I will love you until the end of time

I like existing with her

The city hums below us, a constant, distant roar, but here, in this apartment on the Upper East Side, it's quiet. Peaceful. This place is ours, even if we never speak of it that way. In these walls, we don't have to say anything at all. We just get to be.

I close the door behind me, the sound of the latch clicking into place like a sigh of relief. The late afternoon light spills through the windows, casting everything in a warm, golden hue. It feels like the world pauses just for us, giving us this weekend as a gift. Our time is always short, but here, it stretches, just for us.

"Evelyn," Celia's voice calls from the kitchen, light and teasing. Just hearing her say my name is enough to make me smile, a warmth spreading in my chest.

I follow the sound, finding her at the stove. She's making tea, her back to me, but she knows I'm here. She always knows. Her red hair is vibrant in the sunlight, a wild, fiery halo that frames her in a way that takes my breath away every time.

I stand there for a moment, just watching her. She's wearing a simple dress, one that hugs her curves in all the right places, the fabric swaying gently as she moves. Her skin, pale and smooth, almost glows in the light, and I have to resist the urge to reach out and touch her. I want to trace the curve of her neck, feel the softness of her under my fingertips.

But I don't have to resist for long. She turns, catching me watching her, and her face lights up with that infectious smile of hers. It's the kind of smile that makes you forget everything else, that pulls you into her orbit and makes you want to stay there forever. She's breathtaking, not just in the way the world thinks I am. Her beauty isn't something you can capture in a photograph. It's in the way she looks at you, like you're the only person in the world. Like she's chosen you, and you're lucky enough to be loved by her.

"You just going to stand there, or are you going to come here and kiss me?" she asks, a playful lilt in her voice.

I don't need to be asked twice. I cross the small kitchen in a few quick steps, pulling her into my arms. She laughs, the sound bubbling up from her chest, a bright, joyful noise that fills the room. When Celia really laughs, she cackles—loud and unrestrained, like she couldn't care less who hears. I love that about her, the way she's so unapologetically herself when we're alone.

"Is this what you wanted?" I ask, leaning in to press my lips to hers. The kiss is soft at first, gentle, but it deepens quickly, her hands sliding into my hair, pulling me closer. The taste of her, the feel of her pressed against me, it's intoxicating. In moments like this, it feels like nothing else matters, like the rest of the world doesn't even exist.

When we finally pull apart, her cheeks are flushed, and there's a spark in her eyes that makes my heart race. "Much better," she says, her voice a little breathless. She pulls away slightly, just enough to grab the teapot from the stove. "Come on, let's have tea in the living room."

We move to the small, cozy living room, where the windows overlook the bustling streets below. Celia sets the tray down on the coffee table, and we sit on the worn couch, close enough that our legs brush against each other. She pours the tea, her hands steady, but there's a quiet excitement in her movements.

As we sip our tea, the sun dips lower, casting the room in an even softer light. Celia leans back against the cushions, stretching her legs out, her bare feet tucked under the hem of her dress. I watch her, the way she moves so effortlessly, so naturally, and I'm struck again by how incredibly lucky I am to have her.

She turns to me, catching my gaze, and that smile spreads across her face again, making her eyes crinkle at the corners. "What are you thinking about?" she asks, tilting her head slightly, a playful glint in her eyes.

"You," I admit, reaching out to take her hand. Her fingers are warm, soft, and she lets me pull her closer, until she's tucked against my side. "How beautiful you are."

She rolls her eyes, but there's a blush creeping up her neck, betraying the effect my words have on her. "You're ridiculous," she says, but she's smiling, that wide, infectious grin that makes my heart flip.

"Maybe," I say, pressing a kiss to her temple, "but it's true."

She laughs again, that loud, unrestrained cackle that I love so much, and I can't help but join in. There's something about her laughter, the way it fills the room, that makes everything else seem so small, so unimportant. When Celia is happy, it feels like the whole world should be, too.

As the evening wears on, we curl up on the couch together, her head resting on my shoulder, her fingers intertwined with mine. The radio plays softly in the background, but I'm only half-listening. My focus is entirely on her—the way her chest rises and falls with each breath, the way her hair tickles my neck, the way she sighs contentedly when I press a kiss to the top of her head.

The night deepens, and eventually, we move to the bedroom, where the outside world fades away completely. In the darkness, with her beside me, I don't have to be anyone but Evelyn. She doesn't have to be anyone but Celia. We're just two women who love each other, and in this moment, that's all that matters.