Fine Line [discontinued]

thirty-three

Entering the apartment that day after the studio session, everything was quiet.

Camila knew something happened, Lauren told Y/N something that got the blonde's head a mess for the day. After she walked the Cuban out, Y/N flashed her a smile but she wasn't fooled. She knew Y/N knew something and whatever it was, it was something she was glad to hear—she spent how many fucking years in love with the girl, she knew every move, every smile, every twinkle of her eyes if something was wrong, and the way Y/N acted the whole day, something was definitely wrong.

The French woman may think she's sly, pretending to be all okay but Camila knew the best.

Even talking to the guys it looked like something was bothering her by the way she bickered with them, the way she ordered how she wanted the songs to go—heck, she wasn't even excited when she told Camila about the songs she was working on, given that she's always ecstatic talking to the Latina about her music.

So when Y/N said; "I'm gonna go take a shower. I'll cook us dinner right after." Before walking up to the bedroom without a glance on the latina's way, she knew she had to do something about it.

Seeing Lauren today was the same the last time she saw her. Every nerve in her body was like a vein waiting to explode; turning herself into a viscious woman she thought she wouldn't be, the evident desire to be violent was immediately an option. To say that the last time they both saw each other was unpleasant, and there was definitely a tension waiting to be cut by violent slaps, but she refrained herself. She's a woman of class—she reminded. She didn't want to lower herself by the way Lauren's acting immature.

Stepping inside the shower room where Y/N showering, unaware that Camila was behind her, the Latina gently wrapped her arms behind her and placed a gentle kiss on her back—just to feel the blonde tensing at the action. "Relax baby, it's just me." She whispered, though the blonde didn't relax.

"What're you doing here?"

"Showering with you?"

"Oh." she let out, making Camila furrow her brows. Turning her around, so they were face to face, the brown-eyed girl looked up at her to see what she was feeling.

Y/N had such expressive eyes; it may not seem like that to other people, but once you got go know her for years and knew every bit of how she was acting, everything came easy in reading Y/N's eyes and body language. And usually, Camila always fell for her amber eyes that she always joked around that Y/N was a secret wolf that comes out at night, she was pretty devastated when all she saw was dullness in those yellow eyes, as if she was sad, thinking of something that has deeply wounded her.

"What's wrong?"

"'em just tired," Y/N looked away, given that she was completely lying. "Can we sleep immediately after eating dinner? Or you can do whatever, it's totally fine."

"We can, but after we talk about what's bothering you," she says, adressing that something was indeed, wrong. "Tell me what's wrong baby? You looked so troubled today."

"It's nothing, I told you I'm tired,"

"It doesn't look like it's nothing," she made a move to cup her wet cheeks, only to be brushed off by Y/N, turning around and completely rejecting her affection. Camila's heart clenched, hurt filling her eyes.

If there is something more painful, it's when Y/N always brushes off her affection. There was this, underlying pain about rejecting your lover's touches that always made Camila feel dejected in some type of way, and when it's done by Y/N, it always hurt her. "It's not gonna be okay if you don't talk to me about it," she informed quietly, yet softly.