a work of art

chapter 18: pride

"Baby?"

"Mm."

"You napping?"

"Mhm."

"No, you're not," Billie laughed softly, snuggling her face against my throat.

I wasn't, but my eyes were closed and I couldn't open them. We were on the bus, enjoying the downtime of a travel day. We would drive until 7 or so that night, when we'd arrive at the hotel in Montreal. Her show wasn't until the following night.

There was a couch in the back lounge, on the other side of the bunk area, and it pulled out into a double bed. We'd collected all the cozy pillows and blankets we could find and sprawled out to nap there.

I loved traveling with Finneas and Claudia so far, but it was nice to have some quiet with just the two of us for a bit. I'd gotten a ton of work done in the morning, and the nap felt well deserved.

But Billie was poking me in the ribs.

"I can't sleep," she whispered in my ear.

I sighed. "Good god woman, you performed for twenty thousand people last night, aren't you exhausted?"

"Yes," she laughed. "But my brain won't turn off. Also, it was only about fifteen thousand."

I rolled my eyes. I was laying flat on my back, with Bill tucked under my right arm. Her warm arms were wrapped around my torso, and I had a really good pillow, and a mound of soft blankets on top of me. I was so comfy and so tired.

"Try harder," I grumbled. "This is snuggly as fuck. It's impossible to not sleep. Fifteen thousand is still a lot."

"Okay, baby, you're right," she sighed, and kissed my neck. "Go to sleep."

She fell silent. I could've drifted. My closed eyelids prickled. Her little ADHD-riddled toes were tapping my leg over and over again.

Argh.

"What are you thinking about, Billie?" I forced out, defeated. She needed to talk and I wasn't about to be a dick.

She gave my body a big squeeze of thanks. "I was thinking about how freeing it is for two women to be together."

Not really what I was expecting. "Oh... yeah?"

"Yeah," she confirmed. "Like... I feel like I've always had to justify my style to men. Why I wanna dress more masculine, why I wanna dress more feminine..."

My eyes were open now. I looked down at the top of her head, her soft black hair tousled from our cuddling. Her pale fingers were entwined in the thin chains I always wore around my neck, playing with a quarter hanging from one of them. I let her ramble.

"It's just always been a conversation surrounding me. I'd gotten so used to it with music stuff, I barely noticed when it became a thing in my own relationships. 'Baby, you always look good, but you look amazing in this dress.'"

I was busting up at her impression of a misogynistic male voice. She grinned up at me. "Do I make a good man?"

"Yes, baby," I laughed. "And a good woman. I love whatever you wanna be at anytime."

"But that's my point," she continued, still smiling up at me. "If I'm wearing all men's clothing, you're into it. If I'm in a dress, you're into it. You're just attracted to me."

I leaned down and kissed her. "Yes."

"And for the first time in a relationship I actually feel free to just wear what I like, whether it's a dress or a suit or whatever."