alina/genya/zoya, first attempt at moving into their own apartment
It never should have worked.
“Zoya!” Alina pounded on the bathroom door, a growl of frustration building in her throat. “Zoya! I have to leave for work in fifteen!”
“Well, maybe you should have considered that and woken up accordingly.”
“You’ve been in there for an hour.”
“Don’t push her, Alina.” Genya breezed passed, twisting her wet hair over one shoulder. She was wrapped in a towel and not much else, and for a second, Alina forgot all about work. “It’s not her fault she needs all the help she can get to tame that mop on her head.”
The thunk Alina’s head made on the door echoed down their tiny hallway, only to be drowned out by her squawk as the door was ripped open, a cloud of steam billowing out.
“Excuse me? I’m not the one getting my beauty tips from a sci-fi’s nerd’s wet dream.”
“Please. As though I needed tips from anyone.”
Alina, who now only had twelve minutes before she had to leave for work, decided that ground zero of World War III was not where she wanted to be. Thankfully, the bathroom was free.
Their neighbour is sort of in love with Genya?
Being also in love with Genya, Alina couldn’t exactly blame the guy. She didanyway; her girlfriend had asked to borrow his shower, not for his hand in marriage. Unfortunately, her increasingly irritated scowls seemed to have little to no effect on his ardour, and their tiny kitchen bin really wan’t large enough to contain all of his shitty love poetry.
“I suppose I’ve had worse,” Genya mused, dubiously holding a sheet of scented pink paper at arms length. Between her thumb and forefinger. Really, if she was touching the thing any less, it would have been levitating.
“He compared your hair to ketchup?”
“Ugh. Good point.”
Zoya was less sympathetic, soundly mocking the other girl. Of course, both Alina and Genya were well aware that Zoya didn’t have a sympathetic bone in her body; Genya cheerful traded biting comments back and forth, while Alina idly kept score on the back of one of the poems.
The smell of vanilla lingered in the apartment for a week as Genya bore the paper harassment with less and less good humour. Alina was considering setting a small, localised fire in their neighbour’s apartment when Zoya abruptly stood, swept out their front the door, and kicked his in.
Whatever she said was indistinct. The sobbing that followed her return to their cramped home was not.
“I love you,” Genya sighed happily, pulling the other woman in for a kiss. Zoya accepted it as her due, pausing only to look at Alina and raise an eyebrow.
“You’re not bad,” Alina agreed, motioning for them to continue.
She woke up night terrors, sometimes.
She didn’t mean to - which was, Zoya informed her, a stupid thought, as no one ever intended to wake up screaming. The point remained; she got tangled in the sheets and drenched them in sweat, jerked awake with death on her tongue and fear in her mind.
They complained. They were none of them selfless, but that was what made their love sacred. Muttered curses lulled her back to sleep some nights, a loose shove to the shoulder. She was inevitably met with yawns and demands for coffee in the morning. Occasionally, she even filled them.
They were, without fail, always there. And interspersed with all of that were there I’m here’s, the I’ll kill him’s. I love you. You’re lucky I love you, your pores are disgusting right now. I’m not doing laundry tomorrow. You never do laundry. Is she laughing or crying right now? Shut up and kiss me, one of you.
It never should have worked. They made it happen regardless, because god save anything that got in their way.