Love Letters And Coffee (Chaelisa)

3

There is something about silence not actually being quiet. In times of comfort, in times of peace, silence can be a welcomed ally, like a friend that you haven't seen in a long time but once you see them again, you know they've been missed. But there was nothing welcoming, nothing comforting about the silence that now consumed Lisa's bedroom as the first rays of light began to peak its way through her windows.

The silence started several hours ago when the body beside her finally succumbed to the fatigue of tears and unfamiliar emotion. It was easier for Lisa to focus on anything other than the blonde haired girl she had kissed the day before when her sister was sitting on her bed, complaining about how she wasn't going to sleep on her "god awful, uncomfortable couch" when Lisa's bed was large enough for two. But Lisa knew that there was nothing wrong with her couch, she had bought it specifically with comfort in mind. It wasn't the couch that was haunting Jennie.

Lisa had always been fascinated about what it was the human body was capable of, what it was one could trick their minds into believing. She remembered when her and Somi had finally moved in together, how difficult it was to sleep with another body pressed up against hers. In the summer time it was far too hot even when not a shred of fabric lay over their bodies. In the winter it was again too hot because they would go into bed cold, throw on a large blanket and snuggle up together. But skin against skin warmed them quickly and then the blankets were shed leaving her chest warm against Somi's skin and her back freezing from the comfort of only cold air.

It took her over a month to train herself to sleep through the night with someone in her arms. It took her several months longer than that to actually enjoy it, to crave it, to toss and turn when one of them couldn't be home for the night. And then when Somi had left? When she knew she would no longer hold her in her arms at night? She couldn't really say she had had a fully peaceful sleep since, but at least she finally slept through the night.

So Lisa knew that it wasn't the couch. Jennie knew it wasn't the couch. They were both completely aware that it was the fact that for two years Jennie had someone she had learned to share her bed with, her sleep with, and even though Jennie was the one to break it off, nights spent alone after countless nights pressed against another body was daunting.

It was easier for Jennie to complain about a non-existent problem, like a couch that was more than adequate, than actually talk about what it was that was bothering her. Lisa understood that, it's why she didn't offer to leave her sister the bed to sleep on the couch herself. Jennie just needed someone to lay beside her and Lisa could be that someone. She didn't say anything when she felt the bed shaking after the lights went out as Jennie cried beside her, sniffles filling the air with sounds. She just pushed her shoulder into her sister's back as she stared at the ceiling to let Jennie know that she was there.

It was easier then, Lisa hated to admit, when Jennie's hitched breathing interrupted the silence. It gave her something else to think about, to care about, to worry about. She could focus on Jennie, on ways to help her move forward, on how the apartment across the hall had just become vacant and how it might be nice to have her sister close again. Close but in her own apartment because she had absolutely no interest in a roommate. Especially a roommate who spent the month following her last breakup under a mound of men and women alike.

But when Jennie finally fell asleep and shifted further away from her sister, Lisa found her mind wandering back to Roseanne, to Jin, to that kiss that hadn't left her mind once, even when it was pushed to the corners of her consciousness so that she could focus on being there for Jennie. The memory screamed to be replayed, it thundered to be felt and there was absolutely no quiet for Lisa in the silence of the night.

It was hard not to remember the feel of Roseanne's chest being pushed against her own, the flattening of her breasts so that they pushed more fully against her frame. She swore to herself on that bed that she could feel the peaks of stiff nipples on the underside of her own chest. It was hard not to remember the feeling of Roseanne's index finger against the flesh of her pelvic bone and how her body compulsively shivered against the contact. It was hard not to remember the way those hands gripped at her jacket and the way Lisa instinctively had thrust her hips into the blonde's who instantly reacted by pushing back.