Chapter Text
The late morning light filters through the curtains when they begin to stir for the first time. All wrapped up in the warmth and comfort of Leonora‘s arms, Clarissa refuses to open her eyes and buries her nose deeper in what appears to be the redhead‘s curls. She doesn’t mind. The faint scent of styling products mixed with the soft, familiar trace of her perfume—something her, and expensive—lingers, and she’s perfectly content. Cocooned in the warmth, the quiet, the security of being here, wrapped in the space between sleep and wakefulness. Leonora’s heartbeat is steady against her, the rise and fall of her chest a comforting lullaby she can’t get enough of.
Then, there’s a subtle throb manifesting in her head, ruining the otherwise calm moment, and it gets stronger with every second that passes. It blooms into full blown pain that makes her flinch hard enough for the woman next to her to shift.
The sun that peeks through the heavy curtains isn’t strong, but it’s enough to make everything way worse. Clarissa squirms and feels herself taking a shaky breath as she manages to free her hands from the tangled sheets and press her palms against her head. “Fuck.”
“You really thought you could drink like that and not suffer the consequences?” Despite the teasing, Leonora’s voice is surprisingly soft, careful not to add to her girlfriend’s pain, and she brings the blanket over Clarissa’s shoulder. “Open up.”
Before the barista has the chance to say anything, she feels a pill against her lips. It’s smooth on her tongue and soon Clarissa identifies it by taste as Tylenol, before her thoughts are interrupted by the cool temperature of the glass of water held to her mouth.
Clarissa doesn’t drink immediately. She waits until the upcoming wave of nausea settles again, until she’s sure she doesn’t have to throw it up, before a sip finally coats her parched throat.
The chuckle that comes from Leonora isn’t mocking, but it does carry an undeniable trace of amusement. “You’re so dramatic,” she murmurs, her hand brushing a stray strand of hair out of Clarissa’s face. “It’s just a hangover. You’ll survive.”
Clarissa lets out a weak groan and her voice is muffled as she buries her face in the pillow. “Says the woman who’s never once had a hangover in her life.”
“Discipline has its benefits,” Leonora quips, her lips curving into a smirk that Clarissa doesn’t have to see to know is there. “Unlike you, who thought mixing cocktails like a college freshman was a stellar idea.”
“I don't even care about that. I just don’t want to know how much money I spent only to wake up like this.”
Leonora rolls her eyes and returns the glass to what has now become Clarissa’s nightstand. “I’d say you had a pretty good night, didn’t you?”
Clarissa can’t help but smile at the memory, even if it’s hazy, even if it’s not much, despite the pounding headache that’s still clouding her thoughts. “I did,” she admits and manages to open her eyes. She turns her head slightly to meet Leonora’s eyes, though the light from the window makes everything a little blurry. “Thank you for making it special” the woman continues, feeling the satisfying soreness in her thighs come alive at her words, “and for being there. I didn’t expect you to actually show up.”
“Me neither,” Leonora replies with a faint chuckle and now that Clarissa’s view begins to sharpen, she can see the exhaustion on the editor-in-chief’s face. “I got ready on the flight back from Chicago and had Lewis drop me off. Emma texted me your location. I hope you had enough time to enjoy your birthday with your friends? Maybe our departure yesterday seemed a little rushed.”
The barista shrugs and turns to her side, settling on the soft mattress again. “We had plans.”
Her reply makes the redhead chuckle and she moves to get up, leaving Clarissa behind to watch her. “You’re correct” she says and eases the silk camisole over her head, exposing a black bra and her slim, toned stomach, “though I should probably be worried that you willingly made out with who you thought was a stranger in a bar.”
Clarissa’s cheeks flush a deep red at the teasing, her eyes widening in surprise as she watches Leonora remove her shirt from last night. The sight of the redhead’s smooth skin and the curve of her waist steals Clarissa’s breath for a second, but the teasing words bring her attention back to the conversation. She stammers, her hands instinctively tugging at the blanket to cover her face, embarrassed by the memory. “You looked different, okay? And I was drunk.”
With the Tylenol now settling into her system, Clarissa's headache has dulled to a more manageable throb. “And you have to tell me which brand you got that lipstick from. I can’t believe it lasted the whole night.”
“It’s a custom color, I believe,” the redhead says before she disappears into the attached closet, searching for clean underwear and her usual home attire. “I’d have to ask Nathalie. But we can make an appointment for you, if you want your own.”
Clarissa watches her return with an outfit for the day neatly folded in her hands, most likely the usual set of loungewear the woman usually dresses in at home. Even like this, with last night’s makeup on her face, her unruly curls sticking out in every direction and the black skort still hugging her waist, now heavily wrinkled, she looks like a goddess.
“I’ll take a shower” she says with a chuckle as she notices her girlfriend’s eyes traveling over her body. “You can jump in after, and I’ll have breakfast ready by the time you’re done.”
She can’t help it, but when these words leave Leonora’s lips Clarissa loses control over her right eyebrow as it arches on the way up, clear doubt visible on her face. “You’re making breakfast?”
Leonora only sighs. “I said I’d have it ready, not that I would make it. I am not interested in causing havoc today, especially not when your reaction time is this delicate” she teases. Approaching the bed, she leans down just enough to capture the blonde woman’s lips one last time before heading to the bathroom.
As Clarissa watches her leave the room, she sinks deeper into the mattress again, dragging the redhead’s silk pillow closer before burning her face in it. The pillow, still infused with the subtle trace of her perfume, brings a smile to Clarissa’s lips. She can still feel the lingering warmth from the kiss, the way Leonora’s lips had pressed against hers with an intimacy that made her feel like the most important person in the room. The subtle ache in her thighs is flaring up again, making itself noticeable when she presses them together for just a moment, enough to remind her of last night’s activities.
She almost squeals into the fabric. It’s the middle of December, her favorite month of the year, with Christmas just around the corner, and she has just woken up after a wonderful birthday celebration, in the bed of Vogue’s editor-in-chief, who has gone down on her only hours earlier. It had been one of the best nights of her life, and now she has been promised breakfast as well, on a Saturday that the redhead would’ve spent buried in work, possibly even in Chicago, but actively chose to spend with her instead, at home. This is the biggest and best surprise she could’ve gotten.
A few more minutes in bed and a hot shower later, the barista pads to the living area. The table has been set and a stunning bouquet completes the look, whites and pinks mixing with luscious greens, halfway wrapped to reveal its beauty on the pastel backdrop. Judging by the sheer size and the collection of flowers Leonora must’ve dropped a pretty penny on it.
“They’re stunning” Clarissa mutters and approaches the table, noting her girlfriend behind the kitchen island. “You didn’t have to.”
“Stop that nonsense” Leonora replies immediately. She takes two cups from underneath the espresso machine and carries them to the table, which is then followed by the unmistakable rustle of a paper bag. “You mother me despite my request not to do it all year around, I suppose I can return the favor at least this one time and make breakfast, which includes flowers for your birthday. That’s what people do, right? Now, would you like a bagel?”
Turning slowly, Clarissa looks at her with wide eyes. This is unexpected, all of it, and so very unlike her girlfriend that she wonders what has happened that made her order a bagel out of everything. “You got us bagels?”
“Emma said you enjoy a bagel after a night out” the editor-in-chief explains and hands Clarissa the foil packet she takes from the paper bag. “Bacon, Egg and Cheese? I have one with salmon, chive cream cheese and onion, too. I wasn’t sure.”
It’s raw. The whole moment, the air surrounding them. Leonora’s words, her gaze she keeps steady, connected to Clarissa. She isn’t sure what to do and how to react, and it shows so clearly, it’s so different to what she usually portrays, the air and the way she carries herself, her sharp and controlled self. Unshakable, a force of nature now reduced to this soft woman standing there, in her kitchen, wanting to please her girlfriend with the simple offering for breakfast.
Clarissa doesn’t rush to speak, unsure of how to respond without shattering the fragile honesty between them. Instead, she reaches out and peels back the foil, the warmth of the bagel seeping into her hands. The smell of melted cheese and crispy bacon fills the room, comforting and familiar, and when she finally looks back up, Leonora is still watching her, waiting, as if gauging her reaction to the whole situation.
“Let’s share, if you’re up for a bite” the barista offers with a soft smile. She waits until Leonora is seated on her usual spot, opposite of her, and removes the shiny wrapping. Taking one of the rarely used butter knives, Clarissa cuts it in half, then in fourths, and repeats it with the other bagel as well. Toasted everything for both sandwiches, but she suspects half a dozen other, plain bagels still in the paper bag judging by the amount of cream cheese Leonora has carried to the table with her. Lifting the plate, she offers the bites to the redhead.
Much to Clarissa’s surprise Leonora agrees. Her perfectly manicured nails shimmer in the late morning sun as she reaches for one of the bites, though not without a moment of hesitation. The barista watches, her heart squeezing at the sight of her fingers lingering, as if second-guessing the decision. But then the redhead straightens her posture and she picks up one of the neatly quartered pieces, placing it on her plate with care.
“Thank you,” Leonora says, her voice soft and steady. She doesn’t meet Clarissa’s gaze as she adjusts the plate in front of her, her movements almost methodical, like she’s trying to distract herself from the fact that she’s about to eat something she usually doesn’t allow herself, something she wouldn’t get for herself.
Clarissa decides not to comment, sensing that drawing attention to the moment might only make Leonora pull away. Instead, she picks up one of her own pieces, taking a slow bite. The combination of crispy bacon, melted cheese, and soft egg melts in her mouth, the flavors somehow even better than she remembers, the nausea she had felt lingering slowly disappearing in the background.
“It’s perfect,” she mumbles around her bite. “You have to try yours. It's the ultimate hangover cure. Are these Liberty ones?”
“They are. Nathalie recommended the place, but I promise that I ordered them myself.” Clarissa can’t help but watch as Leonora lifts the bite to her lips, holding her breath as she takes a cautious nibble. The last time the redhead had a bite she had made sure to scrape off the cheese, eliminating calories wherever she could, but as she chews she understands the need for it, the perfect gooeyness mixed with the egg, the bagel’s salty and garlicky flavor adding to the experience. It really is an excellent hangover meal.
It’s quiet around them, peaceful. And slow. Clarissa knows that the editor-in-chief has a thousand things to do. She knows that she could very well still be in Chicago, or at her desk, on the couch with her phone pressed against her ear. Leonora has enough reason to work, too, but instead she is settling at the table and they are having breakfast together, without calls and emails and sticky notes that are being attached to the pages of the spiral bound book she brings home every day. No. She’s there and she’s present and to Clarissa it means the world.
The coffee is hot and the bagel is perfect. Clarissa finishes by the time Leonora gets done with her piece, and she encourages her to at least try a bite from the other sandwich she has ordered for them. Leonora nods and leans in, savoring the fresh flavor of the chive cream cheese as it mixes with the smoky, salty fish. “It’s good” she says and wipes her mouth with one of the napkins.
“Maybe you’ll like that one better” the barista replies with a careful, encouraging smile. She is proud of her, accepting the bite and chewing slowly. “It’s not as heavy and greasy as the other sandwich.”
The redhead shifts slightly, and when she reaches for a small bag on the chair beside her, Clarissa raises an eyebrow in curiosity, her mind already working through possible scenarios. Leonora has always been hard to predict when it comes to surprises, and Clarissa isn’t about to get her hopes up just for another instance of her girlfriend’s reserved, elusive nature.
But as Leonora’s hand comes back into view, she’s holding a small, elegant box. It’s pristine, the soft velvet texture of the exterior almost inviting Clarissa to touch it. Clarissa blinks in surprise, not expecting this at all.
“What’s this?” she asks, her voice betraying a hint of disbelief as she looks up at the editor-in-chief, who has now turned her attention to the box in her hands, avoiding Clarissa’s gaze. Leonora’s fingers are delicate as she opens it, revealing a simple yet breathtaking gold necklace to the other woman, its chain thin and graceful, and the pendant—a small stone that catches the light in a way that feels both delicate and incredibly precious. Clarissa’s heart skips a beat as she takes in the beauty of it, and Leonora’s quiet, almost apologetic tone breaks through her thoughts. She hands it over.
“I know it’s extravagant,” Leonora starts, her voice almost a whisper, and she’s suddenly so insecure about the gift that she wants to turn back time and hide it from Clarissa’s eyes. “But I thought it would suit you. For your birthday.”
Clarissa’s eyes flicker from the necklace to her girlfriend’s face. The surprise is evident, but there’s also something deeper there—something that makes Clarissa’s chest tighten. She’s not used to this side of Leonora, not used to her opening up like this, and yet here she is, offering something so vulnerable, so full of intention.
“This is too much,” Clarissa murmurs, reaching out instinctively to touch the soft fabric of the box, her fingers brushing the gold pendant. It’s cold against her skin, and yet there’s a warmth to it that feels like it’s been imbued with a part of Leonora herself, a part of her only Clarissa has been granted access to. “You didn’t have to.”
Leonora hesitates for a moment, the weight of her emotions not lost on her, before she gently nudges the box closer. “I wanted to,” she replies. “You deserve it. You deserve more than this, but I thought this might be a start, and– I figured you weren’t comfortable with a designer bag.”
The barista’s doe eyes find Leonora’s, and the redhead stiffens in her seat before she continues.
“We can still get you one, if you want” she adds quickly. “You can pick–“
“This is perfect. Really.” Clarissa smiles at her, interrupting her. Then, she carefully takes the necklace from its packaging and holds it out to her opposite. “Too much, but beautiful nonetheless. Will you help me put it on? Please?”
This is good. This is perfect, because now Leonora has something to do, something she can focus on. Taking a deep breath, the woman simply nods and rises from her seat while Clarissa moves to push her curls aside, baring her neck.
She fumbles with the clasp a little too long, her hands shaky and unsteady, something Leonora isn’t used to. She doesn’t remember the last time she had reacted to something, anything, like this, but a deep breath later the small hook finally catches on and the delicate chain settles on Clarissa's bronze skin, perfectly in place, breathtakingly beautiful. She can’t help but run her thumb over the clasp, resulting in a shudder from the other woman, a quiet gasp coming over her lips.
Clarissa’s fingertips find the chain and trace it until they catch the small stone sitting below her throat, perfectly centered and immediately warm on her skin. “Nora—”
“Are you sure you like it?”
“You never second guess your choices” Clarissa injects softly. “Why now?”
Leonora hesitates. Then, tentatively, she speaks up. “I’ve never really done something like this before. I guess I wanted to get it right. I want it to be perfect.”
That’s when Clarissa turns, when she tilts her head up to look into Leonora’s eyes. “You’ve already gotten it right. It’s perfect, Nora” the woman says. She reaches out to grasp her hand, before tugging it down, making the redhead shift closer.
The use of her name, spoken so tenderly, makes Leonora’s chest tighten in a way she isn’t used to. Her heart races, but it’s not the frantic, overwhelming sensation she’s used to. This feels different, quieter. More certain. When their lips meet, her eyes flutter shut and she doesn’t remember ever feeling so at peace.