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the words burning up in my throat and the way the words don't trip off your tongue

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“Sometimes I wish I wasn't born as Peach Salinger.”

 

Beck looks over at Peach, fingers flattening against the desk. She nudges her computer away, shutting the laptop and getting to her feet. It’s only a few steps away from her bed, and she jumps onto the bed. Peach laughs, narrowly avoiding Beck’s body as she lands.

 

“What do you mean?” Beck asks, sitting up on her elbows and looking down at Peach.

 

Peach licks her lips slowly, contemplating what she’s going to say. She’s clutching a green pillow to her body, and the sunlight is pouring in through Beck’s windows. Maybe I should get curtains, Beck thinks. “My parents aren't good people, Beck.” Peach looks away from Beck, focusing instead on the dirty laundry on Beck’s floor. “Jesus, Beck, you live in a pigsty. I can get you a maid or something.” Peach offers, more as a distraction than anything else.

 

Beck just raises an eyebrow, a smile tugging on the corner of her lips. “No way, Peach. You can talk to me about anything, but I’m not going to let you skip over things.” Beck pauses, worrying the bottom of her lip. Peach finds herself staring, but she can't help it. Beck just looks so beautiful like this: sweet and soft in the warm sunlight. She looks golden. “If you don't want to talk about it, though, we don't have to. I don't want to pressure you.” Beck adds, moving so her hand is resting on Peach’s shoulder.

 

Peach smiles, reaching up and touching her hand. Beck smiles at her, and Peach feels a quiet sort of contentment. This, this is all she needs. Beck and Peach against the world, Peach muses to herself. There’s a warmth pooling in her stomach, accompanied by a dizzying sort of delight. “My parents don't like a lot of people. You know they’re kind of old-fashioned, and, well, their expectations just pile on and it feels like I’m crumbling inside. Of course, I can't tell them that because then they’ll get all, like, judgy.” Peach shares.

 

Beck hums under her breath a little, and it’s all the encouragement Peach needs.

 

“I just feel like they have all these ideas of who I should be, but that’s not me. And I can't exactly tell them to fuck off because they are my parents, but I feel like I’m losing me in the process of keeping them happy.” Peach rolls a little so she’s on her side, and Beck goes still.

 

Beck stares at the curve of Peach’s hip, the way the sun spills over her skin, the healthy flush of her face, but most importantly the affection gleaming in her dark brown eyes. Beck blinks, but Peach still looks like a goddess come to earth. It’s a little jarring, if Beck is being honest. “Are you sure it’s not the way they’d take your trust fund away? No more spontaneous trips to Greece to tan and fuck cute boys.” It’s a joke, of course it is, but Peach looks upset.

 

Her eyes flash with humor for a quick moment, and Beck feels relief burn through her. “Hey, my trust fund bought you that shirt. You don't have any room to complain, missy.” Peach jokes, smiling at Beck like she’s done something magnificent. For a moment, Beck feels like she has.

 

Beck gasps loudly, dramatically, and puts a hand over her heart. “Why, I never. Peach Salinger, you are trouble. And this shirt was on sale, so ha!” Beck sticks her tongue out, and it’s totally childish, but Beck never had a good childhood so she had to bring a little of her kid self with her always.

 

Peach just looks at her, her brown eyes melting as she continued looking at Beck. Beck licks her lips, smiling at Peach. She’s anticipating something, and she isn't quite sure what. Peach moves then, sitting up and leaning closer to Beck. Her fingers ghost along Beck’s jaw, the blonde inhaling sharply. Peach drags her fingers along the curve of Beck’s jaw, marvelling at the feel of her skin underneath her fingertips, and tucks a piece of Beck’s hair behind her ear.

 

Beck leans in, and for a moment they are breathing the same air. Peach just keeps looking at Beck, and Beck refuses to look away. “Beck-” Peach starts to say. Beck, I love you, are the words on the tip of her tongue, but Beck’s eyes widen and she jerks her head back.

 

Beck runs a hand through her hair, swallowing nervously. “I’m kind of tired, Peach. Do you think we could talk more later?”

 

Peach reaches out, gently touching Beck’s wrist. Beck blinks at her, distress bright in her eyes. “Beck,” She said seriously. “I am always here to talk. Whenever you need me.” She squeezes Beck’s hand, dropping it quickly and flopping back onto the bed.

 

“Peach?”

 

“Hmm?” Peach looks over, curling up under the blankets. “I’m tired too, Beck. Is it… okay that I take a nap here?”

 

She looks so comfortable, and Beck doesn't want to seem like a dick. “Um, yeah. I guess.” She says after too long of a pause. She clumsily gets into bed by Peach, her limbs feeling heavy like led. She lays there, listening to the sound of Peach’s even breathing and wondering why the way Peach’s leg touching hers makes sparks dance along her spine.

 

“Beck?” Peach whispers.

 

Beck feels herself stiffen, and she forces herself to relax. She can smell Peach’s perfume, and the familiar scent allows herself to melt into her bed. “Yeah?” She mumbles, her voice thick.

 

Peach’s hand brushes across her hip. “Thanks for letting me stay.” Peach’s heart is practically bursting out of her chest she’s so nervous, and she doesn't understand why.

 

Beck twists her head so she’s looking Peach directly in the eyes. “Always, Peach. As long as you need me, I’ll be there.”

 

The words are sincere, and the air hangs heavy over them. Beck thinks about saying something, but she doesn't. Peach wonders if she should tell Beck about the way her eyes are like the ocean, but she doesn't say a word. They just exist together, and it is enough.