Lion Parmi Les Hommes

IV

"Juste ma chance, si je croyais en la chance. Je ne crois qu'au contraire de la chance, peu importe ce que c'est."

~Gregory Maguire, Lion Parmi Les Hommes

Marthe hadn't ever really believed in fortune or luck. She believed in misfortune and the universe pitted against her. At least right now. Currently, she really related to Sisyphus rolling a boulder up a never ending mountain for all of eternity. At least, that's how remaining platonic with (Y/N) felt. Marthe had been letting the other girl stay with her in her little flat above the bookshop since obviously she couldn't have (Y/N) running back to Jean, and they had grown even closer in that time, although no amount of proximity to (Y/N) could satisfy Marthe's desire to be able to actually call (Y/N) hers.

(Y/N) seemed none too concerned with Marthe's struggles, whether she was entirely oblivious to the other woman's feelings towards her or if she simply did not care to let them affect her behavior was debatable. She always wanted to be touching Marthe, always wanted to be near Marthe. She didn't care to admit to herself what that could possibly mean.

Winter was (Y/N)'s favorite time of year, so long as she could remain inside for most of it. She had claimed somewhat of a permanent spot on the window seat. As she did every other morning, (Y/N) curled up there pretty much as soon as she woke up. It was always drafty because the window pane was thin and the radiator sat all the way at the other end of the room. She solved this issue by ever so quietly turning the knob on Marthe's bedroom door, wincing at the way the wood creaked and she crept quietly across the hard flooring, her thick woolen socks muffling the sound of her steps enough that Marthe didn't stir at all. She was equally cautious in her quest towards the laundry basket. From there she would pick up whatever thick-knit sweater Marthe had worn the day before, because the woman's winter wardrobe really only consisted of sweaters, turtlenecks, and tight black pants. She had grabbed straight from the closet a few times but (Y/N) found that she much preferred the warmth of Marthe's cologne tainting the fabric, and so now she only went for what was previously worn. Marthe adored her. She had always loved her big bow window with the view of the Eiffel Tower, she loved it more with (Y/N) in it. Most mornings it took (Y/N) several long minutes to realize that Marthe was there because she was always so busy reading whatever new book Marthe had gotten into stock. That was alright with the taller girl, she liked the silence in those few minutes that allowed her to appreciate the way her sweaters always swamped (Y/N), and the way that the cold near the window reddened the other girl's cheeks, nose, and fingers. This morning was no different, and as was customary Marthe made coffee for herself and hot cocoa for (Y/N), with extra marshmallows, whipped cream, and mini chocolate chips. She brought it over to (Y/N), taking her own place on the other side of the window seat. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to (Y/N)'s cold nose and she stayed there for a moment before pulling back with a smile. (Y/N) finally looked up then, taking her mug of hot cocoa from Marthe's hands and wrapping chilly fingers around the ceramic and she brought it up to her face so that the steam could warm her up. The taller of the two stood up suddenly, causing (Y/N) to give her a questioning look because usually Marthe would sit with her own book for at least an hour or two, "What are you doing, M?".

Marthe paused as she was rooting through one of the bookshelves on the far side of her room, "Nothing! Just looking for something, go back to your reading, babe!". (Y/N) wasn't going to argue with that and so she only shrugged, burying her nose right back into her book, one hand still wrapped into the handle of her mug. She became so absorbed in the literary world that she didn't even notice the loud click of a polaroid camera or Marthe shaking the little paper back and forth. The taller girl thought this was the most perfect picture she would ever take, she would waste all of her film on (Y/N) gladly and without regret.

She did notice it the second time and dropped her book right away so that she could cover her face with her hand, "M, no! I've not gotten ready for the day, I'm sure I look a mess!", and she pouted to herself when she heard the shutter go off regardless of her protestations.