The room was quiet. The rain had softened to a steady whisper against the windowpane, and the distant orange glow of the streetlights had begun to fade as the murky grey dawn crept through the gaps in the heavy curtains.
Jane came back to check on them, standing perfectly still in the doorway while she watched her daughter sleep. Fleur's hand was still resting atop the duvet, and Nimue's small, pale fingers were wrapped tightly around it. Neither girl had moved an inch since she left them there.
Saoirse appeared behind her a moment later, walking barefoot across the plush carpet with her black hair, marked by that striking white streak, loose and messy around her shoulders.
"They will have sore necks," she whispered, her voice low enough that it barely carried.
Jane nodded in agreement. She stepped into the room, her footsteps silent on the thick carpet, and reached for Fleur. She intended to lift the older girl, but Fleur stirred and murmured something incomprehensible in her sleep. Nimue's grip immediately tightened in response.
"Let me," Jack said, appearing behind them.
He crossed the room with silent, measured steps. He lifted Nimue first, moving with enough care not to disturb her rest, and laid her gently in the middle of the bed. Her head sank into the soft down of the pillow, and her hand reached out automatically, searching for the warmth she had just lost.
Then he lifted Fleur. She was heavier, but he carried her easily and settled her beside Nimue on the wide mattress. Nimue's hand found Fleur's sleeve and held on instantly. Fleur turned in her sleep, her face pressing toward the presence beside her as she sought the familiar heat.
Jack pulled the thick duvet over them both, tucking the edges in. He stood back, watching for a short moment, and then turned to Jane. "They are fine."
Jane pressed her fingers to her lips. Saoirse tugged at her sleeve, her expression uncharacteristically soft. "Come. Let them sleep."
Jane nodded and pulled the door closed with a soft, final click.
. . .
The grey light grew brighter as the morning progressed. Rain tapped against the glass in a persistent, soothing cadence. Somewhere in the hotel, a heavy door opened and closed, and muffled footsteps passed quietly in the corridor, but the sounds didn't reach the two girls.
Nimue woke slowly. Her eyes opened a crack to see the morning light and then closed again. The room was warm, and something soft, smelling of lavender soap, was pressed against her cheek. She blinked, realising that Fleur's face was only inches from her own. The older girl's silver-blonde hair was spread across the white pillow like a silk fan. Her lips were slightly parted, and her breathing was slow and deep.
Nimue watched her. She traced the way the pale light fell across Fleur's cheek and noticed a tiny, solitary freckle near her nose that she hadn't seen before. She watched the way Fleur's long eyelashes curved against her skin. Nimue didn't move because she didn't want to wake her, but she desperately wanted to be closer to that warmth.
Slowly and with great care, she pressed inward. Her shoulder touched Fleur's arm, and her knee touched Fleur's leg through the sheets. She tucked her head under Fleur's chin, just as she had done in the apartment, and nuzzled into the warmth of the older girl's neck.
Fleur's arm moved. She wasn't fully awake, but her hand found Nimue's back and pulled her closer in a sleepy, automatic gesture. Nimue nuzzled again, her nose pressing against the soft skin of Fleur's neck.
It smelled like soap and something else, a sweet, natural scent that Nimue couldn't name. She smiled and closed her eyes as her own breathing began to slow in tandem with Fleur's. The last thing she felt before sleep pulled her back under was the steady, comforting beat of Fleur's heart against her cheek.
.
When Nimue woke again, the room was much brighter. The rain had stopped, and a thin line of pale gold light cut across the ceiling.
Fleur was looking at her.
Nimue blinked as she realised Fleur's blue eyes were wide and her face was very close. She had been watching for a while; Nimue could tell by the way Fleur held her breath. Fleur's cheeks were pink, the colour high and blooming.
"Bonjour," Nimue said, her voice thick and gravelly with sleep.
"Bonjour," Fleur whispered.
Neither of them moved. Nimue's body was still pressed against Fleur's side, and Fleur's arm remained wrapped firmly around her back. Their faces were so close that Nimue could feel the warmth of Fleur's breath against her own lips.
Something shifted in Nimue's chest. It was a sudden flutter, like a bird trying to escape a cage. It wasn't unpleasant. It was warm and fast, spreading from her heart to her stomach and down to her fingers.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Fleur's heart was beating faster too. Nimue could feel the vibration through the thin fabric of their nightclothes where their ribs pressed together. Nimue's eyes widened slightly at the sensation.
Fleur's ears turned red, starting at the tips and spreading until the whole curve was visible through her silver hair. She looked away toward the window, then the ceiling, and then the door before she finally looked back at Nimue.
Their eyes met, and Nimue smiled. It wasn't her usual small, guarded smile. This was different, wider and much softer. It spread across her face like sunlight breaking through the clouds. Fleur stopped moving entirely. She stared at Nimue's mouth, at the curve of her lips, and the way her green eyes crinkled at the corners. Her expression went blank, as if she had suddenly forgotten how to think or speak.
Nimue's smile only widened. "Grande sœur."
Fleur blinked as if waking from a dream. "Quoi?"
"Tes oreilles sont rouges."
(Your ears are red.)
Fleur's ears turned even redder at the praise. Nimue laughed, a small and soft sound that was barely more than a breath. She nuzzled closer, pressing her cheek against Fleur's shoulder as she whispered into the fabric of her dress.
"Tu es mignonne, grande sœur."
(You are cute, big sister.)
Fleur didn't answer, but her arm tightened around Nimue's back.
Nimue didn't know why she did what she did next. The thought arrived and left in the same moment, and her body moved before her mind could catch up. She lifted her head and pressed her lips to Fleur's cheek. It was quick, barely a brush of skin, feeling soft and warm. When she pulled back, Fleur was staring at her with wide, stunned eyes.
"Mignonne," Nimue said again, her voice softer this time. "J'aime ça."
(Cute. I like it.)
She nuzzled back into Fleur's shoulder, hiding her face as she giggled. The sound was light and bright, filling the quiet hotel room. Fleur didn't move for a long moment. Then her hand came up and touched her own cheek, right where Nimue's lips had been, her fingers lingering on the spot.
Neither of them spoke for a long time. The rain had started again, tapping a light rhythm against the window while a car honked somewhere in the street below. Fleur's arm tightened around Nimue's back. She didn't pull her closer; she simply held her there as if she were afraid Nimue might vanish.
"Nimue."
"Oui."
"Pourquoi tu as fait ça?"
(Why did you do that?)
Nimue lifted her head, her green eyes curious but not confused. "Je ne sais pas. J'avais envie."
(I don't know. I wanted to.)
Fleur looked at her. The smaller girl's face was open and entirely unguarded. There was no calculation or hidden meaning in her gaze. It was just Nimue being Nimue.
"C'est étrange," Fleur said quietly.
"Pourquoi?"
"Parce que... je ne sais pas. Personne ne m'a jamais fait ça."
(Because... I don't know. No one has ever done that to me.)
Nimue tilted her head, her white hair shifting. "Ton papa? Ta maman?"
(Your father? Your mother?)
"Ça, c'est différent. C'est ma famille."
(That's different. That's my family.)
Nimue reached up and touched Fleur's cheek, her small finger tracing the skin gently right where she had kissed it. "Tu veux que je sois ta famille?"
(Do you want me to be your family?)
Fleur's breath caught in her throat. "Je... je ne sais pas."
(I... I don't know.)
"Ce n'est pas grave. Je serai ta famille quand même."
(That's okay. I will be your family anyway.)
Fleur stared at her. The words were too big for such a small girl, too heavy with certainty. But Nimue said them as if she were stating that the sun would rise. It was simply a fact of the world. Fleur's eyes stung, and she blinked quickly against the moisture.
"Ne pleure pas," Nimue said softly.
(Don't cry.)
"Je ne pleure pas."
(I'm not crying.)
"Si. Un peu."
(Yes. A little.)
Fleur rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. When she looked at Nimue again, the smaller girl was watching her with that steady, unblinking gaze. Nimue leaned forward and pressed her forehead against Fleur's. Their noses touched, and their breath mingled in the small space between them.
"Grande sœur."
"Oui."
"Ton cœur bat vite."
(Your heart is beating fast.)
"Le tien aussi."
(So is yours.)
Nimue smiled again, that wide, soft smile that made Fleur's chest ache in a way she didn't understand.
"J'aime ça."
They stayed like that, forehead to forehead. Nimue's hand had found Fleur's again, and their fingers were tangled together on the white pillow.
"Tu as déjà embrassé quelqu'un?" Nimue asked.
(Have you ever kissed anyone?)
Fleur's hand stopped moving. "Non."
"Moi non plus." Nimue paused for a beat, her eyes searching Fleur's. "Avant.'"
(Me neither. Before.)
"Avant quoi?"
"Avant toi."
(Before you.)
Fleur was quiet for a moment before her thumb started moving again in a small circle. "Ce n'était pas un vrai baiser," she said.
(That wasn't a real kiss.)
"Qu'est-ce que c'est, un vrai baiser?"
(What is a real kiss?)
Fleur thought about it, her brow furrowing. "Sur la bouche, je crois."
(On the mouth, I think.)
Nimue lifted her head and looked at Fleur's mouth. Her lips were pink and soft. "On peut essayer?"
(Can we try?)
Fleur's ears went red again. "Non."
"Pourquoi?"
"Parce que... ce n'est pas pour les enfants."
(Because... it's not for children.)
Nimue considered this. "Alors, quand on sera grandes?"
(Then, when we are grown up?)
Fleur looked away toward the fading light on the wall. "Peut-être."
(Maybe.)
Nimue nodded and put her head back down. "D'accord. J'attendrai."
(Okay. I will wait.)
Fleur's arm tightened around her.
A soft knock came at the door.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Both girls turned their heads toward the sound. The door opened, and Jane stepped in, still in her nightgown with her dark hair loose around her shoulders. She stopped in the doorway. Nimue and Fleur were tangled together on the bed, foreheads still touching and hands still clasped.
Nimue's white hair was a mess, and Fleur's dress had twisted around her legs. Jane's expression shifted from surprise to something much softer.
"Bonjour, les filles."
(Good morning, girls.)
"Bonjour, Mama."
"Bonjour, Madame Keith."
Jane crossed to the window and pulled the heavy curtain aside. Grey light flooded the room, making both girls squint and blink. "Le petit déjeuner sera prêt dans une heure," she said. "Vous avez le temps de vous préparer. Mais peut-être devriez-vous vous lever avant."
(Breakfast will be ready in an hour. You have time to get ready. But perhaps you should get up before then.)
Nimue shook her head against the pillow, refusing to budge. "Encore cinq minutes."
(Five more minutes.)
Jane raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in her green eyes. "Pourquoi cinq?"
"Parce que..."
Jane glanced at Fleur, who was staring very intently at the ceiling with pink cheeks. Then she looked back at Nimue.
"Je reviens dans dix minutes. Si vous n'êtes pas levées, je tire la couverture." She paused, her voice softening. "Il est encore tôt, vous voulez du petit déjeuner?"
(I will be back in ten minutes. If you aren't up, I will pull the blanket. It is still early. Do you want breakfast?)
Nimue looked at Fleur, and Fleur looked back. "Oui," they said together.
Jane smiled. "Alors, levez-vous. Et toi, Fleur, ta mère t'attend dans l'autre chambre. Elle a demandé de tes nouvelles."
(Then get up. And you, Fleur, your mother is waiting for you in the other room. She asked about you.)
She left, closing the door behind her with a gentle click. For a moment, neither of them moved.
Nimue turned her head slightly. "Elle ne tirera pas la couverture."
(She won't pull the blanket.)
"Comment tu sais?"
(How do you know?)
"Parce qu'elle dit ça tous les matins. Elle ne l'a jamais fait."
(Because she says that every morning. She has never done it.)
Fleur let out a small breath that might have been a laugh. Then she sat up slowly, and her hand slipped from Nimue's. The absence of the warmth was immediate and strange. She looked down to see Nimue still lying on the pillow, watching her with those steady green eyes.
"À tout à l'heure," Fleur said.
(See you later.)
"À tout à l'heure," Nimue replied.
Fleur slid off the bed and walked to the connecting door. She paused with her hand on the brass handle and looked back. Nimue hadn't moved; her eyes were still fixed on Fleur's face. Fleur's cheeks warmed. She opened the door and stepped through, closing it behind her.
Nimue lay there, staring at the ceiling. Her mouth still tingled where she had kissed Fleur's cheek, and her hand felt warm where the older girl's fingers had been. She lifted her hand and touched her own cheek, right where Fleur's breath had brushed against her.
"C'est bizarre," she whispered to herself.
But she was smiling.