The Sticky Note Chronicles

Norah didn’t actually feel like a dog when the thin fingers of a certain Italian woman petted through her twisted locks of hair. In fact, she felt rather human, and rather comfortable. The gesture was calming, causing the green eyes to flutter a few times before heavily closing. Her light eyelashes brushed against the pale, exposed skin of Mel’s stomach.
Blue eyes stared up at her ceiling, her hand moving on whim now, the joint of her wrist started to feel like rocks moving together tiredly, but she ignored it.
The cold stone of Mel’s bellybutton ring pushed into the Irishwoman’s ear as her head rested upon the woman’s stomach. She could feel the movements of her heart, very lightly. It was the noise that played in her head as she drifted in and out of sleep.
She didn’t want to sleep, this moment was too perfect.

The time for any sane person to be conscious was approaching; the sun had not yet peaked through the curtains on the window across the room.
“Norah,” broke the silence.
It took the redhead a moment, but she hummed in reply.
“You can go to sleep if you want.” Her voice was still quiet, soft as usual.
Norah rolled her head over, and in turn had to shift her body. “I donn wanna…” She drawled lazily, burying her fact in the soft skin of Mel’s stomach. The woman chuckled in response.
It fell silent again, the brunette tried to keep composure as the other woman’s hot breath hit the curve of her stomach – that really tickled.
“Hey…”
It was the brunette’s turn to hum in response.
“Why do you live in America? Italy seems so… wonderful.”
This took a moment, frankly because Mel had never really considered it.
“Hm, well. I was born in America. But from age six to fifteen I lived in Italy. A little town about an hour away from Rome.” She explained, “Plus, I like it here.”
Norah’s face turned so she looked towards the woman, their eyes meeting in a clash of colours.

“Why do you attend the Swedish Institute?”
“Oh, uhm… I’m becoming a Physical Therapist.”
“Doll, I didn’t ask what you studied; I asked you why you attended. Do you ever smile in class in the same way you do when you’re dancing?”
A shock going through the redhead, and momentarily she was stunned. Blinking as she sat up, propping her hands in front of her to support her weight against the mattress they laid on.
The brunette smiled knowingly at her. “You’re a wonderful dancer, my dear.”
The rising blood in her cheeks was quite obvious against the pale skin, the flesh turning warm and giving the girl a somehow comforting squeezing in her stomach. She looked down, eyes drawn to the woman’s bellybutton ring, trailing over the exposed skin until it was hidden underneath the blue tanktop she wore, bunched around her chest.
Curious, the woman propped herself up on her bony elbows and studied the woman, practically feeling the green eyes upon her skin.
One pale, freckled hand rose, moving across the woman’s stomach, fingernails drawling lazily over the skin that quivered under the unfamiliar touch. Norah’s hand dropped to the mattress on the other side of the woman, so she now hovered over her.
Blue eyes blinked as the Irishwoman leaned closer, “Norah,” a breathy warning.
She stopped, turning her head to the side.
“Norah… doll, you… know what this means, correct? This isn’t some rebound or one night stand.” Mel tilted her head to the side.
Norah’s lips parted slightly, she inhaled as if about to say something, but instead just slowly released it.
“Yeah,” she breathed, leaning forward the last bit of space to touch their lips together. “I know.”

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

“Want some soup?” The brunette sauntered toward the kitchen, fiddling with the strings on her sweatpants. The redhead took this time to study the dandelion tattoo on the woman’s right shoulder blade, completely missing the question until a hand was waved in front of her face.
“Soup?” She offered, grinning.
Norah made a face at it, “I don’t like drinking soup,” She whined.
The blue eyes twinkled with mirth as a smirk was played on the Italian’s lips. “How about a Christmas feast then?”
“PRESENTS!” was the only thing she heard in response. Mel started, turning away from the kitchen to see the college student digging through the presents like a madwoman.
“Uhm, or you could do that,” She grinned, turning back to the kitchen.
“Hey, aren’t you coming?” A small voice came from the living room.
A light giggle, “Yeah, just lemme put this water on to boil.” She said, hurriedly turning the stove on and practically tossing the water-filled pot on top of it.
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” Norah pushed, bouncing up and down where she sat.
“Alright, alright, open the blasted thing already, before you explode!”
The sounds of paper ripping in excitement, being crumpled and then tossed to the side, the brunette watching with a bemused grin.
An almost inaudible gasp, fingers running along the silky fabric of the obviously expensive Pointe shoes. Green eyes wildly flying to the brunette with an almost smug look upon her face.
“H-how’d… you…”
“I went into your room to find your shoe size. You’re right; I am a bit of a ninja. Or maybe you’re just one helluva heavy sleeper.” The tone was teasing.
Norah looked from the shoes back to the woman, then to the shoes again.
Mel didn’t even see it coming when the wind was knocked out of her as she was pushed back from a blowing tackle.
“Gah, Norah!” She cackled loudly from underneath the woman. The sound of sizzling heat alerted the thin college student. “Ack, get off silly, my water’s boiling!” She continued to laugh through her words, but was soon silenced by a pair of smooth pale lips upon her own.
The overflowing boiling water sizzling against the heat of the stove was soon forgotten by the not-so-mysterious Melodie. “Merry Christmas,” She mumbled against the soft lips, “My love.”
As they say, Christmas is for miracles.