Come Out of the Shade

“Torch?”

“Yeah?”

“You ever... you ever been in love?”

Torch considers the question, still tracing shapes into her best friend’s bare skin. Evie shivers, but she doesn’t flinch away from the gentle touch.

“Don’t know,” Torch says finally. “Do you want me to go down on you again?”

“Don’t change the subject,” Evie scolds, hazel eyes narrowed into what is probably supposed to be a stern expression. The effect is somewhat ruined by the fact that she’s upside down and starkers from head to toe.

Grinning, Torch leans down and presses her lips to Evie’s, Spiderman-style. She sweeps Evie’s hair out of her face and leaves her fingertips touching Evie’s cheeks as she kisses her, biting Evie’s lower lip until she gives in and kisses back, making a noise of frustration in her throat that makes Torch grin.

It’s not long before Evie’s pushing at her chest, though, and Torch doesn’t want to let her go, wants to keep kissing Evie forever if she’ll let her. She won’t and Torch knows she won’t so she forces herself to pull away, pressing one last kiss to the underside of Evie’s jaw.

“Hey, no,” Evie says firmly, but her eyes are a little bit glazed and she keeps licking her lips. “We were talking. What did you do that for?”

Torch just shrugs. “Aren’t we done talking? There are better things we could be doing with our mouths.”

“You’re infuriating,” Evie huffs, wriggling away from her best friend’s fingers. She pulls herself into a sitting position to better glare at Torch. “Stop trying to distract me with sex.”

“That’s not what you said before,” Torch says, waggling her eyebrows.

“Infuriating,” Evie repeats. “I’m officially withholding your cunnilingus privileges until you answer the question.”

“Ooh baby,” Torch says, leering at her, “cunnilingus. You know how much it turns me on when you use long words like that.”

“Oh my god,” Evie says, biting down hard on her lower lip to stop herself grinning. “You are utterly shameless. Just answer the bloody question, will you?”

Torch sits back, rakes a hand through her short bleached hair, glances down at her lap. “Have you?” she asks, raising her eyes slowly to meet Evie’s.

Evie looks at her hard, says, “You know I have.”

(She sounds reproachful and that’s kind of fair, really. Torch has had to listen to Evie wax lyrical about her boyfriends for nearly seven years; it would be hard for her not to know. The boys she dates are generally pretty similar – Evie vehemently denies she has a type but it’s lies, all lies – blonde and beautiful and complete dicks. They never last long; they never get on with Torch and when it comes to the inevitable her-or-me argument, Torch always, always wins. She can’t help but feel a bit smug about that.

But then there was Kyle, who Evie went out with last year for nearly nine months, who was also beautiful but darker-haired and really, genuinely lovely. He never tried to call Torch by her first name and he made a point to talk to her as well as Evie when they were all hanging out together and he made Evie happier than she had ever, ever been. Torch kind of hated him more than all of Evie’s previous boyfriends combined.)

“But you never talk about girls,” Evie continues. Torch stares at her, hard, and Evie waves a dismissive hand. “You tell me about the fantastic sex you have with them or want to have with them, yeah, but you never- you’ve never said anything about something more.”

Torch leans back, lounges against the headboard of the bed. “Maybe I don’t want something more,” she says evenly. “Why do you want to know so much?”

“I don’t,” Evie says. Torch just snorts. “It doesn’t matter, I was just- curious. You never talk about stuff, this kind of stuff.”

“And you never stop talking about it,” Torch says, but there’s no bite to her tone as she reaches to curl her hands around Evie’s hips.

“Better things to do with your mouth?” Evie retorts, but she can’t hide the quiver in her voice, the way she shivers when Torch presses her fingers into the bruises she left earlier. “Fuck, Torch.”

“Yeah, that is where this is going, how astute of you,” Torch says, grinning when Evie rolls her eyes. (Astute, that’s one of Evie’s words; it sounds better when she says it, probably doesn’t feel foreign on her tongue.)

“No, it isn’t,” Evie says. She sounds reluctant, regretful, almost, and Torch finds herself frowning.

“Do you need me to go already?” she asks, confused. “I thought your roommate was staying with her boyfriend tonight.”

“She is,” Evie says, biting her lip. She sits back on her heels, Torch’s hands falling from her sides as a space opens up between them. “I just- I can’t- fuck, this is- I can’t do this any more, Torch, I’m sorry.”

Something cold and awful rushes through Torch’s veins, like a bucket of cold water thrown over a roaring flame. She’s been expecting this since the beginning, since the first time she pulled Evie into her lap and whispered, “Tell me, if you want me to stop, if you don’t want this, just tell me to stop and I will.” (She would have, as well, even though every fibre of her being ached for Evie, even though it would hurt so much to let her go.) She knew it wasn’t going to last when Evie said, with that characteristic curiosity Torch both loves and loathes, “What’s it like, having sex with girls?” because Evie is really hopelessly straight and that’s not something that’s going to change.

Torch knew. She did. She knew that whatever it is they’re doing was never going to turn into anything serious but that didn’t stop her from hoping. She’s never been able to stop hoping, but she’s never tried harder than she has these past few months.

“Yeah?” she says, not trusting herself to say any more. Her face is schooled into a carefully neutral expression, her grey eyes empty of emotion, but there’s a shake in her voice she can’t hide and Evie is her best friend, she knows what Torch looks like when she’s closing herself down.

“Yeah. There’s this boy, Adam,” Evie says and suddenly Torch wants to cry, even though her eyes are dry and she’s never shed a tear over something like this before. Her chest is so tight it hurts to breathe. “I told you about him, remember?”

“Yeah,” Torch says, swallowing hard. “He’s from Nottingham and he lives across campus. You bonded over doing the same joint honours degree and you’ve been friends since the start of the year.” Evie nods, smiling, obviously pleased that Torch remembered. And, okay, Torch does have a shitty memory but she remembers everything Evie tells her, always has. “I thought you were just friends.”

She tries to sound light, casual, but from the way Evie’s forehead creases into a frown, Torch doesn’t think she’s very successful.

“We were,” Evie says. “He asked me to go see a film with him at the weekend, maybe have something to eat after.”

“That’s-” cliche, boring, stupid, you deserve so much better why would you go for something like that “-nice,” Torch gets out, careful to keep her voice steady.

“Yeah, it is,” Evie agrees, her lips tugged up into a genuinely happy smile. “Apparently he’s had a crush on me all year but he’s only just got up the nerve to do something about it.”

“Oh,” Torch says, tiny and quiet. She fumbles for something else to say, something witty, something clever, something that makes her sound less fucking pathetic. “He loses points for taste, then.” (And for being a complete fucking coward but Torch can’t really talk, considering.)

Evie narrows her eyes, nudges Torch with her foot, and somehow the brief brush of skin makes the awful feeling in Torch’s chest lessen, just a little. “Shut up. You so think I’m sexy, Dorabella Torchwell, don’t even try to deny it.”

There’s a sharp retort on Torch’s lips but it dies at the use of her full name. If it were anyone else, Torch would kick them somewhere painful, glare at them until they were stumbling over an apology. Evie’s different, Evie’s always been different.

“Maybe a little,” Torch says instead, her voice light. “You do have really great tits.”

Evie rolls her eyes, but she’s biting back a smile. “This is the part where I protest about being objectified,” she says, shaking her head like she’s actually offended, but Torch knows her better than that. “I’m more than just a pair of breasts, you know.”

Torch smiles, but it’s tiny and twisted and a little bit rueful. The truth is, Evie is so much more than just a pair of breasts. She’s beautiful in a million different ways that Torch could never hope to adequately describe, even with the clever long words Evie loves so much.

(It doesn’t even scratch the surface of how fucking gorgeous she is to say that Evie’s skin is impossibly smooth and so easily bruised, to say that she has lips like sin and a mouth Torch could never get tired of kissing, to say that she has soft dark hair that Torch loves to run her fingers through and loves to tug on even more, to say that her eyes are sharp with an intelligence that makes Torch feel tiny and insignificant in comparison, sometimes. Torch can’t say any of that out loud, doesn’t even know how.)

“Yeah,” is all she manages, “I know.”

Evie smiles back, ducks her head so her face is shadowed by her hair. “He’s really lovely, you know,” she says. It takes Torch a moment to remember who she’s talking about. “And he really likes me.”

Torch gives a noncommittal hum. She’s never met Adam but Evie isn’t exactly known for reading people well, as evidenced by her mostly shitty experience with boys.

Evie bites her lip. “I think you’d like him.”

Torch doubts that very much. “I’ll have to meet him now, if you’re gonna be going out together,” she says, kind of proud of how steady her voice is. “Make sure he’s not a complete twat.”

Evie rolls her eyes again, but she’s not even trying to hide her grin this time. “I got him tickets to Flamethrower’s next gig,” she informs her. “He’s a massive fan of your band, actually, it’s kind of adorable.” She hides a giggle behind her hand before continuing, “He had such a fanboy moment when I told him I was friends with the singer.”

“I wonder what he’d think if he knew you were fucking the singer,” Torch says dryly. “Though you probably haven’t mentioned that to him.”

Evie coughs delicately, the tips of her cheeks stained pink. “I, um, yeah, I haven’t really told anyone. About us. I just, I didn’t think-” She glances away, obviously uncomfortable. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

Torch’s chest tightens all over again and she swallows, hard, past a lump in her throat that won’t budge. She tells herself it’s only fair since she’s only told her closest friends about her and Evie, though it’s not like she has a whole lot of people to tell. She figured it’d be easier to end it if they hadn’t announced to the whole world what they’d started, figured it’d be what Evie would want.

(She’s never felt worse about being right in her life.)

“Torch? Torch, you okay?”

Torch dredges up a smile that does nothing to ease the concerned look on Evie’s face. “Fine,” she says, shifting on the bed. “I should go, actually. Kieran wanted to show me something he wrote, a new song he wants us to play at the next gig, and I can still make it to his place if I leave now.”

Evie pouts, which is just ridiculously unfair. “Stay a little bit longer,” she says, just this side of pleading. “We can have goodbye sex?”

Torch smiles despite herself, a sad little twitch of her lips. She wants to, she wants to so much it hurts but she can’t, she knows she can’t. There’s no way she can fuck Evie now knowing it’s the last time she’ll get to do it, the last time she’ll get to touch her, to kiss her, to make her fall apart.

“Nah,” she says, trying to ignore the thrill she feels at the way Evie’s face falls in disappointment. “I’ll miss the last bus back if I don’t go soon.”

“Spoilsport,” Evie grumbles. “You have to at least kiss me, then.”

“Who’s infuriating again?” Torch says, shaking her head, but she shuffles forward and kisses Evie. She means for it to be just a quick brush of lips, the way a goodbye kiss should be, but Evie’s lips are so soft and her body is so warm and Torch is never, ever going to be able to do this again, and she can’t make herself pull away.

“Thought you had somewhere else to be,” Evie says when they finally part. She’s panting a little, alternately running her tongue over her lips and nipping at them with her teeth. Torch watches her for a few moments, hypnotised, and then thinks fuck it and kisses her again, rougher and harder and more insistent than before.

She’ll regret this in the morning, when Evie has already left to go to her first class and the bed is cold and empty next to Torch where her best friend should be. She’ll regret it when she scours the room for her clothes, trying to remember where she discarded them the night before in the tangle of skinmouthhands. She’ll regret it when she sees the note pinned to the door, Evie’s neat handwriting pressed into the page.

Thanks so much for everything, Torch, I really appreciate it. I hope you enjoyed teaching me the ways of gay sex half as much as I’ve enjoyed learning about them. ;D It’s been amazing.

Love you,
Evie xxx

She’ll regret it when she rests her head against the wall and draws in several deep, shuddery breaths before straightening up and striding out of the room, locking it behind her with the spare key. She’ll regret it when Kieran opens the door and takes one look at her before wordlessly pulling her into a hug and she cries like she hasn’t ever let herself, messy and wretched and awful into Kieran’s shoulder.

But right now, Torch feels nothing but relief that she gets to have this strange, wonderful girl for just a little while longer, for one more glorious night.

#

Torch kind of thinks Kieran has the best girlfriend ever. When Steffie wanders downstairs and catches sight of Torch cuddling her boyfriend on the sofa, she only says, “Hey,” squints at them for a moment or so, then adds, “You okay, Torch?”

Torch nods, her head still half-buried in Kieran’s shoulder. Steffie makes a face like she doesn’t quite believe her and crawls in next to her, wrapping one arm around Torch’s waist and carding the other through Torch’s hair.

“Evie?” Steffie says and Torch makes a very unattractive sound in her throat. (She’s half-annoyed at herself that she’s that obvious, but she’s kind of resigned herself to the fact that the only person who doesn’t know how stupidly in love with Evie she is is Evie herself.)

“We’re not fucking any more,” Torch says, clutching Kieran tighter. She loosens her hold reluctantly when she feels him wince. “She’s got herself a new boyfriend now, doesn’t need me to scratch whatever itch she had. Probably for the best.”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Steffie says, softly. She doesn’t say I told you so or you’re worth a million of her or you’re pathetic, you should’ve gotten over her years ago and Torch loves her so much.

“I hope she breaks your heart,” she says to Kieran, absently, leaning into Steffie’s touch. “I hope she breaks your heart and realises she’s been attracted to the wrong gender for nineteen years and I can kidnap her and make her my love slave and maybe adopt Nigerian babies with her because she is the best ever.”

To his credit, Kieran just grins at her. “She is, isn’t she?” he says with this stupidly adorable face, his eyes all wide and soft and an unbelievable shade of blue, lips tugged up into a helpless grin. (He always looks like that when he talks about Steffie, so nauseatingly in love that, no matter how much she wishes she could, Torch can’t really ever want her to break his heart. Not really.)

“Yes, you jammy bastard,” she says, poking him in the side with maybe a sliver of actual malice because she’s maybe kind of bitter about this, a little, “now go make me some tea so I can have her to myself for a wee while.”

Torch wriggles away from him and into Steffie, who obligingly cuddles her close and lets her burrow like something entirely unlike a small, furry forest creature. (Torch is not close to a lot of people, but the ones who count themselves lucky – hah, that’s a generous use of the word – enough to be among those fair few are very, very close.) Kieran rolls away, muttering something about her only liking him for his tea and his cuddles.

“Not true,” Torch protests, “I totally think your guitar solos are awesome as fuck, you know that. Your lyrics, on the other hand-”

“Finish that sentence,” Kieran says, one finger raised mock-threateningly, “and I will forbid you from cuddling with me or my girlfriend for an entire month.”

Torch narrows her eyes at him but doesn’t say anything as she settles into Steffie, feeling her chuckle rumble against her back. “I like her better than you, you know. You might be tiny and Irish and ridiculously good at playing guitar and making tea but Steffie would never rescind my cuddling privileges.”

“Ooh, rescind,” Kieran teases, “is that one of Evie’s words?”

Torch’s face falls instantly. “Yeah,” she mutters, rubbing her cheek against a lock of Steffie’s bright red hair. She smells really good, like fruity shampoo and clean clothes and that perfume Kieran’s especially fond of that he insists isn’t actually meant for women. (“So what if it is?” Kieran always says, huffing at her. “It smells fucking gorgeous and that’s all that matters.”) “Yeah.”

Steffie curls her arm tighter, the glare she sends over Torch’s shoulder at Kieran almost palpable and fuck, there’s another of those clever words Evie loves so much.

“I’ll just go make the tea,” Kieran says meekly, tipping an awkward nod in their direction before escaping to the kitchen.

“Don’t break his heart,” Torch mumbles, her head buried in Steffie’s chest. (She can’t even appreciate what a nice chest Steffie has right now because all she can think about is Evie, Evie’s stupidly beautiful body and her stupidly beautiful mind and her stupidly beautiful smile.) “At least one of us has to get their happy ending, right? He deserves you so much.”

Steffie kisses Torch square on the mouth. “She doesn’t deserve you, Torch,” she says, kind of fiercely. “Not even a little bit.”

Torch swallows the lump in her throat and resolutely does not cry, even when Steffie pulls her close and cradles her in her arms.