‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊
𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞- 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞- 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝.
"On the contrary," Lyrica comforts her, watching as Silena rests her head against Mena's shoulder. "This is precisely how it usually goes. You needn't worry."
She, quite clearly, can not even begin to understand how dire this situation truly is.
Of course, all parties are going to end with someone being drunk off their ass. Mena might be a romantic, but she isn't entirely oblivious. She just didn't expect that someone to be Silena- and she definitely didn't expect drunk Silena to act like this.
It was a pretty reasonable mistake of her to make, her roommate's general demeanour considered. After all, Silena Valentine should, by literally every single rule of nature known to man, not be an affectionate drunk.
Yet here they are.
"Keeks is going to flip if she shows up like this."
Silena, as though trying to demonstrate what exactly seems to be the issue, raises her finger to poke Mena in the cheek, an entirely too focused look on her face. Ever since she reappeared about five minutes ago, totally wasted, she has been doing that a lot.
"Keeks?"
"Silena's dad."
"I could give the two of you a lift to the diner?" Lyrica offers, because she's a literal angel. "You can wait until she sobers up a bit, and it's only a five-minute walk from Silena's house."
Mena bites her lip, slapping Silena's hand away as it begins to near her cheek again. She doesn't want to ruin her friend's fun, but Lyrica waves off her concerns quickly.
"It's no problem. I've got an early morning episode of Downton Abbey to catch, anyway."
That is how Mena finds herself sitting in a diner at three in the morning, drunk Silena staring at her intently from across the table.
"Can I hold your hand?"
Mena snaps her head up alarmingly fast, and nearly flicks her french fry across the room.
"What?"
Immediately, Silena looks away.
"Nothing. Forget it."
Yeah, right. As if anyone could simply forget something as monumental as Silena Valentine asking to hold their hand.
"No, no, hold on. I was just unprepared. You can hold it."
Silena frowns. She tucks her hands under her arms, as though she doesn't trust herself not to accept the offer otherwise.
"If you don't wanna, you don't wanna."
"I wanna," Mena says, as assuringly as she can. She reaches across the table, uncaring of how strange she must look, and carefully pulls one of Silena's hands towards her own, until they're clasped together. Then, she victoriously raises them in the air.
"There."
Silena looks up at their joined hands in wonder.
She brings them down to her eye level and turns them around- once, twice, six times- before finally giving a satisfied nod.
Mena lets this play out, not even bothering to hide her amusement.
"So? What's the conclusion, doc.?"
"Not good."
Mena raises an eyebrow.
"No?"
She says it teasingly, but Silena is one hundred per cent serious as she shakes her head.
"Too small," she explains.
Mena looks down at her free hand, complete with the colorful rings and lilac nail polish.
"Oh, come on. They're not that small."
Silena changes the position of their hands in response, so that they are no longer intertwined, but instead standing palm to palm. Silena's is several shades paler than Mena's, and indisputably larger.
"Too small," Silena repeats.
"Fine," Mena concedes, rolling her eyes. "Can I look at yours?"
Without even a moment of deliberation, Silena readily outstretches her entire arm across the table. Mena huffs a laugh, giving her fake girlfriend a significant look before taking hold of her palm. Then, she begins to gently run her finger across it, feigning utmost concentration.
Silena curiously looks at the invisible lines Mena seems to be drawing.
"What are you doing?"
"Reading your palm," Mena says, even though she doesn't actually know how to do that. She has, however, seen enough movies to get the general idea of what she probably should be doing.
"Hm. Interesting."
Silena's eyes widen. She's incredibly ingenuous in this state, and it's almost too endearing.
"What's it say?" she whispers, leaning in.
Her hair falls over her face at the movement, and Mena impulsively reaches out to brush it behind her ear. When Silena looks up to meet her eyes Mena clears her throat, letting her hand fall down from Silena's hair.
"Sorry," she says, "Eldest cousin impulse."
But Silena is still looking at her, blue eyes perfectly clear. Under the dim lights, she is as pretty and as tranquil as an oil painting, and just as distant. No matter how hard she looks, Mena can't decipher the meaning of the unwavering calmness of her gaze.
"It's fine," Silena finally says. Her voice is so soft it cuts. She lifts up her hand again. "So? What's it say?"
Oh.
That's right. They had been doing something. Mena shakes her head free of the confusing thoughts, and looks down at the offered hand.
"It says..." she draws it out, building the dramatic tension. "Hm."
"What?"
"It says that you're really into palm readers."
Silena blinks, pulling her hand out of Mena's hold and near her own chest. She looks at it closely, as though she's expecting to find those precise words tattooed on her skin.
"Woah," she finally says, much like the emperor looking at his new clothes. "Where'd you see that?"
"Well, you can't see it," Mena elaborates. She leans back in her seat with a satisfied smirk. "You don't speak the language of hands."
Silena meets her eyes.
"And you do?"
It sounds like one of her usual dry quips, except it is now devoid of any sarcasm, and is instead overflowing with genuine curiosity. Mena can't help but smile.
"Sure. It's my birth given bisexual right. All gay people know how to have conversations through their eyes and hands."
Silena tilts her head, sceptical for the first time this evening.
"I find that hard to believe. You're not very good at subtility."
Mena opens her mouth to argue, but Silena doesn't wait for her response. Instead, as though cast in a trance by that sentence, she repeats: "The language of hands."
Mena still feels like saying something to the previous accusation, even though it maybe is technically accurate. Still, Silena seems so deep in thought that she hardly wants to interrupt whatever it is that's going on up in her noggin.
Finally, she speaks up again.
"What other languages do you speak?"
"Croatian. Arabic," Mena responds, listing them off on her fingers. "English, obviously. Some very basic Latin. I've been learning Italian for six years now, but claiming that I know it might be a little farfetched."
Silena chuckles.
"That's how I feel about Spanish."
"What about you?" Mena asks, taking a bite out of her french fry. "Do you know any other languages?"
"French. I lived in Quebec until I was five."
"Oh, for real?"
Silena nods.
"I actually refused to speak English for an entire year after I got adopted, so dad tried to learn French to talk to me instead," she scrunches her nose up at the memory. "Was very bad at it. I eventually took pity and tried to give him lessons, but by the time we covered all the animals, I already started to like him. He still wanted to learn, though."
A dumb grin spreads across Mena's face. She can picture a bossy, little Silena trying to teach her dad a new language almost too clearly.
"That's... Very sweet of him."
"Yes," Silena agrees, and now she's grinning, as well "We sometimes talk in a combination of French and English when we're alone."
It this was a movie, Mena thinks, this would be her favourite scene in the entire film; the kind that is accompanied by close-ups of hands and painfully beautiful music playing in the background.
And then Silena leans down, traps the straw of their shared milkshake between her lips, and blows.
Bubbles appear on the surface of the drink, and Silena giggles delightedly. She looks at Mena, as though it is imperative to her that she too saw what just happened.
"The straw goes brrr," she clarifies, and all Mena can do is stare, entirely dumbfounded.
"Wow," is all that she finds herself capable of saying. "You are Silly."
Silena smiles fully, with her teeth, before licking the leftover milkshake from her rosy lips.
Her eyes widen an almost comical amount.
"Oh," is all she says, taking the milkshake glass in both her hands, and dedicatedly drinking the whole thing in four giant gulps.
"Um," Mena says, toeing the line between concern and amusement. "You good over there?"
Silena nods, eagerly.
"This is actually nice."
Mena scoffs.
"So I've been saying."
Silena looks at her empty glass, back up at Mena, and then somewhere over her shoulder, in the general direction of the waiter.
"I would like to order seven more, please!"
Oh, no.
"Quiet down!" she urges, wondering if this is how her friends always feel like with her. "Look, I'm glad you're broadening your horizons and what not, but you really can't drink seven of those."
"Yes, I can," Silena says, frowning at the challenge. "Do you wanna see?"
"No. I really do not. Lactose intolerant, remember?"
She grumbles as she leans back in her seat, but otherwise makes no signs of protest.
"Fine."
Mena breathes out a sigh of relief, and finally returns her attention to the meal before her. She barely makes it through three bites, though, before noticing the icy weight of Silena's eyes following her every move. She's leaning forward with her chin resting on the palms of her hands, and looks like she's barely restraining herself from doing something she knows she isn't supposed to do.
Mena raises an eyebrow.
"What are you doing now?"
"Nothing," Silena says, but does very little to support this statement. Mena eyes her, unconvinced.
"...You want to poke my cheek again, don't you?"
All the restraint seems to melt right out of Silena's body.
"Yes," she says. "Please."
Well.
This is going to be a long night.
-
And a long night it is.
Once they finally get themselves to bed, Mena is very much ready to immediately fall asleep- so you can only imagine the amount of stress she finds herself under as two arms secure themselves around her waist, and a long leg drapes itself over her own.
A millisecond spent in this new position is quite enough for her to go back to being wide awake.
"Are you doing this on purpose?" she whisper yells into the dark. "You do know that Hungover Silena is going to kick my ass if she wakes up like this, right?"
It's not even an exaggeration. Perhaps they've been sharing a bed for several weeks now, but thanks to Silena's extensive efforts, they never shared any more than what was absolutely required. The few times she did wake up with Mena's body covering her own (after she would accidentally move over in her sleep), she had zero issues with waking her unsuspecting roommate up by kicking her right off onto the cold, hard ground.
Not the most pleasant waking up ritual, as one might imagine.
"You're moving too much," Silena's breath is warm and minty against her neck. "I'm like a bondage."
Mena squeezes her eyes shut.
"Holy shit. Okay. Maybe don't say that ever again."
Silena only hums and tightens her grip.
"Stop talking."
"I'll stop talking incessantly if we wake up like this. Because you'll murder me."
"Sucks to be you."
It doesn't really. Death by cuddles hardly seems like the worst way to go. Still, Silena doesn't need to know that, and Mena would very much prefer not going at all to going somewhat pleasantly.
"Alright, well," she tries, "As your friend, I just thought you ought to know-"
Suddenly, the grip loosens. A few ticks pass in silence.
"Turn around?"
Mena stills.
"Why?"
"Just..." Silena huffs, frustrated. "Please?"
Oh, well. Since she asked nicely.
Mena turns to the other side, until she and Silena are practically nose to nose. She wonders if she could still see those tiny freckles in the dark, if she really focused.
"Uh. Hey," Mena says. "You come here often?"
Silena (as is more in character than some of her previous scenes tonight) doesn't waste any time on beating around the bush.
"We're friends?"
Mena frowns.
"I...What?"
"We're friends?" Silena repeats. "You and I?"
"Uh, duh?" she isn't sure how she's even meant to respond to this question. "We've been friends for weeks now, weirdo."
Silena opens her mouth. Closes it. Lets a small smile play on her lips.
"Oh."
Oh, she says.
She's honestly just so strange sometimes.
"Yeah, oh. I don't kiss just anyone on the lips, you know. Those are strictly friendship privileges."
Silena is still smiling. It's all very, very soft.
"I'm glad."
Cautiously, Silena arranges their hands into a palm to palm position, intertwining their fingers, and then slowly pulls their joined hands to her chest. When the other girl makes no moves to stop her, she moves impossibly closer, and tucks her head just underneath Mena's chin, resting on her collarbones.
"I'll try to be a good friend," she whispers. "I promise."
And just like that, Mena suddenly no longer cares at all whether or not Hungover Silena will indeed decide to feel murderous upon waking up in this position. Some deaths, she figures, are totally worth it.
She presses a gentle kiss to the top of Silena's head.
"Don't worry," she murmurs. "You already are."
-
this chapter is the sole reason as to why wish you were sober by conan gray was my second most listened song this year (according to spotfiy wrapped)