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CHAPTER SIX closet conversations
⋆*✧･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:
NADINE HAD REALIZED that she harboured feelings for Molly—feelings that stretched eons further than a mere case of puppy-love—three months after she'd moved in with her. It came on slowly, like a cat creeping in on light feet, sneaking right into Nadine's heart when her attention was focused elsewhere. It had taken a while to settle itself, hiding in the corners so as to not be spotted, and then, finally, settled down and formed its nest. And that, of course, was when Nadine discovered it—when it was too late to uproot it. It had spent so much time in her heart that it had become a part of it, just as important as all of the chambers. To remove it would be to risk permanent damage to her blood vessels.
When she originally discovered this parasite of love, she wasn't sure how to feel. She was in the 1960s, an era that wasn't exactly kind to those who weren't heterosexual. And although Molly was certainly a lot more accepting than most people of the era—she'd proven that with Nicholas, and the fact that she was openly unopposed to his bisexuality—Nadine still didn't know how she'd react if she ever found out. Nadine didn't like to think that there was a possibility of Molly being outwardly disgusted by her feelings, but she knew that to think otherwise would be naïve. That was what things were like here—you could meet the most amiable person around, only to find out a week into your relationship that they were a raging racist. So, she kept quiet. Averted her eyes whenever she caught herself staring. Resisted the urge to take her hand or cup her cheek. Did everything she could to keep her feelings buried deep.
Then, on a night when they were both a little tipsy, one thing led to another and they were locking lips for the first time. As vodka and vanilla danced on their lips, Molly confessed that ever since her husband had died, she'd been searching for a reason to go on. It was as if his death had bled the colours out of the world, leaving nothing left but smears of black and white. Then Nadine had shown up, and despite everything—despite the bandages on her head and the bullet scar on her shoulder—she'd brought colour back to Molly's world.
It was electrifying to know, because Nadine had felt the same way. When she'd first dropped into 1961, half-concussed and nursing her wounds, she'd been alone. The other members of the Umbrella Academy were gone. Everyone she'd known was gone. It hadn't taken long for her hope to leave her, like water running down a drain.
But then she'd met Molly, who had coaxed that hope back to life.
Figuring out that her feelings for Molly were reciprocated had been such a heavy relief for Nadine that it felt like a weight unchained from her ankle. And she'd been riding on that freedom for over a year now; the time they'd spent as an unofficial-official couple. They still couldn't get married (though it wasn't as if they'd want to, even if they could), nor could they go out in public holding hands. But when they were alone, they could finally do what they wanted. And that would have to be enough.
