Work Text:
i.
it’s ironic that on the very night where painted-on facades obscure the truth - they've discarded theirs - they start. although it’s only in the loosest sense of the word because they had already been something before tonight. something where flickers of heat would coil low in monet’s stomach; the sight of ochre eyes and that glittering smile leaving steel-tipped butterfly wings to swoop against the lining of her stomach. but it's certainly not something that she wants to define.
they had existed in shades of indigo and silver luminescence. affections murmured against champagne-stained skin. the demurely slanted smiles reserved only for each other. all nebulous moments that were simultaneously nothing and everything.
but what they had been is irrelevant. because monet has her reputation and parents’ expectations; knows luna has her reservations and goddamned faith. so as much as she wants luna to be an exception monet knows neither of them will concede.
so they stand in front of luna’s townhouse amidst the bite of new york's late autumn. heartbeat twinging in their ears as whatever had previously existed between them fractures. fight and yell and say things that they don’t at all mean because it makes this whole thing easier.
and it’s when there’s ten seconds till midnight that luna finally whispers, “god i fucking hate you". that monet feels delicate crimson splintering into jagged edges.
so she chokes back desperation and apologies. sneers, “the feeling’s mutual,” as luna’s cheeks shine under the subdued yellow of street lights.
there’s a slam of the door and luna disappears inside. leaves monet standing outside on the curb with the diamond of luna’s ring etching reds into her palm, and the remnants of them, thorned and keen when they gash against her sternum.
and because there’s nothing else she can do, she ignores the tears that mar her cheeks. tells herself that everything will be fine, that she doesn’t need to dwell on what ifs and could have beens.
so that’s how they start. in the final ten seconds of a melancholic october with an i hate you that monet could never really bring herself to mean.
ii.
the next time monet sees luna, it’s sporadically throughout the day and that irritates her like nothing else ever has. figures that it’s just her luck that she’d see luna everywhere; salt corroding yawning raw crimson.
she first sees luna in the earlier hours of the morning, the taller brunette jogging whilst monet’s walking home after a one night stand. hates that despite everything, luna still has this much of an effect on her - traitorous warmth blooming in her chest when that gaze skims over her.
luna slows to a halt, the corner of her mouth quirked when she looks right at monet. the latter knowing her well enough to deduce that luna’s not irritated but she’s not exactly pleased either.
monet arches a brow. fixes her with a glare that challenges luna to say what they’re both thinking. because there’s some impetuous desire to know, do you still care.
but luna just shrugs, a slant of her mouth before she continues with her route. so monet huffs, thinks, alright so you don't, and continues on her way back home.
then they see each other on campus. in the café, in the library, and even in empty classrooms. and each time, monet’s scowl is met with a tilt of luna’s shoulder and a quirk of that rosebud mouth.
it's late when she sees luna for the last time that day. the sun long since set - vivid pinks and reds and oranges replaced by streaks of indigo and cobalt, her breath slipping past her lips as ribbons of faint silver that curl in the air. she’s driving home from dinner (some blind date she had allowed aki to set up) when her glance flits across the street and falls onto luna. illuminated golden under streetlights whilst she’s laughing and walking hand-in-hand with some heir to a media corporation who looks vaguely familiar.
monet watches them until streaks of hazy reds and ambers and greens overwhelm her vision. wonders if luna had seen her this time too.
iii.
her winter vacation is spent in paris with aki and max. and she compels herself to avoid thinking about how her absence is glaringly obvious. tells herself that it’s the city of light and she should be having fun, that it’s just one week and she shouldn’t once be thinking about the brunette.
but then it’s christmas eve and monet finds herself scrolling through instagram late during the night. reckless curiosity lingering and dissolving her restraint till she’s typing luna’s name into the search bar.
finds luna’s profile only to see that their picture - the first picture - has now been replaced with some candid shot of luna and that same guy from a month ago. both of them looking at each other with ridiculously bright smiles.
so she switches her phone off and throws it into a drawer. doesn’t venture to look at it for the rest of the night.
and so what if she goes home with a girl that looks a lot like luna during a party the next night. she chooses not to think much of it even if she is very much cognisant of that resemblance; refuses to acknowledge it when aki and max laugh about it a few days later over their cocktails.
instead she scowls and tells them, "that’s complete bullshit". before quickly downing her champagne in an attempt to hide the warmth that creeps across her cheeks; hates that effervescent longing fizzles in her chest all the while.
iv.
then winter break ends and monet sighs as she collapses onto her bed. realises with a sinking bitterness that it’s already halfway through january; she’s thought of luna every single night since the end of october.
has been three months since that night. three months yet not a day goes by where she hasn’t lain awake at night, watching the ceiling fan twirl in lazy circles as she thinks of luna, regrets ever betraying luna’s trust. it had gone well at first - not thinking about luna - but there were only been so many hours of the day where monet could divert her thoughts away from the brunette. so it’s at night when she’s alone in the monochromatic vacancy of her bedroom that her thoughts always wander back to luna.
she doesn’t know the exact moment when it had happened. only knows that there had always been a frenzied fluttering in her ribcage when that gaze catches hers. a dizzying feeling of warmth that she’s never felt with anyone else. certainly not the many flings - an incredibly recurrent occurrence as of late - that have been left behind without a single backwards glance when the inevitable occurs. wisps of nameless and faceless ghosts that obfuscate into each other. for whilst they had briefly entertained monet’s attentions they were but cheap imitations.
they had never left her hands shaking, anticipation thrumming in her chest whilst fingertips skim against each other before becoming interlaced. caresses splayed against the delicate slant of cheekbones had never left an unbearable ache humming feverishly underneath her skin. had never left her heartbeat an inelegant stutter from the force of her longing, silvery air tangled around her lungs upon hearing the exhale of her name. because they could never and would never compare to luna la.
her brain summons tattered almost forgotten memories on nights like this. usually she's extremely opposed to the instinctive reminiscence of those flickering images but for once she just closes her eyes. allows that halcyon warmth to embrace her.
silken sheets were tangled around luna’s waist. that lopsided smile gleaming down at monet, pearly teeth tugging at the bryony swell of bottom lip. it had been either way too late or all too early, monet can’t quite remember, but decides it doesn’t really matter. they were talking and laughing, coy suggestion in inky lashes that sweep against the slope of luna’s cheeks. she had been grinning down at monet, lazy and brilliant, and monet suddenly remembers how she’d reached for luna’s hand, had never wanted to let go.
monet’s eyes flutter open, darting to her side. but even if the ghost of luna’s touch is a sun-soaked warmth in her palms, the bed remains empty beside her: sheets pristine and untouched.
fuck.
her eyes prickle and burn as she squeezes them shut. tries her hardest not to cry when she realises it was never about julien, nor was it ever about the insecurity over her future.
she had just been terrified.
still is terrified.
and it’s ironic because disappointing her parents doesn’t seem all that terrifying anymore now that there’s this conspicuous absence of luna within her life.
v.
there’s a party she ends up going to - isn’t there always? one with neon lights and guests spilling out onto the patio and cheesy music that only starts to sound alright after three or four drinks. but it’s only later in the night when everyone’s teething on the precarious edge of tipsy and drunk that monet slips in.
weaves through a crowd of bodies towards the kitchen to pour herself a drink, and collides with luna for the first time in this new year.
“hey,” the brunette mumbles, awkward and stilted. fingertips all too warm on monet’s waist as luna steadies her. regret coats her tongue, an acrid copper which persists all too heavily, when monet remembers everything she’s put luna through.
can’t stand the way luna’s looking at her - akin to a stranger - so wildly unfamiliar when that gaze had always radiated affection and reverence.
“hi,” monet exhales. “i missed you. and yes, i know i’m not allowed to say that anymore but it’s the truth.”
luna scoffs behind her glass. yet monet notices, gossamer hope unfurling in her chest, the corner of luna’s mouth twitching with the ghost of a smirk. “yeah well i haven’t exactly seen you in a while.”
“i’ve been busy,” she lies even though it’s something she rarely ever does with luna.
but luna seems to understand the lie for what it is. “come on. it’s suffocating in here,” her fingers slipping around monet’s wrist like velvet chains she would willingly wear forever.
monet only nods. afraid that if she speaks, she’ll ruin whatever’s happening right now. it’s quiet outside as they stand in the looming shadow of some person’s townhouse, and monet thinks she’s seen it all before. gets a strange sense of déjà vu except this time there’s a gentle murmur of chatter and music that reverberates from inside.
“listen lunes i’m sorry.” ochre eyes glimmer with surprise. “i really fucked up. i should have never let issues with my parents spiral into some scheme, which ended up sabotaging your work and hurting you.”
“oh,” luna says. and then after a hesitant pause, “i don’t hate you. i know i said i did and i should… but i can’t.”
silence lingers between them. uncomfortable and stretched too thinly to the extent where monet’s scared there’s going to be an inevitable splintering of something; hopes it’s not them. and just when it looks like luna’s about to say something important that might put them on a better path, the front door swings open, and a few drunk partygoers stumble their way out onto the pavement.
so luna offers her a smile and its desolate longing echoes in the hollow throbbing of monet’s heart. “it was nice seeing you again.”
leaves monet to yet again watch her walk back inside.
vi.
monet knows her parents don’t plan on coming home for her birthday. after all, why would they remember the day their only daughter was born when they could be socialising at some out of town conference. so honestly if there was ever a day where she just wanted to sulk alone, today would definitely be that day.
it’s late in the afternoon when she gets a text from luna. all it says is hey are you home.
she stares at it for a moment, doesn’t know how to answer so she debates just ignoring it and carrying on with her day. but there’s a prickling urge that tells her to respond, so she does.
she says that she is, absentmindedly drumming her fingers against the screen while she waits for luna’s response.
waits five minutes.
ten. there’s still nothing.
then there’s a knock on the front door and monet scoffs, tosses her phone onto her bed. doesn’t really think much of it so she ends up answering the door without checking.
only to find luna standing on the front stoop, flashing her an easy smile - brilliant and unfair like there’s something she knows that monet doesn’t.
god help her but monet can’t help the way happiness is carving itself in her veins. “hey, so not that i’m complaining but what are you doing here?”
“well sunsets are always a sight to behold,” luna’s eyes crinkle up and she holds up a woven basket. “and i was wondering if you’d want to have a picnic with me.”
“i’m sorry?”
“it’s your birthday, i’m not letting you spend it alone.”
her eyes flicker over luna for a moment. and of course because monet loves antagonising that twinging yawn in her chest, she has to ask. “what about your boyfriend?”
“what about him? we broke up.”
“oh. sorry.”
rosy lips stretch back to bare those jewelled teeth, “you don’t sound very sorry.”
monet acquiesces. “well you don’t exactly seem very upset,” lets them fall back into that established familiarity ever since they became something - a dance that skims two steps over and one step backwards. more than mere acquaintances and business partners, yet less than lovers.
they lie under a late afternoon sky marbled with cherry reds and vibrant oranges and tinges of hazy purple. luna’s leaning back on her elbows, languid and stretched over some patchwork amidst the balmy warmth of late spring.
monet angles her head into the the gauzy ambrosia of the taller brunette’s perfume, all crisp bergamots and clusters of jasmine. watches luna flick her tongue over lips glittering and silken with tangerine. and monet feels her breath catching in her chest, lungs shaking from the foolishness of some sentiment she’s known all along.
prays that when her eyes tilt upwards into the dazzling copper of luna’s gaze - twinkling far too warmly to be merciful in the vivid remnants of the afternoon sunlight - the latter knows what she’s not quite ready yet to say out loud.
but monet thinks luna knows.
because luna flashes monet that smile. the one that’s lopsided and sun-soaked and reserved only for her, the one that leaves monet helpless to the sudden crackle of longing echoing in the stutter of her heartbeat.
so she slips her hand into luna’s. knows that this time she’d never let go.
vii.
it’s close to midnight when luna calls.
lightning crackles in the windowpanes of her bedroom. its brilliant white streaking across skies tinged with obsidian and amethyst.
monet’s half asleep with her phone lethargically dangling from crooked fingers when it sputters to life. lands against her sheets with a muted glow before she’s pressing it against her ear with a lifted shoulder.
“lunes,” she whispers like there’s anyone around to hear them. rakes her fingers through damp auburn strands. “what are you still doing up?”
“i miss you.”
her eyes widen at luna’s drawl. all traces of sleep instantly fading away. coughs, warmth flushing across her cheeks with the way those words leave her breath hitching in her sternum.
luna giggles, “sorry i just really wanted to hear your voice”. musical and airy when it flits through the phone to leave a flurried patter of wings against her ribcage. and monet imagines the gleam of pearly white teeth with that slow amused smile; heat flickering and unfurling at the way luna’s affection spills so very earnestly into every swoop and arch of her chest. a special sort of pressure for her ridiculously full heart as the weight of blazing white streaks finds a home in her chest.
“but monet de haan you’re driving me insane, d’you know that?” copper taints monet’s tongue, teeth piercing the swell of her lips a little too forcefully. “i thought i knew but then halloween happened, and now i’m left with no fucking clue for how you feel about me.”
“so you know what?”
monet’s heartbeat ebbs and flows in the hesitant silence that hovers between them. watches the flash of red numbers beside her, knuckles pale as she cradles the phone cautiously against the shell of her ear. a gauzy warmth settling when she thinks about all the words she’s saved in the thrumming of her heart.
luna murmurs. “i like you. i like you so fucking much that even in spite of what you did, i still couldn’t help wishing, that i still meant something to you.”
but then monet comes to the realisation that luna might not be entirely cognisant of what she's saying. after all it's past midnight. and she feels so goddamn foolish, for even entertaining the thought that luna might feel the same. “lunes…please don’t say things that you won’t mean in the morning.”
as if luna had heard monet's thoughts, her laugh trickles through the phone. only this time there's an underlying tremble. “if you don’t feel the same way, just say it." and monet wants so badly to believe her, "please just stop letting me get my hopes up only to have them shatter, time and time again.”
so she tells luna. how her heart has always been cajoled into a stuttering cadence for luna. the words slipping past her lips, threadbare and fragile from how she’s been wanting to say them for the longest time yet she’s always been afraid to.
viii.
naturally, this is where they end. although it’s only an ending in the loosest sense of the word.
because even though they’re now more than something. what they will be - after cloudspun promises and brief glances that are actually simmer with affection - terrifies monet. because she has her reputation and parents’ expectations and luna isn’t supposed to fit into all that.
except maybe it’s a good thing that luna doesn’t fit into any of that. maybe in upending everything monet thought she knew, it makes what they will be, so perfect. because that’s how she knows that she loves luna - would never imagine going to such lengths for anyone else.
that’s how they once again end up outside, bathed in the amber glow of porch lights as the reverberations of a new year’s party, echoes from within. finally admitting what’s existed between them all along; talk and tease and say things that they both mean with all their heart.
and it’s with ten seconds of the year left that monet says, “i love you,” and relishes in the reverence and adoration that shines in luna’s eyes.
“it only took us about five years,” luna says just as the countdown finally reaches zero. “i love you too.”
there’s cheering from inside and then luna’s stepping closer to monet. smiles, tender like satin newly-bloomed petals, like monet’s irreplaceable. and monet’s fingers flutter around luna’s neck, blood pulsing underneath the delicate skin of her cheeks and doesn’t even care that she’s going to hear about it tomorrow.
she’s wanted this for too long.
so that’s how they end. in the final ten seconds of the year with an i love you that they’ve always meant to say.