TW: alcohol mention
January 3rd, 1963
Christine stood in front of her mirror, this time feeling butterflies in her stomach as she got ready for tonight's performance. She'd persuaded Indigo to leave the comfort of her room, affectionately called her "nest". She didn't understand why she felt so excited to go out with a friend, but they had grown quite close over the past four months- they'd barely spent a few days apart. They ate breakfast together when they could in the common room, spent afternoons together in the library and often worked on their coursework together in Christine's room.
She was also a little nervous, she'd played for hundreds of people now- and knew a lot of the regulars by name, but somehow it felt different. She didn't want Indigo to judge her, it had to be perfect.
The knock on her door couldn't come quicker as she sat on her bed, fiddling with her nails, picking at the nail varnish she'd applied earlier.
"You coming, Miss Perfect or are you planning on being fashionably late to your own show?" Indigo called.
She jumped up, joining her and linking arms as they walked down the street, towards the bus stop. Indigo's warm side pressed against her as they sat down, and Christine couldn't help but wonder why she felt so comfortable with the other woman so close. It didn't unnerve her at all. She didn't feel underdressed this time either, in a short black skirt and blouse, with Indigo wearing a red pinafore with a shirt underneath it.
They walked to the bar arm in arm again, straight to the bar to buy drinks.
"You've brought a friend!" Gary said, "That's more like it, Christine! Much better than those boys in the band."
Indigo giggled,
"You didn't tell me about any boys?"
"They're in the act after me- Andy and Stan, from school."
Gary looked between the pair and smirked, seeming to catch onto something- what, Christine wasn't sure.
"Aww, I didn't mean to embarrass you," he laughed, "The usual?"
"Yeah," she said, "Want anything Indigo, I'm paying."
"Chris, you can't-"
"I'm the one making money tonight, aren't I?"
"Okay, but just one drink."
"What's your poison?"
"Cider."
Throughout the whole show, Indigo sat in the front, with a huge grin on her face, watching Christine. She showered her with compliments as they walked back to the bus stop, making her feel flustered. They stumbled back to Indigo's room, Christine a little tipsy.
"Thank you for taking me out," Indigo said, pulling her into a hug, "You were so good!"
"Thanks," Christine grinned and patted her back.
"Thank you," she murmured again, drawing out the "you" as she pressed a firm, but wet, kiss to Christine's flushed cheek, "Love you!"
She disappeared into her room, leaving Christine stood in the corridor for a moment as she processed what had just happened. She raised her eyebrows and laughed quietly.
She went to bed but couldn't sleep, tossing and turning, unable to think of anything but the blue-haired woman's huge, bright smile and how soft her lips felt.
January 28th, 1963
Christine woke up with a strange feeling, she looked at her timetable to check she didn't have to be anywhere before she got up, feeling like she'd forgotten something.
It hit her as she brushed her teeth and she suddenly felt incredibly stupid. Indigo's birthday. She quickly went back to her bedroom, finding the little bracelet she'd bought and putting it in its box on top of her bag so she didn't forget it later, with her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth precariously.
She knocked on Indigo's door an hour later and grinned at the sight of her, still in her pyjamas, with a sweater pulled overtop.
"Hi."
"Happy Birthday," she smiled.
"Thank you!" Indigo grinned, pulling her into her room.
Christine raised an eyebrow when Indigo pulled her towards the bed, curling up under the duvet.
"It's too cold," she said, looking up at Christine, "Come on, humour me, it is my birthday?"
Christine slipped under the covers with her, feeling their weight over her surprisingly comforting as she smelt heavy incense.
"How is it that I moved south and it's still cold," Indigo mumbled into the pillow.
"Not far enough south," Christine laughed, "Are you doing anything today?"
"I'm coming to see your show tonight," she said, pointing to her desk, "But screw working on that project today."
"Good call," Christine smiled, "I'll get drinks tonight."
"I won't protest for once."
Indigo rolled over, so she faced Christine, curling up against her and shivering. And for some reason, she found herself wrapping an arm around her, closer than she had ever been before with any of her other friends.
What was she doing? Christine felt confused as Indigo fell back asleep next to her. She felt better than she felt with any of her high school boyfriends, like it was more than friendship. But she liked men, not women. She couldn't work out what was happening as she looked down at her peaceful, sleeping face.
Christine couldn't sleep, watching Indigo and hoping she was at least happy and relaxed, because her brain felt like it was working at full speed, confused about everything that was happening. Did she like women? Was that the excited feeling in her stomach?
How would she even find out? Kiss Indigo? Potentially ruin the first real friendship she'd found at college? She tried to set it aside as Indigo woke up, grinning up at her.
"You stayed!"
"You think I'd leave here, it's so warm," Christine joked, "My room's freezing."
"That's because you don't have a proper set of blankets, just a duvet."
"Or maybe it was because I had you warming me up," she said and Indigo smiled sweetly.
"I do my best."
Indigo's head rested on Christine's shoulder, looking out of the window, to where it was raining hard.
"Sucks that we have to go out in that," she murmured.
"You don't have to."
"I want to go with you," Indigo said, "I like being with you."
February 1st, 1962
Christine kept her head down as she entered the library, heading straight to the Greek section, looking for a particular book. As far as she knew, if she had to work out if she was gay, she could start with the most homoerotic imagery she could find. She remembered someone trying to cover that up in her sixth form art history course.
