Archive of Our Own ^beta

“We’re going to be late!” Luo Li calls, ponytail flying behind her like a cape in a comic book. Nuonuo leans back and ducks her head so it doesn’t get in her face; splutters at the wind, stumbles at the force. She hadn’t even had the proper time to change into casual shoes when Luo Li had dragged her out of her house almost as soon as they’d gotten there to change out of their work clothes, her eyes sparkling with that same vigor that always made something in Nuonuo’s chest light and full in equal measure. It feels almost like a flame, flickering in an otherwise empty room. Heat and light to liven it up, bright where it once was dark and hot where it once was cold; or not even cold, just… bland.

“You still haven’t told me what we’re going to be late for,” Nuonuo points out. Luo Li’s hand is clasped around her wrist, fingers wrapped around her skin between cloth and bead bracelets and a black watch her mother had bought her as a gift for graduating university. Her touch is like fireworks; sparks constant and repetitive, a jolt to her system which feels as if she’s been sleeping for a very long time and has only now woken up.

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I did, would it?” Luo Li stops, abrupt, and Nuonuo almost runs into her; catches the brush of her jacket’s hem. She turns, and Nuonuo comes face to face with puffed out cheeks and narrowed eyes. Luo Li’s hand that isn’t still in Nuonuo’s has a sing;e finger jabbing into her chest; once, twice, and then it stays there. Everything about Luo Li is so dynamic, constantly shifting and moving. There’s not a single part of her that’s still, or that’s content to sit where she is. Nuonuo had sat at that secretary’s desk for months until someone had come and offered her a way out, but Luo Li charges into making her own way without asking anyone for permission.

“It wouldn't," Nuonuo agrees, and her lips are curled up in a smile before she even realizes. Remnants of pink lip gloss shine on Luo Li’s lips; she huffs, crosses her arms, and the absence that leeches away where her presence had once left remnants of heat almost aches.

“Right, so why are you asking me? You’ll see when we get there, obviously!”

“Maybe you’re just lying,” says Nuonuo, and Luo Li rolls her eyes, clicking her tongue and reaching back out to grab Nuonuo’s hand. Their fingers wind together; thin and calloused, and it’s almost hard to tell where one starts and the other begins, like this. Almost. Luo Li’s fingernails are chipped from being bitten, flecked with bits of nail paint that’s stayed on despite the tribulations. Nuonuo’s nails are short, too, but they’re cut to ovals, clean and unstained.

She should ask Luo Li to paint them. The thought comes sudden, firm and strong. She should ask Luo Li to paint her nails. A nice, pretty color, a light blue or soft purple sounds nice. Perhaps she should alternate with black.

“Let’s go!” Luo Li calls, and with a smile blooming wider on her face, Wang Nuonuo follows.