The Sticky Note Chronicles

“You're mean,” A hoarse whisper attempted to sound more menacing than the keeper could muster. This sentence was followed by violent coughing, simply proving the point of the levelheaded brunette.
She stood a few feet away, leaning her shoulder against the wide archway which lead to the olive green kitchen. She raised her eyebrows at the redhead, as if to say, “Duh.”
Mel approached the shorter woman, helping her weakened form to the white couch and laid her down.
“Now, stay.” She said sternly, turning away and walking towards the kitchen.
The redhead felt like a dog, and in turn, stuck her tongue out at the woman’s back and shuffled into the couch stubbornly.
Her fever had gone down a bit, but the brunette was in the process of convincing her that she was in no state to be walking around the city that evening. Andrew had invited her out, and she just knew that bimbo was going to be there.
She always was nowadays. Norah gritted her teeth, narrowing her eyes to glare holes in the wall.
“It looks could kill,” She heard, her green eyes moving to look at the bemused smile upon her roommate’s face. She handed the diseased Irish woman a bowl of steaming hot soup.
Norah tried to be stubborn and not eat it – this was the woman keeping her from her boyfriend! … Sort of. She grumbled, her stomach making a bothered noise. Her body seemed to know there was food in front of her as well.
“Eat your soup, dumbass.” She heard from the kitchen. The redhead let out a long groan, but obliged to eat. Mel’s tone was playful enough.
The sound of running water falling over soiled pots and pans, the smell of soap drifting towards the living room, the redhead ate her soup sheepishly, refusing to look towards the still-mysterious brunette.
It was weird, this woman, actually knowing her, being here with her. Though they only met face-to-face mere hours ago, Mel addressed her like an old friend.
Maybe she was.
Absentmindedly blowing on the steaming spoonful of soup, her eyes trailed up slowly to look at the short haired woman.
She was tall, definitely over five foot seven, and really lanky. Her shoulders were broad, her neck was long. She had pleasant features on her face, with sharp blue eyes. Speaking of those, they switched carefully to meet the green ones currently studying her form.
A stifled chuckle, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
If possible, her face burned more than before. Norah sent a glare towards the brunette, and continued to eat her soup stubbornly.
“You’re burning your tongue, aren’t you?” Her voice was really low, very soft spoken.
“No,” She said sharply, taking another sip. She was definitely lying; the sandpapery feeling of her tongue against the roof of her mouth told her that she had burnt the muscle while eating the steaming hot soup.
She had begun to think the woman laughed like that, just an airy sort of chuckle, because she did it again.
A hand upon her own stopped the spoonful of soup edging towards her mouth. Mel seemed to move in very languid motions, very slow and precise. She leaned down and blew delicately on the soup.
Norah couldn’t help but watch her with wide eyes, puffy with sleep.
“There,” why was she whispering?
Momentarily, she just stared. Into the intense blue eyes, trying to read a page covered in illegible scrawl.
“Hmph,” She settled with, biting the metal spoon harshly, and regretting it.
“You’re so weird,”
Another odd sort of groan in response, green eyes boring holes into the brunette woman who leaned on the back of the white couch.
“I don’t care how much you pretend to hate me; I’m not letting you out of this apartment.”
More grumbling, another airy chuckle, fingers suddenly present in the curly red hair – Norah froze. She wasn’t expecting the brunette to touch her… so intimately.
But she had to admit, it felt nice. Like a comforting sort of thing.
The Irish woman even found herself leaning into the touch.
Eyes flickering back up, holding the steady gaze from the taller woman.
She didn’t really notice when her thin fingers stopped combing through her hair.
Nor when their faces sort of gravitated closer.
Or even when the door to the apartment opened and a tall man with tussled hair, flecked with white dots of snow, entered the living room.
She did, however, notice when Andrew let out a startled sort of strangled noise. Oh boy did she notice that, because it was followed by a very loud string of accusations and less-than-G-rated words.