiled to herself, and for the first time in what felt like days, the tightness in her chest loosened.

Hope.

It hummed quiet and stubborn beneath her ribs, blooming slow like wildflowers left to grow untamed.

Viktoria closed her eyes briefly, surrendering to the soft caress of the breeze that swept through the meadow. Brown and blonde tendrils of hair escaped from her ponytail, drifting over her face like whispers of shadow and light. The wind tangled in her strands, brushing them across her lips, lending her an ethereal, almost fragile grace.

Drawn by an impulse she barely understood, Jayce leaned in closer, as if the warmth from Viktoria’s skin seemed to call to her. The space between their faces narrowed until their breaths mingled—soft and steady, yet charged with something almost sacred.

With trembling fingers, Jayce reached up, brushing the hair away from the girl’s face, gently tucking the loose strands behind her ear. Her fingers lingered there, tracing the soft curve of skin just beneath her earlobe, fingertips grazing with the tenderness of a poet’s touch, slow and reverent.

Viktoria’s eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded and luminous in the fading light. She held Jayce’s gaze—deep, searching. The world contracted to the narrow circle of their shared gaze, two hearts suspended in fragile equilibrium.

For a heartbeat, the meadow held its breath with them, the tall grass whispering secrets only they could hear. The silence around them thickened, full of unsaid words, unspoken promises, and a yearning that felt like it could ignite the very air.

Then, without warning, the sudden, sharp trill of Jayce’s phone shattered the spell—a harsh, intrusive note cutting through the delicate tension, grounding them back into the clamor of the everyday.

Jaycelyn scrambled back, cheeks flushed, sitting up in the grass as she fished out the phone from her bag. Viktoria rolled away with a quiet sigh, raking a hand through her hair, not quite meeting her eyes.

Jayce looked at her phone’s screen: Mamá.

She huffed, cleared her throat and answered. “Hey.” She said, voice pitched high with guilt. “[...] Yeah. Yeah, I know, I just- [...] Ay, que sí, má. [...] Siiií… [...] I’ll be there in ten. [...] Hm-hm. [...] I know, I’m sorry. [...] Yes, I swear. [...] Okay. See you later. [...] Y yo a tí. Bye.”

Jayce ended the call and stood, awkwardly smoothing her shorts. From beside her, Viktoria sat up and began brushing grass from her dress. She looked up at her, eyes unreadable for a moment. Then she gave a little half-smile, crooked and calm, like nothing had happened.

“Duty calls?”

She sighed. “Yeah. I have to be there for dinner with my uncles and cousins and all that family chaos.”

Without a word, Jayce held out her hand. Viktoria tucked her sketchbook under one arm, grasped her cane with the other, and took Jayce’s hand with a quick, almost sardonic smirk.

Then, Jayce grabbed her own notebook and slipped it into her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. She bent down to pick up the bike, then glanced up.

“Want me to give you a ride home?”

Viktoria chuckled, the sound low and amused. “With such a luxurious vehicle? How could I say no?”

Jayce offered her arm with an exaggerated bow, mock gallantry in her posture. Viktoria rolled her eyes but hooked her arm through Jayce’s with a grin.

Together, they walked away from the grass and made their way to the main path. Jayce swung herself onto the bike and waited for Viktoria to settle behind her, her hands finding Jayce’s waist for balance.

Before she started pedaling, Jaycelyn whispered softly, “I’m so glad we did this today.”

Her friend leaned her cheek against her back, warmth spreading through the contact. Jayce felt her smile, gentle and quiet, against her skin.

“Me too.”

“It’s strange how my skin craves hers.

My skin longs, desires, trembles at the thought of her touch.

She says: no detours before the calling of the heart.

And that calling explodes inside the walls of my stomach.”

Chapter Text

JULY, 2012

07.06.12

I want to fall in love with life again.

I crave to be in love so desperately it hurts.

But I don’t want people to fall in love with me.

At least not in the way everyone usually does.

I want someone to fall in love with me

the same way I used to fall in love with moments,

with ideas, with images and objects.

Like a train ride,

or a freshly polished labradorite crystal,

or a Monet painting.

I don’t want them to love me for my kind nature,

or my charming personality,

or my beauty;

not even for the way I smile.

I want someone to love me for the way I do the most mundane things ever.

I want someone to fall in love with how I sneeze,

with the gap between my front teeth,

or the way I yawn and stretch when I wake up in the morning.

I want an ordinary love,

I want someone who goes crazy over the way

I chew my gum and bite my nails.

Fuck, I want someone to love me

for just being a simple fucking human.

I want someone willing to share their solitude with mine.

Maybe one day my solitude will find another one to hold.

That way, I might learn how to fall in love with life again.

Jaycelyn had always hated birthdays.

Well, maybe not always.

She couldn't quite remember when the dislike had begun to bloom into something heavier —when cake and balloons and candles stopped meaning something light and started tasting like a burden— but she had a suspicion: when she turned sixteen. The first birthday without her father.

That one hadn’t been fun, or loud, or bright. It hadn’t sounded like laughter echoing through the hallways, hadn’t smelled like flour-dusted countertops, or cream whipped too fast, or sugar melting into cake batter.

It had just been quiet.

The silence of grief doesn’t make room for parties.

Since then, each passing year felt more like a quiet funeral than a celebration—a reminder, more than anything else, of everything that no longer was.

This year felt no different.

The morning after her twenty-second birthday, she sat cross-legged on the floor, just in front of the living room armchair where her mother was sitting, gently braiding her long dark hair like she used to do when Jayce was a child.

With the soft murmur of the television in the background —its voice lost beneath the amber hush of sunlight that filtered through the sheer curtains, staining everything in a golden wash, as if the world itself were trying to be gentle with her— her mother had promised that they wouldn’t make a big deal of it.

“Just something small. Just family,” she had said.

Apparently, the family was really excited to make something for her. Her uncles were making dinner, and her cousins had ordered a cake from that small bakery near the plaza. Jaycelyn hummed in response to her mother’s words, noncommittal, but allowed herself to lean back slightly, the familiar rhythm of the fingers weaving through her hair soothing in a way that pressed down the edges of her anxiety.

“They just want to celebrate you.” Ximena had said, finishing the braid with a gentle pull and pressing a kiss to the crown of her daughter’s head. “I want to celebrate my girl.”

Jayce had simply swallowed and nodded. She hadn’t said no. Not when her mother was smiling like that, like this moment mattered. Not when her voice had trembled just slightly at the word celebrate.

But the truth was, she didn’t want to be celebrated. Not with paper napkins and grocery store wine. Not with a plate of lukewarm asado and awkward questions from relatives who didn’t know her anymore. She didn’t want to be sung to, or be photographed, or told how grown up she looked. She didn’t want to sit there and pretend that this strange, fragile version of home felt like anything other than a shadow of what had once been.

What she wanted —what she really, truly wanted— was to slip away quietly after dinner. To sneak out through the garden gate and bike down to the cliffs, the wind cold in her teeth and the stars shining above her head. She wanted to knock on Viktoria’s window in the dark and have her open it like she always did, like she’d been waiting.

She wanted to sit next to her in the middle of a wildflowers field, their knees brushing, the silence between them threaded with something soft and golden. She wanted to listen to Viktoria talk about linework and shading and things Jayce barely understood but would gladly hear for hours. She wanted to watch her hands, her mouth, the way she tilted her head when she was thinking, the furrow that formed between her brows mid-sketch. She wanted to know what it felt like to trace that line with her fingertip.

She wanted to feel seen, the way only Viktoria seemed to see her lately.

Maybe, if she was lucky, she'd get that tomorrow. Even just for a little while.

That thought alone was enough to ease the tightness in her chest, just a little. Enough to keep her breathing.

•✦•

That afternoon, they returned to the lake.

Once, it had been her hiding spot. A quiet place of moss and dragonflies, tucked behind tall reeds and framed by trees whose leaves turned gold too early in the season. It used to be her little secret. Hers and her dad’s. Even if the place became a ghost she didn’t want to visit after his death. A stillness too sharp to touch.

But now, it meant something new.

She had let Viktoria in, and somehow, without realizing it, the lake had become theirs. A shared secret. A silence spoken between two hearts rather than one.

They’d been there for a while. Jayce, as usual, was the one talking—hands moving through the air in wild shapes, trying to match her pace of thought. Viktoria sat near her, back resting against the gnarled trunk of a tree, sketchbook balanced on her knees. She listened quietly, a faint smile at the edge of her mouth, as her pencil moved in soft but sure lines.

Jaycelyn talked like a current pulling forward; Viktoria listened like an anchor. They made a great team, Jayce sheepishly thought to herself.

Viktoria never told her to be quiet, never interrupted her, never flinched when her voice got too excited or her ideas tangled midair, never said ‘you talk too much’ or ‘maybe take it down a notch’, words that Jayce used to hear quite a lot when she was younger. She just tilted her head, occasionally smirking at something, nodding in that small way of hers that meant: keep going. And when she spoke, it was measured, careful, often sharper than Jayce expected—but always true. She was better with words than she gave herself credit for.

Jaycelyn watched her from where she sat, her elbows resting on her knees, heart strangely calm. Viktoria had braided the front strands of her hair back today, two thin plaits pinned out of her face. The rest fell loose around her face, the blonde sections catching the late sun. She wore a pale, breezy camisole and a skirt that kissed just below her knees, the kind of outfit that felt like it belonged to another era—timeless in a way that Jayce couldn’t look at without wanting to write it down. The fabric clung faintly to the shape of her body when the wind passed through, hinting, not showing. A whisper of form, not a declaration.

Jayce didn’t know why she was so fascinated by this girl.

She just was.

Ever since they met, it was like inspiration had smacked her in the face. Not gently. Not gradually. But hard. Violently.

She hadn’t told Viktoria yet, but she had started writing again. A lot.

And most days, even when the poems weren’t about her, they still were.

Some nights, when sleep came slow and restless, Jayce imagined what it would be like to see her unclothed—not in some hurried, thoughtless way, but slowly, reverently, as if peeling away layers of history instead of fabric. As if her skin were a language Jayce had always ached to learn. She imagined touching her like one touches a secret. She imagined writing poems about every mole, every scar, every sigh drawn from the hollow of her throat.

There were things she wanted to do to Viktoria—unspeakable things, not because they were obscene, but because she didn’t have the words. Because no word felt big enough for this aching, burning want.

And so, because she couldn’t say any of it out loud, she filled her mouth with her name instead—whispered like a prayer against her pillow, scrawled like a fever dream in the margins of her notebooks. She wrote about golden eyes and sharp tongues and the way light turned her hair into stardust.

She wrote metaphors like confessions.

She wrote until the pages ached as much as she did.

Even if Viktoria didn’t know.

Eventually, Jayce couldn’t ignore the way her phone kept buzzing against the grass, screen lighting up with a soft trill. She huffed, picking it up, thumb flicking across the glass with absent fingers. A couple of taps, a long, tired sigh. She stared at the messages for a beat too long, then let the phone fall back into the grass beside her as she lay down with a low groan, one arm flung over her eyes.

Viktoria looked up from her sketchbook and raised her eyebrows with a sardonic scoff. “Okay, what?”

Jaycelyn turned her head slightly, peeking at her from beneath her forearm. “What?”

“You sighed like your soul just left your body,” her friend replied, pencil tapping against her sketch. “What’s wrong?”

Jayce let out a half-laugh, half-sigh again, this time more performative. “It’s stupid,” she said, eyes drifting to the sky. “It’s just- tomorrow’s my birthday. And people are already messaging me. Family, friends… you know. It’s exhausting.”

That made Viktoria freeze, her pencil stilling mid-movement. “Tomorrow’s your birthday?”

Jayce shrugged, eyes still on the sky. “Yeah.”

“Why didn’t I know this?”

She turned to look at her, propping her head on one hand, elbow in the grass. “Because I don’t care?” She said with a crooked smile. “I don’t really like birthdays.”

“What?” Viktoria frowned, looking genuinely offended. “Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s just another day. No need to make a big fuss out of it, you know?”

Viktoria clicked her tongue.

The younger girl arched her brows, amused. “What?”

“Edgy.”

Jayce let out a soft chuckle, throwing a blade of grass at her. Viktoria dodged it and smirked without missing a beat. “No, but seriously. I just…” she continued, “I don’t feel like dealing with all my relatives, and the weird small talk, and people hugging me for too long, that’s all. But… whatever. It’s fine, I guess.”

The silence that followed hung between them like a soft thread, stretched but not tense. Viktoria’s pencil returned to the page, though slower this time. Her bottom lip caught lightly between her teeth as she glanced from the sketchbook to her friend and back again, something thoughtful behind her eyes.

Jaycelyn narrowed hers. “What?” She asked, playful suspicion in her voice.

Viktoria hesitated for a beat, then sighed through her nose. “Well… I wanted to work on this a little more,” she murmured, almost shyly, “but if it’s your birthday tomorrow, I guess… now’s a better time.”

Jayce blinked, propping herself up in an instant. “What?”

Viktoria made one last scribble, then set the pencil down. She brushed off her hands, fingers faintly smudged with graphite, and slowly tore the page out of her sketchbook, the sound of the paper ripping almost delicate. She held it out without ceremony.

“It’s not technically finished, but…” she said, eyes not quite meeting her friend’s, “happy early birthday, I guess.”

Jayce took the page, her fingers brushing Viktoria’s as she did.

Her heart stumbled inside her chest.

It was her.

A drawing of her, smiling widely. Happy. So real it stole her breath.

Viktoria had captured her image like a photograph, not a drawing. It had all the details. Even the “ugly” ones. The stray hairs that never stayed tucked in her ponytail. The tiny scar across her brow, and the faint one on her cheek. The gap between her front teeth. The hint of acne scarring along her jaw. The wrinkle in her nose when her grin got too big. Things Jayce had spent years hiding or smoothing over in photos. Things she never thought someone else would want to capture. Let alone like this; so perfectly, so softly, so lovingly.

Viktoria had seen her. Really seen her.

“It’s gorgeous.” It’s the only thing she could say.

“I started it a few weeks ago.” Viktoria cleared her throat, still not looking at her. “After that time we trespassed someone’s private orchard just to steal some figs. You climbed that tree like it was nothing and nearly fell trying to reach the ripest one.”

“Jesus.” Jaycelyn laughed softly, her fingers trembling around the edges of the page. “Right. I remember that.”

“I’ve been working on it on and off since then.” Her friend continued. “I guess you were just… kind of stuck in my head.”

Jayce looked at her. Fully looked. Viktoria, with her knees drawn up, sketchbook pressed to her chest, eyes shy but not running away now. There was a golden slowness to it all. The light was soft, filtered through the trees and tangled in Viktoria’s hair like silk thread. Jayce could see the faint flush on her cheeks, the way her fingers twitched faintly against the cover of the sketchbook. She looked like something out of a dream.

And, God, Jayce wanted to kiss her. Not in some breathless, cinematic rush, but gently. Reverently. Like a prayer. She wanted to touch her cheek, whisper something ridiculously cheesy, and press her lips to hers. Just once, at least. Just to see what it would feel like to carry that softness in her own mouth.

Instead, she smiled, and then, without a word, she shuffled closer, settling beside Viktoria under the shade of the tree. Her arms slid around her waist in a loose, careful hug, and she leaned in, letting her weight rest just slightly against her chest.

Viktoria stilled for half a second, and then melted into the touch. She returned the embrace slowly, like it was something sacred, resting her chin on top of Jayce’s head, her breath brushing soft against her hair. The sketchbook sat forgotten in the grass.

They stayed like that for a long moment, in the hush of summer sounds—leaves rustling, birdsong, the far-off laughter of some distant group of hikers who didn’t matter at all…

“I love it.” Jaycelyn finally said, quietly, voice brushing the air between them like a breeze.

Viktoria hummed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, closing her eyes. Felt her breathing. The rise and fall of her chest. Her warmth. Her heartbeat, steady and real beneath her ear. “It’s perfect.”

“I’m glad.” Her friend murmured, her lips moving against Jayce’s hair.

There was yet another pause. And then-

“Thank you, Vicky.”

Viktoria pulled back just enough to glance down at her, eyebrows raised with a crooked, almost teasing smile. “Vicky?”

The younger girl blinked up at her, still half-curled into her side. “You don’t like it?”

“It sounds a bit childish.” 

“What?” Jayce turned slightly to look at her more directly, still wrapped around her waist. “No it doesn’t. I think it suits you.”

“You’re the only person who could say that and not get punched.”

“That’s because you like me.” She replied, a smug smile pulling at the corners of her lips.

Viktoria rolled her eyes and, with a sudden shift, she planted a hand against Jaycelyn’s shoulder, giving her a shove—gentle, but decisive enough to break her hold. Jayce let out a dramatic yelp as she toppled backward onto the grass, landing with a muffled ‘oof’ and flinging an arm over her eyes as though she’d been mortally wounded. Viktoria shook her head, laughing under her breath, watching her sprawl in the grass.

They both dissolved into laughter—bright, careless, a little too loud for this quiet scenario. Jayce lay there a moment longer, grinning up at Viktoria’s amused expression, before finally pushing herself upright, brushing grass from her back and knees. Then, she carefully slid the drawing into her bag, tucking it between the pages of a notebook so it wouldn’t wrinkle. When she looked up again, she realized the sky had begun its slow descent into color. Gold bleeding into pink. The air turning cooler, softer. The evening was already brushing its fingers along the treetops.

And that meant she would have to head home soon.

Her eyes drifted back to the lake—and a grin tugged at her mouth. It was still and silver, glinting with the last light like a secret waiting to be touched.

Without saying anything, she turned and crept over the grass on all fours, stopping just in front of Viktoria. Their faces were suddenly close. Very close. Barely a breath between them.

Her grin widened, hazel eyes sparkling with mischievousness. “You know what I really want for my birthday?”

Viktoria’s lashes fluttered. Her expression shifted—caught somewhere between wary curiosity and sudden embarrassment. She cleared her throat and said, “What?”

“A swim in the lake.” Jayce started rising to her feet, brushing grass from her thighs. “And you’re coming with me.”

“What?” Viktoria repeated with a frown, halfway to protesting—but stopped dead when the other girl’s fingers found the hem of her shirt, tugging it upward in one smooth, unhesitating motion.

Viktoria stared at her, mouth falling open in disbelief, watching how the fabric slid over sun-warmed skin, and suddenly her torso was bare to the light, the late-gold of the evening laying its hands across her shoulders, gilding the bronze of her body. She seemed made of sunlight itself—strength and ease and something reckless that dared you to follow.

Her shorts followed, slipping down her thighs in a careless slide until she stood in nothing but a plain black sports bra and the soft cotton of her underwear. The braid that had been resting against her back fell forward over one shoulder, swaying gently as she straightened, a grin curving her lips—bright, defiant, almost childlike in its mischief.

Viktoria’s eyes betrayed her first, running up and down the young woman’s body before she could stop them. Her breath caught; she forced out a cough, gaze darting anywhere else. “I’m not sure I-”

“C’mon!” Jayce said, bouncing lightly on her feet. “Please? Do it for the birthday girl?”

“It’s not technically your birthday yet-”

“C’mon, Vickyyy…” She pouted. “Pretty please?”

Viktoria looked at her for a long moment. Her amber eyes swept over her friend once again—quick, reluctant, hesitant. Then she exhaled, gaze flicking toward the lake, and muttered something under her breath in a language Jayce didn’t understand.

But her hands began to move.

First, she reached for the buckles of her leg brace, fingers steady, unfastening each clasp with practiced care before setting it aside in the grass. Then came the buttons of her skirt —slow, deliberate, one after the other— until the fabric loosened and slid down past her bony hips.

Jayce hadn’t been prepared for the sight that awaited her.

White cotton. Soft, simple, edged with delicate trim and a small bow at the center. Her underwear matched the pale camisole she still wore, the hem falling just above her navel. Nothing ornate, yet the simplicity struck Jayce harder than anything else. Viktoria, unadorned, was still impossibly elegant: all sharp lines and soft defiance.

Viktoria extended a hand. Jaycelyn took it as she bit down on the inside of her cheek, desperate not to let her eyes linger. She pulled her up carefully, her hands landing on Viktoria’s waist—steadying her, keeping her close. So close. Too close. 

For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke. They only looked at each other, caught between adoration and embarrassment, their smiles soft and foolish, eyes locking as if the world had narrowed to this single point of gravity.

Viktoria exhaled at last, a quiet sigh, shaking her head with the ghost of a smile. “You’re such a bad influence.”

Jayce leaned in, playful. “Am I?”

“Definitely.”

“Shame.” She shrugged, unrepentant. “Tell your uncle I’m sorry, then.”

The silence stretched for a single beat, just enough to feel steady. Then, without warning, Jayce quickly bent and swept Viktoria off her feet, arms curling beneath her knees and shoulders in a sudden bridal lift.

“Jayce-!” Viktoria’s cry cut through the fading evening, half outrage, half laughter, as her arms shot around her friend’s neck on instinct. She shrieked, the sound bright and unguarded, while Jayce barreled toward the lake at full speed, laughter bubbling out of her chest.

And then, with no hesitation at all, Jayce plunged them both into the water, the lake swallowing them whole, erupting around their bodies in a riot of spray and laughter.

Jaycelyn surfaced first, hair slick against her face, pushing wet strands out of her braid with both hands as laughter rolled out of her in great waves. She doubled over when Viktoria emerged a heartbeat later—hair plastered across her features, the two little braids framing her face practically undone now, with her mouth twisted into a scowl; the picture of a drenched, miserable kitten.

“Fuck you.” She snapped, shoving the hair out of her eyes before splashing a sheet of water into Jayce’s face. Without waiting, she struck out toward the shallows, where her feet could find the bottom.

Jayce covered her face, still laughing as she followed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

She caught Viktoria by the wrist, tugging her back toward her, but her friend twisted, hands finding Jayce’s shoulders, and shoved her down beneath the water.

Jayce broke the surface with a sputter, sucking in air, then shook her head like a wet dog, water flying everywhere. “Okay. I deserved that.”

“You think?” Viktoria hummed.

She stood a few paces away, water lapping just above her navel. The last of the sunset gilded her skin in molten light as she raked her hair back from her face, her thin, sinewy limbs traced by soft drops of water. The lake had plastered the white tank top to her torso, wet fabric —translucent now— clinging to every line and curve. The slight swell of her small breasts pressed against the fabric, the faint flush of her nipples hinted beneath the sheer veil. Each movement sent the water-laden camisole clinging and shifting, teasing with the promise of what lay beneath.

Jayce could’ve sworn she forgot how to breathe in that very moment. Her mouth went dry, heat knotting low in her stomach as she stared, helpless, devouring the sight.

Viktoria raised her brows. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

Jayce startled, flushing scarlet. “No, I just-” She waded closer, feigning nonchalance, until she was within arm’s reach. “I just wanted to do this…” 

With a mischievous glint in her eye, Jayce splashed Viktoria back, sending droplets arcing through the air. Viktoria let out a mock gasp, her face twisting in exaggerated offense, and in an instant, they were locked in a gleeful battle—water flying in every direction, laughter and shrieks echoing across the lake.

“Okay! Okay, I surrender!” Jayce finally panted, lunging forward to grab the other girl’s wrists, holding her firmly.

Viktoria stopped, still shaking from laughter, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She snorted, eyes sparkling, nose crinkled, her crooked canine teeth on full display as the sweetest, brightest grin Jayce had ever seen broke across her face, radiant and utterly disarming. Every droplet of water clinging to her skin seemed to catch the golden light of the sunset, making her glow.

Jayce’s chest tightened, and she bit her lip as she smiled, helpless and captivated, her gaze locked on Viktoria as if she were the only thing in the world that mattered, a heart-stopping mix of awe, desire, and affection all rolling into one.

The laughter faded eventually, leaving only the soft lapping of water around them. Jayce’s grip on Viktoria’s wrists lingered, a tether neither of them seemed willing to break. And for a heartbeat, they simply looked at each other—narrowed eyes, hearts hammering, the golden sunset painting the lake and their damp skin in molten light. The air between them felt charged, thick with something neither dared to name but both could feel, pressing against their chests like a tide that had finally crested.

Slowly, Jayce’s hands drifted from Viktoria’s wrists to her fingers, curling gently around each delicate digit, the touch feather-light yet electrifying. Their bodies, nearly pressed together, shivered in the soft, unspoken awareness of proximity. In the warmth of shared breath, the slick glint of skin in the dying light.

Driven by a surge of courage, Jayce’s voice —almost swallowed by the quiet— cut through the summer air. “You’re the most beautiful thing in this town, you know that?”

Viktoria’s lips parted slightly; she nibbled on her lower lip, biting down a smile, eyes flicking down to Jayce’s mouth and back up with a shy expression. Then, seemingly infected by the same courage her friend was feeling, she stepped a fraction closer, closing the sliver of space that still separated them. She parted her lips, and spoke in the softest of voices, as if she were pronouncing a prolectic sort of prayer:

“You really are a poet, huh?”

Something in Jayce’s chest gave a sharp, unmistakable tug. The moment was unbearable in its perfection, a sudden surge of certainty and desire that refused to be denied. The world contracted to nothing but the soft gasp of air and the heat of two hearts colliding as she cupped Viktoria’s face, thumbs brushing along damp skin.

And finally, finally, she pressed their lips together.

It was tender and claiming all at once, a mingling of laughter, water, and something far deeper—something that had been slowly building in the quiet corners of summertime. The lake around them seemed to hush, holding its breath as the orange light tangled in their hair, the scent of wet cotton and sun on skin mingling in the charged moment.

The kiss deepened, mouths moving with a rhythm that felt both hesitant and inevitable, as though they had been waiting their whole lives for this exact collision. What began as tenderness grew hotter, more urgent. Their lips parted and rejoined, teeth grazing, tongues brushing in fleeting, electric touches that left them both trembling.

Viktoria broke away just long enough to mouth at Jayce’s jaw, leaving damp, open-mouthed kisses down her throat. Jayce hissed, stunned by the rawness of the sensation, tilting her neck back in surrender as her hands burrowed into the other girl’s wet hair.

The dim light had nearly vanished, only the faint glow of the dying sky painting their bodies in shadow and bronze. Viktoria’s hand found Jayce’s hip, then her ass, squeezing hard enough to draw a soft, startled moan from her lips. Their eyes met —a moment of silent awe, disbelief— and then they dove back into each other’s mouths, hungrier, lips sliding and sucking until they were panting against one another.

Jayce’s hand, trembling but bold, slipped lower. Her thumb brushed over Viktoria’s nipple through the drenched fabric of her top, the movement so gentle, so tentative it was almost reverent. Viktoria broke the kiss with a choked groan, breath spilling hot and uneven into her partner’s mouth. Jayce’s heart clenched at the sound, and took it as permission, scattering kisses across Viktoria’s cheek, her temple, her lips again, as if to soothe her trembling.

Her hand wandered further, skimming the soaked fabric until it reached the line of Viktoria’s panties. Jayce’s touch faltered for a heartbeat, nerves sparking through her like static, but when she pressed her fingers against the heat and the faint bulge beneath, Viktoria gasped aloud and clutched at her, body quaking with anticipation.

Jayce’s mouth brushed her ear, whispering, almost breaking with the weight of it: “Is this okay?”

Viktoria nodded, a sharp, breathless jerk of her head, her forehead falling to Jayce’s shoulder as if the strength had gone out of her.

So Jayce slipped her hand inside, fingers sliding slowly against soft, aching warmth. She took Viktoria’s length in her hand and stroked up and down carefully, tenderly, every movement a question, every gasp Viktoria gave her an answer. Viktoria clung to her, trembling, her breaths ragged, forehead pressed to Jayce’s skin.

“Good?” Jayce whispered, almost desperate.

A faint, shaking hum of agreement came from Viktoria’s throat, her voice breaking on the sound. And Jayce smiled through her own nerves, pressing kisses over the beauty marks scattered on Viktoria’s skin like constellations, letting her lips map the galaxy she had just begun to uncover.

The lake held them in silence, the world reduced to ripples, shadows, and the exquisite intimacy of touch and breath, as if the universe itself had bent to witness their first, fragile miracle.

Viktoria whimpered when Jayce’s thumb circled at the top of her aching sex, the sound small and breaking. Something primal surged up inside Jayce—want, protectiveness, the dizzying ache of devotion all at once.

“Fuck.” She muttered under her breath, almost feral, before sliding her hands down, gripping Viktoria’s ass and hoisting her up with sudden strength.

The girl gave a startled little yelp, hands clutching at her partner’s shoulders, but almost instantly her thighs tightened, legs wrapping instinctively around the other’s waist. Her wet skin pressed to Jayce’s, slick and burning, as she carried her out of the water and toward the tree where their clothes still lay in a forgotten pile.

She set Viktoria down carefully against the rough bark, lowering her with reverence, then sank between her parted thighs, as though kneeling before something sacred. Her palms slid up along the girl’s sides, steadying, worshipful, holding her in place as she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to the long, pale column of her throat. The first kiss was gentle, almost shy, but the next lingered, lips parted against the rapid flutter of Viktoria’s pulse.

Jayce trailed lower, slow, savoring: down the slope of her throat, along her collarbone, pausing to close her mouth over a tiny freckle there as if she could keep it forever. She felt the girl trembling under her, her long fingers finding the buzzed back of Jayce’s neck, nails dragging along the short hair there until Jayce groaned into her skin.

When Jayce tugged the hem of her top higher, she did it carefully, pausing to glance up. Viktoria only nodded, breathless. Jayce’s palms spread along her ribs, thumbs brushing the soft curve beneath her breasts as if she were memorizing her shape by touch alone. Then she bent down, lips brushing over the swell of pale skin. One kiss, then another, each wetter, hungrier, until her mouth closed over a perky nipple and her tongue traced a lazy but deliberate circle around it.

The sound Viktoria made broke on her tongue —half gasp, half plea— and her whole body arched forward, like she couldn’t bear to be still. “Jay-” Her voice cracked, thin and fragile as glass.

Jayce hummed low against her chest, the vibration sinking into her, before sealing her lips and sucking softly, her tongue flicking with teasing precision. She let go only to move to the other side, trailing her tongue across the valley of her breasts before taking the other peak into her mouth. She drew it in slow, savoring, and when Viktoria whimpered with a weak, helpless sound, Jayce moaned back into her, as if the reaction alone was enough to undo her.

Only then did Jayce trail downward again, slow kisses mapping the line of her stomach, pressing her face against soft skin like she couldn’t get enough. She paused at the waistband of her underwear, fingers sliding beneath the fabric at Viktoria’s hips, lifting just enough to tug gently, her lips brushing the sensitive skin right above.

Her voice trembled but her eyes were steady when she asked, almost pleading, “Can I?”

Viktoria’s chest rose and fell in quick bursts, overwhelmed, eyes wide with heat and fear and wanting. “You don’t have to-”

“I want to.” Jayce cut in softly, fiercely, the words almost a vow.

For a long heartbeat, silence stretched between them—just the sound of night insects, the faint trickle of the lake. And in that silence Jayce let everything she felt shine in her eyes: I want you. I need you. You’re so beautiful. The most beautiful thing I have in my life. Let me worship you.

Viktoria swallowed hard, her pale throat bobbing, then gave the faintest nod.

Jayce’s breath shook as she slipped the damp fabric down, baring Viktoria to the cooling night air. She pressed small kisses along her thighs, trailing up, mapping every shiver, every twitch of muscle under her mouth. The grass beneath Jayce’s body clung wet and uncomfortable, the dirt and rocks scratching against her knees, but none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was the girl before her.

Her muse. Her miracle.

She looked up, eyes burning but still careful. “Still okay?”

Viktoria’s thighs trembled around her, the answer barely more than a gasp: “Please.”

And when Jayce finally took her in her mouth, when she tasted her for the first time, Viktoria let out a sound that hit Jayce like lightning. It was music, raw and unrepeatable, the kind of sound you’d ruin yourself chasing for the rest of your life.

Jayce would have written rhapsodies about it, sonnets and whole books of poetry about the trembling of Viktoria’s body beneath her, the glow of her skin, the impossible sweetness of her lips against Jayce’s mouth. Each moan was a verse, each shiver a stanza, the rhythm of Viktoria’s hips stuttering up the purest melody she had ever known.

The night air wrapped around them, cool against fever-hot skin, and in the hush of nature, every shaky breath Viktoria gave, every broken sound, felt magnified, like prayer echoing off cathedral walls. And Jayce, kneeling between her thighs, mouth full of her, tasted it like sacrament. And there, in the fading light, with lake water drying on their skin and the universe holding its breath, Jayce realized she didn’t need words to worship her. Her devotion was in her mouth, her hands, her every kiss against Viktoria’s trembling body.

Because this —this girl right here— was the essence of poetry.

She was the verse all the poets had always longed for but could never write.

“I’m starving.

sweet

hot

honey

bite

throb

calling

obsession

voracity

cannibalism

nausea

twisted stomach

empty stomach

sweat

saliva

blood.

Starvation.

I could devour you from head to toe.”