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Alisa loves when she gets to travel. She spends far too much time holed up in her office at Roer, managing things for the Reinford Group, fielding calls from her mother, and dealing with long-suffering eyes from her staff every time she leaves early. There’s something distinctly disgusting about being such a workaholic that your employees start gossiping the second you don’t stay two hours late at the office.
She’s really just trying not to think about it, which means she’s trying to dodge the remaining staff in the office, which means she’s particularly annoyed when one of the younger women catches her in the elevator hall, eyes falling almost immediately to the bag that means Alisa’s leaving for the day.
The woman’s eyes go devilishly wild. “Oh, Ms. Alisa—early start to the holiday, hm?”
The twinkle in her gaze is so predictable. They’re all the same. It’s always about a man, some secret admirer that Alisa’s running off to meet, finally someone who can handle her brilliance, her success, her… everything. Too bad Alisa has yet to meet a man that could manage it. Too bad it would seem men can’t manage much at all.
Alisa grins and bears the scandalized suspicion. “Well, yeah, taking a little trip to see an old friend.”
It does nothing to quell the fire in the girl’s eyes. Old friend always translates to something more when everyone’s waiting on you to fall into bed with someone. So, the girl, Muriel—Alisa thinks—clasps her hands together. “Ooh, one of those handsome men from Class VII?”
Alisa shouldn’t take so much pleasure in her next sentence. “Mm, no, she wasn’t in Class VII.”
This deflates her assailant immediately, and Alisa can’t help the flash of agitation that bites into her spine. As if Alisa couldn’t take a woman to bed just the same as she could a man, or any gender, really. If these people are going to harass her, they could at least read the brochures she’s painstakingly put together on behavior in the workplace. About not assuming sexuality or gender and everything in between.
“She?” Muriel asks, like she wants to hammer the point home.
Alisa crosses her arms, head cocking so her blonde hair falls over her shoulder. “Yes, Muriel, and, here, if you’re looking for gossip, tell your friends my time away with my girlfriends is equal parts lovelier and infinitely more stimulating than my time with anyone else—Ashen Chevalier included.”
Muriel’s face goes bright, bright red, and Alisa can tell she’s beaten this round of speculation, so she gives a quick nod and heads towards the elevator. She’s got a train to catch, and Aidios, she doesn’t want to miss one second with Ferris after the week she’s had.
Alisa’s pre-packed because she’s been looking forward to this getaway for weeks, so she grabs her stuff and heads to the station, texting Ferris once she’s safely in the train car:
I did not miss the train, thank you very much.
Ferris texted earlier that day to ask if she should cancel their dinner reservation for the evening, given Alisa finds it so very troublesome to step away from her work for anyone.
Well, don’t I feel special? Ferris texts almost immediately.
Alisa wonders if Ferris was sitting around waiting, worried that Alisa might miss out on their plans again. She, admittedly, screwed up their last holiday together due to a call from her raging mother and a shipping misstep. She’s been apologizing to Ferris for months over it, but given Ferris keeps pretending it didn’t bother her—well, being on time this time seems the only way to make true amends.
But it’s a weird feeling, imagining Ferris sitting by her ARCUS—waiting on Alisa, her curled lavender hair cascading over her shoulder, dainty fingers drumming the surface of her desk, amber eyes raking over everything around her like a sunrise wrecking all of dawn’s nestled shadows. Sometimes, Alisa feels like one of those dark spots, like she’s just waiting for Ferris to look at her and make her bright and real. Ferris has always felt too big and too sharp to wait on anyone, no matter how brilliant—the one person in the world who’s ever looked at Alisa and analyzed instead of appraised.
There’s Rean, of course, and to say he appraised her wouldn’t be precisely fair. He’s never appraised anything in his life—but then, Rean’s never really looked at her at all. He gives her his kind smile and his gentle eyes, and that’s the sum of it. Alisa’s spent her whole life in the limelight, feeling seen and judged and neverending, but with Rean—she’s not sure. He certainly makes it easy to be around him, or he tries—and it’d work if not for the way everyone in the world has always assumed they’re a thing. So much so that Alisa herself started to wrap herself around the idea. She’s spent her life trying to be good enough and smart enough and strong enough, so when the whole word expected her to love him, she just did.
There’s plenty about Rean Schwarzer to fall in love with but actually doing it has saddled her with more hurt than even her mother has managed, because while Rean is happy to give his approval again and again—he has never given genuine, true affection. Certainly not anything that went beyond what he gave everyone else, and for someone like Alisa, who’s spent her life trying to set herself apart, the damage he’s done sometimes feels insurmountable.
Alisa is just glad she’s going to see Ferris, and she hopes, for once, Ferris won’t push her too much on the Rean front. It’s the one thing she hates about their chats; Ferris never stops asking her about Rean. There was a time when Alisa worried that Ferris herself was interested in Rean, but it’s never evolved into anything but questioning, always centered around Alisa. It just feels like this thing with Rean is the one blind spot Ferris has when it comes to Alisa.
The train ride to Ordis is always a long one. Alisa sleeps in fits and starts; she’s never been great at sleeping anywhere but her own bed, and even that’s a gamble sometimes. But inevitably, the train comes to a stop and the PA system announces Ordis as the destination. Alisa pulls herself out of the seat and off the train and breathes in the coastal air of Ordis. It’s such a change, so much breezier than anything in Roer, where she often feels like she’s suffocating. But it’s not just the air, she doesn’t think, because when she looks across the platform—there’s a purple-haired girl in a short white dress and that sunhat she tries to pair with everything, leaned against one of the barrier rails with the most reluctant smile on her face. And that is when Alisa’s lungs truly find their fill.
Alisa tugs her luggage across the space, and Ferris, as ever, doesn’t move until Alisa gets there, like she’s bracing herself against the metal, but Alisa has learned to read her face—learned to see the subtle way her smile widens, rises, like the tide at full moon, across her mouth, so that when Alisa reaches her—it’s genuine and almost gleeful.
“Hey there, Reinford scum.”
Alisa lets out a soft breath, and it shouldn’t feel so good to be harassed, but it’s Ferris, so it does. “Hi Ferris,” she says, and then, not wanting to completely disappoint, she finishes with, “I’d return the scum comment, but honestly, I’ve forgotten your silly business’s name.”
Ferris giggles and smacks her on the shoulder, gesturing to the staff she’s brought with her to grab Alisa’s bag. Alisa’s prideful, but after that ride, she’s exhausted, and without Sharon to help her on this trip—well, she’s not going to turn down anything. But she does at least manage a courteous “thanks” as a man takes her bag.
They head back to Ferris’s estate, with Ferris asking all the usual questions about her ride and her work. There’s a bite to everything she says, but in general, there’s something soft about her—something genuinely interested in Alisa beyond Reinford or Rean or anything else.
“How’d your hit piece on Hugo’s scandals go?” Alisa asks when Ferris allows a lull in the conversation, just as they reach the estate and head inside.
Ferris beams, and Alisa isn’t sure if it’s because Alisa remembered or because she’s still proud of herself. “Oh, it’s gone around the orbal net something fierce. There’s this whole campaign specific to Ordis about how he’s a dirty commoner scoundrel who can’t be trusted.”
Alisa’s eyebrows furrow, even if she can’t fight off the smile completely. “That’s super classist.”
Ferris offers the barest, sweetest shrug, and Alisa’s eyes follow the way her collarbone pops against the white of her dress. It’s a weird thing to notice, but she notices, anyway. “Don’t take it out on me. I didn’t write it. I just gave a source some info into all his messes.”
“That was meant to be private information, you know?” Alisa looks away, lest it start to look a bit weird. The staring. It’s just because she’s tired. Her gaze is getting away from her. “I didn’t expect you to try to ruin him with it.”
“Oh, I think you did, and it’s not like he’s ruined—just taken down a couple pegs.”
Ferris leads her into the sitting room, and they sit on the same settee, with hardly an arge of space between them while Ferris asks one of the staff to bring them some tea. Alisa used to prefer coffee, but her time with Ferris has brought her around to the idea of tea—maybe it’s because it feels safe here, easy, and the tea manufactures the same feeling, so even in her office, sometimes, if she drinks it—Ferris’s crisp citrus shampoo flutters through her.
Oh, wow, she is very tired.
They both take their tea, and Ferris lingers on a long sip—Alisa watches the dignified way her lips caress the porcelain for much too long—before finally removing her hat and leveling Alisa with a smile. “So, what’s going on with you, anyway? You seem completely dead. Don’t tell me you took a pit stop in Leeves to satisfy that Ashen idiot.”
And there it is. Every time Alisa hopes that somehow she’ll escape it, and every time, Ferris disappoints her—in this one way, Ferris always disappoints her.
“Definitely not,” Alisa says. “Besides, didn’t I tell you? He’s taken, now. Officially…” Her eyes search the ceiling, before she says, “I think.”
Ferris’s eyes go wide as she draws back, teacup rattling where she sets it too hard against the saucer. “Wait, really? By whom?”
Alisa glances at her own cup, the one she hasn’t mustered up the courage to take a drink of. “Uh, Crow… Armbrust, I don’t know if you remem—”
“Ah, yes, Crow,” Ferris says, and it’s so clear, so distinct, that Alisa knows it isn’t a surprise, much as Ferris tries to pretend it is. “Oh, Alisa. I’m… are you alright?”
Alisa furrows her brows. She wants to pretend it didn’t hit her like a punch to the gut, and the further she’s gotten from it—the more she realizes it’s less about Rean and more about Alisa’s inability to meet expectations. The inability to reach the goal she set for herself.
“Why would I care?” she asks.
“Well,” Ferris hedges. “Weren’t you, you know, in love with him?”
Alisa doesn’t know if she was or not. She knows that she loves Rean, that she watched him through everything they went through together and admired him—wanted him because getting him would equal a success she’d never get otherwise. Wanted him because everyone wanted him. So, truthfully, she answers, “I don’t know.” Then, truthfully still, “I don’t think so.”
“Wait, really?” Ferris blinks, and her eyes glow brighter than midday sun—it’s one of the few times Alisa’s ever felt like she took Ferris by surprise, something rivaled only by those times back in their first year at Thors when Alisa sincerely offered friendship to this refined, raging girl. “But I thought…”
Alisa lets out a quiet, almost musical laugh, because it’s Ferris, and with Ferris, things come easier—most things, anyway. “You thought because you’ve always pushed it. Everyone’s always pushed it, but I honestly feel more like I just lost out on some award than suffered a heartbreak.”
“Oh,” Ferris says, and it’s this crisp, floating, naked word that hangs between them far longer than it ought to.
“Oh?” Alisa presses when she can’t stand it anymore.
“Oh,” Ferris repeats. “I just—well, it isn’t as though…” She clears her throat and glances at her tea, then glances at Alisa’s. “You haven’t touched your tea.”
Alisa giggles and takes a sip of it, happy to indulge the unspoken request. Ferris may act like a pampered brat, but at her core, she’s always worried about offending her staff. It’s why she does so well in business; she cares about her people.
“It’s not like I wasn’t pursing it,” Alisa admits. “I just… think it might’ve been for the wrong reasons.”
“Oh, well.” Ferris swallows and takes another drink from her own cup. “That’s good… I mean, it’s great that you aren’t heartbroken because I hardly have the capacity to dress your wounds for the next couple days. I’ve got things planned for us, you know?”
Strangely, the octave of Ferris’s voice has gone up, and there’s a deep hint of red on her cheeks, like she’s struggling to say something, and Alisa feels like she’s back in those first few months all over again.
“Oh, really?” Alisa asks. “What did you have planned?”
“I told you,” Ferris snaps, bristling too much. “I set brunch up with Emily and Theresia, and if you were moping the whole time then it would kill the mood. It’s meant to be a lacrosse reunion, not an Alisa is whining and being annoying thing!”
She hasn’t heard Ferris so combative in ages. It’s so positively adorable, Alisa doesn’t know what to do with herself. “Well, I’m not going to be whining, so that works out.”
“Great!” Ferris snaps, but it sounds like she’s still trying to argue. “Anyways. If you did need to talk or whatever, then you should get it out now.”
“I don’t,” Alisa says firmly. “I’m still figuring out how I felt about the whole thing, but it’s something I think I’m going to have to do on my own.”
Ferris scoffs, eyes rolling violently enough Alisa’s surprised it doesn’t splash the tea out of their cups. “How typical.”
“It’s freeing,” Alisa says, electing to keep the focus on herself, since Ferris seems to be going through something, and if there’s one thing she’s figured out—it’s that Ferris sucks at talking about herself unless Alisa gives her an opening. “Him being taken, even if my staff hasn’t quite gotten the memo yet. I know they’re going to soon, and they can stop teasing me about him—and maybe they can stop speculating about my love life while they’re at it.” She takes a long sip of tea, then lets her mouth curl into a smile at the memory. “I nearly gave one of my employees a heart attack when I mentioned my weekend with you and said I found woman much more stimulating than men.”
Ferris, midway through a sip, nearly chokes. It’s disappointing; there’s something about Ferris that’s always made Alisa think she’d understand, and when they’ve bashed men before—well, it’s always felt like Ferris was on the same page as her, even if Alisa’s never known what page that was. “You, uh…” Ferris clears her throat. “You mean, as a joke, of course?”
Alisa chews her lip, staring at the woman in front of her properly, like she’s been staring since she got here, since she’s been staring for years. The way her gaze hungers for her like moonlight hungers for stars. “What if it wasn’t,” she whispers, “a joke?”
“As in…” The combativeness has vanished from Ferris’s expression, alongside literally everything else, everything but those bright, brilliant golden eyes. “You prefer girls? Sincerely?”
Alisa can’t hold her eyes anymore; she cuts her gaze towards the window, towards the colorful, easy shape of Ordis. This place that’s started to feel more like home than her own hometown, or even Trista. “Please, don’t make this weird, Ferris.”
“I’m sorry,” Ferris says quietly. “I just…” Alisa isn’t looking, but she can always feel when Ferris is looking at her—and she isn’t now. Alisa risks a glance, and Ferris is tangled and turned inward, pale cheeks the delicate rouge every synthetic blush in history has sought to recreate. “You know, I, um… I always asked you about Rean because… because it was easier—to, you know, get it out of the way.”
“What?” Alisa can barely make out her own voice.
“I asked you about him because…” Ferris’s silence goes on for so long, Alisa wonders if she manufactured the beginning of it until, “Because I was always so scared of your answer. It was easier if I could do it when I was prepared.”
“Wait…” Alisa’s vision skews in and out of focus, retouching all these things she thought she knew—revisiting every conversation, every smirk, everything. “Ferris, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying—” Ferris squeezes her eyes shut. “Ugh, forget it. If you’re too stupid to understand what I’m trying to say, then it’s not worth it.”
Alisa’s used to this kind of tactic, but this is new territory. She’s scared, heartbeat scattering across her body like beads. “That’s not—hold on, Ferr—!”
But then Ferris is moving, killing the space between them like it’s a monster or a business deal, and then Ferris’s delicate, perfect fingers are on Alisa’s chin, and their mouths are touching. It’s soft and saccharine sweet and sublime—it’s the euphoric, impossible corners of Alisa’s best dreams and the peak of adrenaline after every battle, every triumph. It’s Ferris. Kissing her.
It’s Ferris.
It’s always been Ferris.
Ferris jerks back, eyes wide, questioning, or prepared for an assault—prepared to blame this on Alisa, but before she can form the words, Alisa kisses her back. It’s fiery like the tip of her bow, and her body comes alive beneath it. Comes alive with a want real and refined, something not forged on the battleground of a mother who’s never approved or the exhaustion of a thousand expectant eyes—it’s something wholly Alisa’s, and the way Ferris melts into her—she is wholly Alisa’s.
The citrus scent of her shampoo pools around Alisa until it’s all she can see or taste or breathe, and she kisses Ferris harder, cupping the back of her neck, pulling across the settee until she’s in her lap, and the way their bodies slot together like a puzzle that’s been waiting to be solved, right in front of her, this whole time. It’s perfect, down to the way Alisa’s blonde hair flutters across Ferris’s temple and Ferris sighs like it’s a healing art. Down to the way Alisa’s fingers find all these easy, elegant notches along the back of Ferris’s neck to her spine—the way she can’t stop kissing her. The way she doesn’t want to.
When Alisa slips back, for just an instant, to meet those perfect eyes—the soft, lidded expression of someone who’s found bliss for the first time—Ferris whispers, “I’m in love with you, you idiot. I’ve been in love with you for so long.”
“You must think I’m so stupid.” Alisa kisses her again, barely getting the words out before their mouths and tongues tangle together again.
“Yes,” Ferris all but moans, and it slides down Alisa’s throat.
“I love you too,” Alisa says against Ferris’s jaw, and then again, like a prayer. “Aidios, I love you too.”
“Then don’t let go,” Ferris begs, body arching, clinging to Alisa with a need Alisa’s never felt anyone give her, never felt anyone pour into her, solely, completely, her. “Ever.”
And she knows, with an endless certainty, that she couldn’t if she tried.