Chapter Text
They wake to the dawn in different rooms, the walls of the apartment still carrying the echoes of the argument the night before.
By the time evening arrives, the air is thin and the hall light throws a tired rectangle across the floor that matches Lisa’s energy. Becky, Lisa’s roommate, is already home, folding laundry into a rhythm that looks like interrogation, and Lisa knew immediately round two was just about to start.
“Are you still not going to tell me where you got to, so late last night?” Becky asked, trying to dig deep for information Lisa wouldn’t reveal the night before.
Lisa knew there was no point in lying, knowing that Becky knew plenty of people in her study group—and then there was the fact that Becky caught her outside last night, with a woman Lisa knew she wouldn’t recognise.
“I got lost and missed my study group, so I—“
”Who was the mysterious woman you were standing outside with last night then, eh?” Becky interrupted, teasing, but Lisa wasn’t really in the teasing mood, her patience threading thin.
“Why? Are you spying on me, now?” Lisa snapped.
“No—I just—“
”Just…nothing, Bex.” Lisa snapped again, “You gave up any right to know anything about my life when you slept with someone else! I’m going out,” Lisa grabbed Carla’s jacket with some force from the back of the chair it hung on, as if the leather itself would steady her, before storming out and slamming the door behind her.
“Don’t bother coming back tonight!” Becky called out from the same third storey window as the night before.
It was late. Darkness had already crept in as Lisa found her feet carrying her back toward The Northern Quarter—the journey feeling so familiar, even though she’d only tread there once.
Hollow Street Ink was lit across the way. The neon sign flashing haphazardly in the near distance. A small smile tugging at Lisa’s lips, and an all too familiar warmth in the pit of her stomach as she walked across the street nearing the front door.
Lisa hesitated as she reached the two steps, her heart pounding in her chest. The same bell jingled overhead as she pushed the door to step inside.
Lisa took it in more this time; the striking interior of the studio caught her attention immediately. Somehow the room felt more intimate. Tattoo designs covered the walls, a riot of colour and intricacy. Edgy artwork depicting skulls, roses and mythical creatures, hung in every available space. The low hum of a tattoo machine filled the space, punctuated by the occasional sharp intake of breath from a customer.
Then Lisa saw her—Carla. Sitting on a stool, bent over a client's leg, her brow furrowed in concentration, her tongue gently poking out to the edge of her lips. The sleeve of her black t-shirt was rolled up to her shoulder, revealing a tapestry of tattoos that snaked up her arm.
She looked intense, focused, completely absorbed in her work—and Lisa couldn’t be any more mesmerised, using the excuse to allow her to stare.
Lisa watched as Carla meticulously shaded a design, her movements precise and confident. There was an undeniable artistry to what she was doing, and Lisa found Carla’s skill and passion incredibly compelling, sexy, attractive.
She waited patiently until Carla finished, captivated by Carla working and also by admiring a wall where she found Carla showcasing her own work.
Once the client had left, Carla walked up to Lisa, who was still caught up in scanning the walls of her studio. The older woman tilted her head the way she does when she’s deciding which line to pull.
“Come back for something more permanent have you?” Carla asked, her voice dropped a key. Her shoulder brushed intentionally.
“Something like that,” Lisa teased, not making eye contact. The words were warm and ridiculous on her tongue. Allowing the moment, the tension, the electricity to settle between them.
“I guess you came back for this?” Carla asked, reaching to where she’d kept Lisa’s textbook safe.
Lisa laughed softly, “Thank you…though it needed to be back at nine this morning so…” Lisa shrugged, that playful glint still evident in her eye.
The admission sat heavily; that Lisa had come for something more. Something that neither dared to ask or admit. The pull was there, but the space between them seemed to stay the same.
It was Carla who broke the silence first.
“Do you want to grab some dinner? I know it’s late but, there’s a little diner down the road that—“
”I’d love to,” Lisa admitted, much quicker than she intended. Carla’s jacket gripped in Lisa’s hand, almost unforgotten.
Lisa shivered as they both stepped outside, Carla once again setting the alarm and locking the place up behind her.
“Do you ever wear a coat?” Carla teased, as she grabbed her own jacket from Lisa’s grip, offering it up as if she enjoys seeing it worn by someone else.
Lisa blushed, unused to the attentive nature of the other woman. “I needed to get out of the apartment and…actually came to return your jacket, yet somehow I happened to be wearing it again.” Lisa teased.
“You what—you walked all the way over here, just to return my jacket?” Carla raised an eyebrow, her voice carrying the same, similar softness that Lisa had picked up on the night before.
Lisa laughed before shrugging. Their fingers brushed as they walked toward the diner. “Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to see you again.” Lisa said, with more confidence than her voice had carried since they’d first met.
Lisa caught the pink splash across Carla’s cheeks under the soft moonlight.
“You know, you really didn’t need an excuse to see me again.” Carla admitted as they approached the diner. The lights dimmed, the ‘open’ sign no longer lit.
Carla caught the disappointment in Lisa’s face, despite the diner saying it was open twenty four, seven, but Carla remained undeterred, holding out her hand.
“Carla, we can’t—“ Lisa hesitated, but Carla caught the fire in Lisa’s eyes. The drive to do something unexpected. Carla would hold on to that, she just wouldn’t use it tonight.
“Come on, I know the owner,” Carla confessed, taking Lisa’s hand before pushing the door gently open and calling out.
“Roy! Roy? It’s me, Carla.” She announced as she locked the door behind them—even though it had been left unlocked before.
The diner was beautiful. It had a contemporary classic 1950’s feel to it, adorned with vibrant neon lights, leather booths and counter seating.
An elderly looking gentleman came through from the back.
“Ah, Carla.” He said, dressed in a white apron with a dishcloth between his fingers. His eyes passed between them both, a polite, friendly smile gracing his lips.
“Room for two?” Carla asked shyly and Roy nodded his head, gesturing for them to sit wherever they’d like.
Carla turned to Lisa, “Counter or booth?” She asked, gesturing with a tilt of her head.
“Booth,” Lisa replied, opting for the more intimate setting and instantly preferring the privacy it carried.
They both slid into a worn vinyl booth opposite each other, the red cushion cracked in places portraying something well-used and well-loved.
Roy came over, his dishcloth now tucked into the kangaroo pocket of his apron, replaced in his hands by a pen and paper.
“What can I get you lovely ladies?” Roy asked, a soft kindness in his eyes which seemed to soften Carla too.
Lisa watched as the older woman’s face lit up animatedly. There was something special about the way Carla loosened around him, the way that she seemed to allow Lisa to see a flicker of vulnerability in a place where she felt safe. Where she was known and known well.
”Royston, this is my friend, Lisa. Lisa, this is Roy.” Carla made friendly introductions.
“Nice to meet you, Roy.” Lisa said, smiling when he returned the gesture. “Likewise,”
“May I?” Carla asked, wondering if Lisa would be okay with making their order. “I know the best food on the menu—and it won’t disappoint.” Carla teased.
“And if it does?” Lisa teased back, raising her eyebrow.
“Well, I’ll just have to up my game for next time then.” Carla winked.
Next time…
The words bring a warmth to her chest that she hasn’t felt in so long. Lisa crossed her legs beneath the table in an attempt to quell the persistent throbbing that was rising between her legs, and closed her menu, sliding it back into the holder with what she hoped was a casual ease.
“Two cheeseburgers and fries please, Royston. With… two deluxe strawberry milkshakes please.” Carla said, ordering with the casual certainty of someone that’s done this a thousand times, before closing her menu and popping it back in the holder beside Lisa’s.
“Coming right up,” Roy said, scribbling down on his notepad and disappearing behind the counter and into the back.
“So…do you want to tell me why you wanted to get out of the apartment, or—“ Carla asked, treading gently. It had been such a passing comment from Lisa that she’d quickly blended into something else, but Carla wanted her to know that she had been listening—intently—and she could also talk to her, if she so wished.
Lisa hesitated. She didn’t want to tarnish the moment she was having with the older woman, but she also didn’t want to disregard her kindness.
“My roommate was grilling me about you…she thinks she still has some kind of ownership over me after we broke up,” Lisa admitted.
Carla nodded gently, understanding. Her eyes steady on Lisa as she watched her expression. Lisa averted her gaze, before meeting Carla’s eyes. All that lay there was softness, understanding.
“She slept with someone else—while we were still together. She made her bed, I told her to lie in it. She only wants me coz’ she can’t have me…” Lisa trailed off, eyes drifting again. Holding on to something that Carla couldn’t quite name.
“First love?” Carla asked sincerely.
Lisa shrugged. “I’ve nothing to compare it to, so—“
Carla nodded again, but when Lisa caught her eye this time, there was a fire there—a hunger.
“Well, I, for one, think she’s made a huge mistake. You’re beautiful, Lisa Swain—sports massage therapist who’s good with her hands…” Carla smirked as she reached up to stroke the edge of Lisa’s jaw with her thumb. The gesture is neither grand nor tentative; it’s raw and honest, given with a tenderness that doesn’t demand return.
Lisa leaned into her touch, into the small moment of intimacy of two people who were not yet in each other's histories, but are yet already mapping one another, committing subtle moments and intimate gestures to memory, as if all they had was just this one night together.
The diner's neon lights washed them in colour; the milkshakes arriving first with whipped peaks and shared straws. Food following on plates big enough for two alone.
“Two cheeseburgers and fries, with two deluxe strawberry milkshakes,” Roy said gently as he placed the two drinks and then the two plates in front of Lisa and Carla.
“Thanks, Royston,” Carla said.
“Wow, thank you,” Lisa replied with an equal softness.
“You have to try the strawberry milkshake first.” Carla said animatedly.
Lisa loved the way Carla’s face lit up; how it glowed as she waited in anticipation.
“Oh my God, Carla, that’s amazing!” Lisa said once she’d taken her first sip.
Carla giggled—actually giggled. She couldn’t remember the last time a sound as soft as that had left her mouth.
Lisa noticed and blushed. “What’re you laughing at?” Lisa said, voice a little higher than normal.
“You’ve got something…” Carla gestured to Lisa’s face where the whipped cream was now sitting along her top lip and on the end of her nose.
Lisa ducked her head, mildly embarrassed, while she wiped her nose with her napkin—but missing the whipped cream that still sat atop her lip.
“Here…may I?” Carla asks as she traces the bottom of Lisa’s jaw with her finger. Lisa nods, eyes locked on to Carla as she traces Lisa’s top lip with her thumb, removing all evidential whipped cream, before bringing it to her own mouth to lick it clean, her own eyes never leaving Lisa’s.
“Mmm…” Lisa’s sure she hears Carla murmur, before averting her gaze as a blush creeps into her cheeks.
Carla’s foot catches Lisa’s beneath the table and she shifts to move it, but Lisa doesn’t let her—the sweet sparkle in Lisa’s eyes has dropped a little darker, hungrier and Carla feels that familiar feeling of want lower in her belly returning from the previous night.
They sat like that for the rest of their meal, legs intertwined underneath the table, catching stolen glances between each other, soft laughter and hearts pounding.
“That was perfect,” Lisa said, leaning back in the booth, a satisfied smile on her face.
“Told you it was good,” Carla winked, holding Lisa’s gaze, soon broken by Roy hesitantly hovering near their table, wanting to collect their empty plates and glasses.
“Everything to your liking, ladies?” Roy said as he moved forward gently to start gathering their dishes.
“You know me Roy, you never disappoint.” Carla said—and Lisa watched their interaction again. It was sweet, loving, and kind.
“That was beautiful, thank you so much, Roy.” Lisa said with as much kindness as she could carry.
“Could I interest either of you in a dessert?” Roy asked.
Neither woman wanted to leave; but both were too afraid to stay.
“Next time?” Carla asks Lisa, hopeful.
“Next time,” Lisa confirms, returning a soft smile that has Carla’s stomach doing somersaults all over again.
“The bill then, please Roy.” Carla requests, while her eyes never leave Lisa’s.
“It’s er, on the house. It would be my pleasure to—“
Lisa’s cheeks reddened, her gaze dancing between Carla and Roy.
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly—“
“I insist. Please, it would be my pleasure. Any friend of Carla’s is a friend of mine.” Roy assured Lisa, and both women thanked him kindly, before Carla pressed a kiss to his cheek.
Carla called out, reminding Roy that next time he decided to do a deep clean in the middle of the night, to call her—an extra pair of hands never went amiss.
As they headed out into the quiet of the night, both women lingered just outside the diner. Neither wanting to part.
“Can I walk you home?” Lisa suggested.
“What about you, though?” Carla asked, her voice soft. Concern laced in her tone. Carla had trawled these streets alone thousands of times; lived in the very shadows of them, but an uneasy feeling settled in her at the innocence of Lisa discovering the true darkness that lurked.
“Well…you’ll just have to take my number, then you can call me to make sure I’m home safe.” Lisa whispered, leaning in, before linking her arm through Carla’s and turning them both toward the direction of Carla’s studio.
They walk. Streetlamps leave islands of orange on the pavement beneath their feet; the rest of the world is a quiet wash of dark. They fell into a slow rhythm, the way two people might—almost as if they’d known each other longer.
“You know, this is my favourite time of day,” Lisa whispers into the quiet. Lisa’s hand sliding down Carla’s arm; fingers brushing, on purpose this time as Carla gently slides her fingers between Lisa’s. The touch is electric, coursing through like a live wire.
“Oh yeah?” Carla responds in kind, an open question: Lisa’s choice to respond or settle further into the quiet.
“Mm,” Lisa hums. “When the world is asleep, quiet. I can hear my thoughts clearer—understand them. It’s peaceful.”
“Sometimes lonely.” Carla whispers gently, and she feels Lisa squeeze her hand softly—just once.
“It doesn’t have to be.” Lisa whispers too. A promise hanging open, ready for Carla to take.
At a corner where the streets angle and the buildings close in, Lisa’s voice remains soft, sensitive, but not prying.
“Can I ask about Roy?” Although she already has. The request is already there. Carla’s step falters, but she doesn’t close off or shut down. Instead, she simply rearranges herself. Allows herself to be seen, just a fraction.
“Roy’s…like a father to me. He’s always been there when no one else was. When things were falling apart, he’d—“ Carla pauses, her voice cracks. It’s louder in the silence, but Lisa remains steady, comforting without pressure.
The rest of the sentence folds into the dark. Carla doesn’t want to admit the things that would make the night heavier. And Lisa just gives her the space, to open up to what she’s ready for or to hide behind whatever she feels still necessary.
“He lifted me out of the darkness, more than once. And I’ll always be grateful.”
Lisa watches her, wanting to ask more; wanting to offer more than she’s perhaps ready for, but she knows better than to push. She’s wiser beyond her years and she doesn’t even realise, and Carla’s drawn to the qualities Lisa doesn’t believe she has.
Carla hesitates as they round the corner to her workplace, evidence in Lisa’s gaze that she remembers the path as if she’d walked it a thousand times and Lisa senses Carla’s unease, the flicker of doubt in her eyes waiting for Lisa to judge her—until Lisa does everything to squash that fear, to quell her spiralling thoughts.
“You live above the studio?” Lisa asks, animation returning to her voice after the subtle heaviness that almost buried itself between them.
Carla’s throat tightens with a small, embarrassed sound. She doesn’t explain further—not quite ready to share the smallness of her space that meant rent was easier to manage. She kept those details to herself, not yet ready to give away a part of her that she’s kept locked away, safe, for so long.
Lisa’s smile is quick and unjudging, her face is glowing more than the moonlight itself. “I think that’s really cool,” she admits as she catches the change in Carla’s expression; the light that the older woman had allowed to dim, returns.
“You do?” Carla asks in surprise.
“I do.” Lisa confirms, “Space like that—it’s raw and honest. And frankly, quite sexy.” Lisa dares to admit, as the air shifts between them.
And in that moment, Carla wants nothing more than to drag Lisa up the stairs and give up all self control to the all consuming desire that’s been sparking between them since they’d met—but Carla’s built up walls so high even she doesn’t know how to climb them.
Instead, she leans in slowly—hesitantly at first. They barely have space to breathe, the street around them a corridor of dim lights and darkened windows. Behind each curtain lay a different story; perhaps one of joy or one of sorrow.
The world's quiet, just as Carla’s learnt Lisa likes it. She moves one hand up gently, to cup Lisa’s face, her thumb strokes once at the chill in the younger woman’s cheek; they’re red from the cold in the air, but feel warm from the blush all at the same time.
Their faces hover, breaths mingling. Then lips finally meet—soft and tentative, but daring all the same. Lisa’s fingers curl around Carla’s wrist, soft and careful; it’s permission wrapped up in a tiny flicker of surrender and their kiss deepens as Carla’s hand slides to the nape of Lisa’s neck, pulling her closer as Lisa’s other free hand finds Carla’s hip, almost steadying herself as her knees go weak.
When they part, Lisa catches the triumph in Carla’s eyes, the look that says I’ve been wanting to do that all night.
Holding Lisa’s gaze, Carla fishes out her phone from her pocket. “Your number,” she states. It’s not a question, simply a request. Although both women know it’s more than just a number.
Lisa grins and taps it in, a small laugh escapes her as she witnesses the sigh of contentment in the other woman. Then as she hands the phone back, her fingers find the collar of the jacket that’s already become a familiar warmth, already growing into something she doesn’t want to let go of, just yet. And she’s ready, as if by habit, to peel the jacket off—to give back what’s not hers—but Carla’s hands are on hers in an instant—gentle, sure—before she finds the lapels of the jacket herself, pulling it gently snug, back around Lisa.
“Keep it,” she whispers, her voice low enough for only Lisa to hear, even though there’s no one else around. “It looks good on you,” Carla admits, as the words hang there—warm and private.
Carla watches her for a breath as Lisa’s face lightens, as if the request and the admission mean more than just a borrowed jacket.
“Come here,” Carla pulls her in, hands still settled on the lapels of the jacket as if they belong. It’s an invitation that asks of nothing more than what Lisa has already surrendered, and Lisa’s hands again find Carla’s waist—anchoring, not owning—and the motions between the two would be easy to miss; that ordinary tenderness is what makes the moment feel enormous.
The night folds around them like a soft blanket as lips meet again—soft, tentative—just like the first. Lips listen, as they match each other's rhythm. The taste of strawberry lingers on each other, and there’s a soft moan that escapes Lisa’s lips, as Carla dares to deepen it, not with hurry, but with attention. Her tongue wants to chase more as curiosity grows. It’s slow, exploratory. Less about hunger and more about attention. Gentle pressure and teasing, before Carla gently pulls back—receiving a whimper; a clear indication of Lisa wanting more.
For a beat, they hold each other close. Foreheads resting, the quiet between them full of promises neither dare to speak out loud. There’s a growing ache between them that needs attention, and the devilish look in Carla’s eyes tells Lisa that their night is far from over.
“I’ll call you,” Carla whispers, and Lisa answers with a smirk, “You better,” before turning on her heel, carrying the taste of Carla with her.