V & V (wlw)

Chapter 17 - The one where they do chores

Veronika woke, once again, alone in the morning light. Beside her, there was a Vic-shaped dent on the mattress. That place was still warm, and she knew this because she rolled herself into it.

She threw herself from the bed, almost tipping over as she shook off the sleep. First order of business was a dunk in cold water, to wake her properly.

She stepped into the indoor terrace that was the corridor and made her way to the stairs. Ron was almost too occupied thinking about where Vic had gone to hear muffled, raised voices coming from one of the rooms.

It was always instilled in her that she oughtn't listen into discussions that weren't her business, but she was on a streak already. After a cautious glance all around, she stepped closer to the door. She was above putting her ear against the grain, so instead she hovered close to the crack in the jamb.

A voice, not quite angry but about to be, drifted in and out: "We're – two days – hold – "

" – Lie – family?" The answering voice was already mad, and lifted in a question that even Ron knew was not expecting an answer.

"What will – think?"

Veron was so engrossed in this conversation that she didn't feel someone coming up behind her until the other person's shadow fell at her feet.

Victoria looked as disconcerted when she turned around in defensive shock. Ron put a finger to her lips as they both leaned toward the door again.

The voices were still at it, dampened and sparse until one particularly loud statement: "Do you want them to know what you did?"

"What – " Victoria began at normal volume, just as Ron seized her by the collar. She whispered, "What are you doing?"

Veron let go of her shirt right away, and patted and smoothed the fabric as if to erase the action. "Sorry about that. Let's go."

She hooked her arm to Vic's and dragged her away with emergency haste. When they were about to reach the stairs, that door opened and Ben stepped out. They went down the stairs in their best impression of normal, even as her cousin sped past them, smiling and pleasant in spite of what they heard.

They stopped at the courtyard, where Ron set herself down on a seat. Vic sat next to her, on the same sunchair.

"Why were you listening through the keyhole?"

"It wasn't the keyhole," said Ron, choosing to ignore the real question. Victoria rolled her eyes, something she hadn't seen in a while, and Ron wanted to wrestle her to the ground for it.

She did not. Instead she leaned back and set her legs on Vic's lap, and the latter began to idly squeeze and rub at her calves.

Veronika did not know exactly when they got so domestic. She didn't mean the physical touches or couple-y things that their arrangement mandated they do.

No, it was when she insulted Victoria, who would insult her in turn, and then they would laugh about it together. It was when Ron would throw ideas for her writing into the room, aloud and idle, and Victoria, previously minding her business, would respond and toss them back in engaging review. It was when Victoria would sit next to her and sigh and rest her head on Ron's shoulder for sparse seconds, after Vic had complained about some mundane detail of her job; that even though Victoria doesn't say it, Ron knew she would never complain to anyone else.

It was the giving and the taking, and the safety of it.

She even suspected that it had not happened all at once, or worse: that they had always been this comfortable with each other, and it manifested stronger now, unimpeded by the crippling teenage alacrity for argument.