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Unicorn Coffee and Other Stupid Shit

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Leah POV



Leah poured the steamed milk into the cup and passed the guy his order, his hand lingering on her fingers for far longer than felt appropriate. 

“Thanks. Don’t suppose I could get your number?” 

Jesus, not another one.

“She doesn’t want your number bro.” A girl with dark hair cropped just below her shoulders and a bright pink fur jacket stepped in. 

“I was just-”

“You were just leaving.” 

The girl's tone left little room for debate. 

“I could have handled that.” Leah got out her pen; waiting.

“A thank you would do.” 

She looked up at the cocky tone; taking in the girl's eyes that seemed to wander across her making her feel uncomfortable in her work uniform and milk splattered apron.

The girl in question wore incredibly short shorts that honestly? How the fuck did they cover her ass? And a crop top that read ‘Bitchin’, the worst part being Leah didn’t even think she was wearing it ironically.

“What can I get you, Mam?” 

The girl barked out a laugh. “I’m like twenty-two. Please stop with the Mam I’m hardly a Golden Girl just yet.” 

“What can I get you?” 

“You realize you’re giving off like major murder vibes now, right?

“Please just either order a drink or leave.” 

Leah had been done with the day before it began. The news of her ex plastered over the T.V. ‘Jeffrey Gallanis caught with multiple minors’, her stomach that twisted so tight she found it hard to stand upright, the fact she had four essays due but needed to pay student fees so instead worked fifteen additional hours a week at this godforsaken coffee shop. Yes, this day was an utter shit heap.

“I’ll take a unicorn frappuccino, oat milk, an additional shot of vanilla, and a double chocolate cookie.”

Leah winced internally. That fucking drink. Her shop had decided to compete with corporations, offering stupid fucking drinks that took longer to make than painting the fucking Sistene Chapel.

“Of course.” She muttered under her breath. 

“Sorry what?” 

“What is your name?” 

“Fatin. F-A-T-I-”

“Yeah, no, I got it the first time. Your chaotic drink choice will be ready in six hours.” 


Leah had already turned; tackling the Everest that was this stupid fucking drink. All for what? An 'aesthetic' Instagram photo? She had half a mind to stir it slightly and mess with the girl's perfect image. Then again she did need this fucking job as much despair as that may cause her. 

“Order for Fatin?” 

Long acrylic nails wrapped around the cup and lifted it, taking note of the rainbow pastels and seemingly approving of her work, but then-

“You did use oat milk right?”


“Are you sure because-”

“I used the fricken oat milk.” Leah could feel her last cares of keeping this job seeping away as the rage to fucking bite the customer's head off took over. 

“Well aren’t you a bucket of sunshine.”

“Please either request a refund or leave. I couldn’t give a shit which you’d prefer, but I did use the oat milk.”

“Thank you for my drink-” She squinted at the badge. “Rachel.”

Leah recoiled. Fuck, she was wearing her roommate's apron, and as much as she didn’t care if she got fired at this moment she’d feel gut-wrenchingly bad if Rachel did. “My names not-”

The girl was already out the door. 





“You know if some dick pissed you off I will fight them.” Rachel rose a brow from behind her textbook. 

“Ugh I’m fine, but I may have been a little bit of a prick to a customer who was giving me shit because she ordered that fucking drink-”

“The unicorn one?”


“Oh, nah, fuck her.”

“Right? But then she had the audacity to come at me for thinking I didn’t use oat milk when I still had the carton out when she was collecting like what the fuck Rach?”

“Do you remember her name? I can totally give her shit if she pops back in. Fuck with her rainbow layout or something.”

“Nah, she was annoyingly ‘ugh’ as well. Just like, flawless in a way that said she was trying to tell every man in a 45-mile radius she was available. And fuck me her God awful slogan crop top.”

“You sure you didn’t want to fuck her Lea?”

“Oh fuck off. She was as straight as the day is new anyhow. Wreaked of Desperate Housewives of New York or some shit.” 

“You do attract the desperate ones.” 

Leah threw her apron at her roommate's head. “Remind me why I room with you.” 

“I’m great in bed.”

“You’re straight Rachel.” 

“True. Perhaps it’s my dazzling personality then.” 

Leah laughed hard. “Fuck right off.” She opened the cupboards. “You cool with spaghetti tonight?” 

Her roommate hummed. “Yeah, what would I do without you, my very own Nigella.”

“Well without me you still wouldn’t be eating much and without you, I’d still be a fucking whole ass mess.”

“Now you’re just a partial mess.” She groaned as a bit of spaghetti hit her straight in the forehead. “What? We’re both a little fucked up and that’s okay. It’s okay to be fucked up, especially with the shit storm years we had pre-college.” 


“Whilst you’re feeling mushy, my friend is over tomorrow to work on some assignments. Would you be cool cooking for an extra or should I grab take-out for us all?”

Leah paused. “Nah it’s cool. I can cook for an extra. I won’t be around much in between though as I have a date Martha set me up on but I can prep something before I go no hassle.” She would cook whenever possible. Though Rachel would order take-out she’d usually stall at the calorie content and end after just a few bites. Leah knew if she cooked things healthy and well that she’d finish a dish with little issue. The same way Rachel knew if Leah was having a hard week she would only stomach take-away fries and coffee and literally nothing else.

“Ugh if I was gay I would marry you.”

“Ew no. You’re so high maintenance, I couldn’t wife someone up who takes two hours in the shower.” 

“An hour tops Leah!”

She rose a brow. They both knew that was a steaming heap of bullshit.




“What can I get you?” Leah kept her gaze fixed on the counter until an all too familiar voice repeated that cursed fucking order. 

“A unicorn frappuccino, oat milk, an additional shot of vanilla, and a double chocolate cookie.”

Her eyes whipped up to an all too cocky plastic grin. 

“Actually, I’ll take two of the frappuccinos.”
She was definitely fucking with her. 

So Leah decided to fuck with her back, pulling out the regular milk and slowly pouring it into the cup. 

“I wanted oat milk.”

“This isn’t for you.” No Leah intended to make the orders for her next three regulars sat waiting patiently, kindly for her, passing them their cups and taking their money until the girl finally slammed her hand on the table. 

“Please can I get my fucking coffees?”

“Oh sure, why didn’t you just ask?” 

Ignoring the groaning in the background she made the drinks, grabbed the food, and set it on the countertop. “Have a great day. Mam.” 

The girl let her gaze roam every part of Leah’s body, that fucking annoying cocky grin returning to her face. “Thank you for the excellent fucking service, Rachel.” 

Fuck she needed to grab the right apron for once. 




This day was far better than the last. For a start; her date had gone exceedingly well and said girl was now on top of her, top discarded as she appreciated the lace of her bra from beneath. Megan? Melissa? Mary? Leah had entirely no clue of the name of the girl above her which was a first. She didn’t do loose, no strings no commitment; ever. She did intense, longing, panic, and jealousy. But with her shit heap of a weak behind her, Leah’s mind seemed to think it a good idea, and as she reached forward to hold her chest she thought yes, yes this was an epic fucking idea. 


Oh, yeah her name was Melissa.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

The girl was off her faster than they’d fallen into the bed and Leah was sat, top discarded somewhere in the room staring at some random guy whose face was red with a throbbing vein that really wasn’t attractive in the slightest even though he would have looked kind of sexy without it. 

“I- this isn’t what it looks like-”

“You’re a fucking lez now?” 

And Leah was so fucking done with this. She sat up looking for her top but she had no idea where it landed and that would be her worst decision today. Fuck she really loved that top.

“I’m not, this isn’t-”

“And who the fuck are you?”

Oh yes, he was staring her dead in the eye now which made her reach for whatever t-shirt she could find and held it against her chest, gripping it like a vice. 

“Uh, I’m-”

“Why the fuck are you fucking my girlfriend?” 

Oh shit. Shit holy fucking mother fucking shit. 




So that’s why Leah trudged home early, sans her favorite fucking top, fully prepared to kill a bitch. 

“Lea this food is insane man.” 

She heard the voice of her roommate carry through the hall, the faint chewing sounds of her consuming the Ravioli she’d made earlier with her study buddy filled the air. 

Instead of replying she walked to the alcohol cabinet, poured three shots worth of whisky down her throat in one chug, and let her head hit the counter groaning as loudly as humanly possible. 

“Date went well Leah?” 

Leah poured another shot, still not bothering to look up. 

“Oh superb, especially when her boyfriend walked in on us with my hands on her tits and totally fucking freaked out at me alongside being vaguely fucking homophobic.” 

She finally looked up and stopped in her tracks, a fresh glass of dry whisky in her hand. “Oh fuck my life.” 

Because there was the coffee girl, looking at her with a slightly shocked jaw with an all too amused glint in her eye. 

“Wait so you’re not called Rachel?”

“You know each other?” Rachel looked between them; brow furrowed as if staring at a complex equation. 

“No.” Leah finished, downing the rest of her drink. 

“Lea what the fuck are you wearing?” 

She stalled, looking down at the shirt that she’d picked up off the girl's floor and thrown on without a second glance. The worn text on the red shirt read MAGA 2020.

“Oh fuck no.” She threw the shirt over her head, not caring that she was now in a bra in front of coffee girl because she’d rather that than wearing that piece of shit. “That is the last fucking date Martha sets me the fuck up on,” 

“Do you want some pasta?”

“No, I’m going to die alone in a corner.” 




Work the next day was far less painful, Martha the absolute babe showed up an hour early as means of apology for, well, setting her up with a taken woman, and helped ease the load of her shift. 

“Ahh, if it isn’t the girlfriend fucker?”

She puased, looking at the girl who somehow made her blood run hotter than in Satan’s dick. 

“Genuinely, I mean this in the kindest way- fuck off.” Her words dripped with sarcasm, beyond finished with the conversation before it even began. 

“But we were enjoying each other's company so much?”

“Martha you can take this I’m off the clock.” 

She whispered a word of apology to the girl, heading out back to drag the apron off. Unfortunately, as she left the girl was propped up against the wall of the coffee shop waiting for her. 


“Why do you run so hot all the time?” The girl pushed a coffee into her hand and smiled. God straight girls had weird ways of befriending people. 

“It’s been a shit week, you order shit drinks, and as you said, I’m a girlfriend fucker. So, all in all, I think I’ve earned the privilege to run a little hot.” 

“Wanna grab some food? Pietro's is kinda good. Soften you up a bit, RACHEL.” 

“Oh fuck off.” Leah pulled at her denim jacket, sunglasses resting on her face as she continued to ignore the girl, walking straight ahead. 

“I’m serious. Come on. They do great Italian.” 

“I’m pretty sure that place is for people far richer than my college debt ass.” 

“It's on me. Come on, you just, you look like you could do with some good food and a moment away from shit.” 

“Why are you doing this?” 

A hand wrapped around her wrist dragging her across the cross-walk towards the restaurant that Leah was severely under-dressed for. 

“Because I’ve made you make the drink from hell time and time again, I probably owe you.” 

“You knew it was the drink from hell and you still ordered it?”

“Ugh, chill, it totes looked way cute on my insta.” 

Before Leah could regret it she was being pulled down into a table; a menu pushed into her face. She didn’t question how often Fatin came here, but by the fact she strolled in seemingly without a reservation, she was prepared to wager it was a lot. 

“I’ll get a water and the Spaghetti.” It was the cheapest shit on the menu and Leah wasn’t about to let this random girl pay for her share. 

Fatin tugged the menu from her hand, passing them both back to the waiter. “We’ll both get the Vegan parmesan penne with a bottle of the house wine to start.” 

She stuttered as the waiter walked away, looking into the emotionless face of the girl in front of her. “I wanted what I ordered.”

“No, you wanted to get whatever was cheap so you could pay. I said I was paying.” She held up a black card. “My father pissed me off so it’s on him.”

“I’m not vegan.” 

“No, but I’m super allergic to dairy so I’d rather not you have to stab me with an epi-pen as fun as that sounds.”

“You’re allergic?”

“To dairy, yeah.” 

“So that’s why you wanted oat milk?”


“Oh. I thought it was like that whole basic-”

“Leah, has anyone ever told you you’re blunt as shit?” 

She pressed her mouth into a flat line. “My mind can just be kind of loud. I don’t always realize I’m voicing it. Not that I regret it, but maybe I’d reword them. The thoughts that is.” Whilst Leah was one for voicing what she thought she sometimes wished she held more of a filter. Her mind worked overtime constantly pressing at the forefront of her brain with thought after thought trying to barrel out. Sometimes, airing a thought or two would release that pressure if for but only a second, and she would revel in that momentary blip of peace. The joys of OCD. 

“It’s weirdly hot.” 

Had she not have clamped her lips together Leah would have spit the first sip of stunningly expensive wine she just took in right back out on the pristine white sheet on the table. 

“Wait, you’re straight right?” Her hand drummed nervously on her lap out of view of the other girl; fearing she’d somehow misread this whole thing and shit she was wearing that 'The Shining' joke horror themed underwear Rachel had got her for Christmas. Fuck.

“Pan.” Hard eyes gazed back at her with no malice, but perhaps a tired line that said ‘why am I having to explain this yet again?’ “But don’t worry, not why I brought you here.” She focussed intently on the alcohol menu again. “I just figured you had a shit week, I had a shit week, and we can run up some money on my father's card.” She dropped the menu again. “How would you feel about the three course desert?”

The meal went by with relative ease, the girls moaning about every old guy that came in with a girl who looked fresh into college and by the tan mark on their fingers they were definitely married. They would woo them with their order, perhaps even going into the efforts to order in Italian or pronounce the soundings on the names of the French wines before swirling them around in their mouths and stating it tasted ‘woody’ or carried notes of citrus. Did it fuck. It was overly predictable but nonetheless hysterical to witness. 




After that weeks went by without a word, Leah never actually saw Fatin around and she wasn’t sure why that left a blip of nausea in the pit of her stomach. Somehow yearning for that slick hit of rage at her voice asking for another stupid drink. 




And then came the week she was dreading. The week where she had to testify against Jeff; knowing her face would probably be plastered over every damn magazine that week. The case was huge; after all there were eight girls involved, all of whom looked remarkably like Leah. Then there was the damning evidence of the book he had written about Leah, not even bothering to change her name for some imbecile reason. And it was for that reason she was the one the media suddenly clung to like flies on every surface; intrigued about the girl behind the book, the broken girl behind the case. 

It was all too fucking much. 

So she sat in her room, leaving only to shower. She messaged all of her professors who had obviously seen the news and wrote back with a pity she hated, yearning for them to actually refuse to send her work, or tell her to come in or just treat her like a normal fucking human. 

But to the world, Leah Rilke was no longer normal. 

To the newspapers, students, and masses in between she was broken. 

The ‘broken’ image of her crying outside of court because of course, they had to use that as the headline photo. Or the one of her getting pissed off and threatening to throw a reporter's camera; not her finest moment. Or the image she truly detested like no other. The one sneakily taken by a student in an aging book store. The image of her between the tattered stacks, staring at a copy of that book, that fucking book, her face red from tears as she stared at her name on the blurb. That photo she later decided; was definitely the worst.



“Lea, I grabbed take-out.” 

She trudged out in her sweats, grabbing a bag from McDonald’s, and pouring a shot of vodka. “We’re watching a movie if you want to join?” 


Fatin. She stared up at her with a look that pissed Leah the hell off. Perhaps not pity, but worry. So slamming the shot back she turned, pacing back. “I’m good. Enjoy.” 



Another week passed and Leah noticed Fatin over more and more. Running into her on the couch or in the bathroom. Still in whatever sweats and crop top she found on the floor that day. She would be embarrassed but she genuinely couldn’t care less, her worries too busy clouding the forefront of her brain; gathering their in packs leaving no room to notice her surroundings. Her sweats were comfy and hugged her as she slept fetal in piles of books under the covers, away from any and all life.



On that Saturday, Fatin graced their couch as usual, but this time Leah heard a faint knock on her door, assuming it was Rachel ready to drop coffee into her hands again. 

“Come in.”

The girl edged into her room; definitely not Rachel. 

“I uh, Rachel’s out grabbing food.” 


“Did you want to watch a film? We’re going with the new Wonder Woman and she said to ask because you’re apparently a huge nerd. Her words, not mine.”

“I’m not a nerd.” She was. Not so much a comic, marvel nerd but more of a powerful women obsessed nerdy feminist with a penchant for books and all things literature.

Fatin seemed to drift further into her room taking in the surroundings of fast food containers and numerous coffee cups strewn across the place like a hurricane had arrived in a fast-food joint. 

But then without warning she was strolling out and Leah thought maybe she was enjoying the comfort of another human for the first moment in weeks, only for her to leave, much like everyone else around the girl did. Ian, Jeff (Though that one was for the best), her parents, her ex.

And then the door was being pushed open again, the girl strolling in with a bag in her hands moving to rip the curtains open. 

Fuck it was bright out. 

Leah squinted at the unpleasant hit of light that shone into the cave she had quite happily created to dwell in like Frodo Baggins and yes maybe she was a slight fucking nerd. 

“You are worth more than this moping shit, Leah.”

She remembered her name. That was, well, unexpected. 

Fatin maneuvered her way around the room shoving all the trash into the bag, stopping to throw sweatpants and tops into the laundry basket in the corner, eventually picking it up with the hand not holding the overflowing trash. 

“Now I’m gonna chuck your shit in the washing machine if that’s cool? And you’re gonna come watch some Gal Gadot because she’s hot as shit and we all need more hot bitches in our lives okay?” 

“Okay.” Leah felt herself so entirely overtaken by the shock of what the hell was going on that she simply agreed.

“Grab a shower first. And for God’s sake change out of those fucking sweatpants, beige suits no one Leah. Crime against fucking humanity that pallet”

So Leah did. She traipsed into the shower, for the first time in weeks enjoying the hot spray and taking the time to actually use the conditioner which she knew was Rachel’s but kinda smelt like heaven. Afterward, she changed into some cute but comfortable jeans and an old band t-shirt, feeling herself slump into the smell of clean clothes and damp hair. 

“Coffee.” Fatin pushed the beverage into her hand as she sat on the sofa. “You’ve had a shit few weeks huh?” 

Ah yes, cutting right to the chase. Then again Leah appreciated Fatin’s no bullshit approach; it reminded her of herself. 


“I’m not gonna fuck around and get all mushy with you for some gal pal heart to heart because God that’d be annoying as shit. However, I’m here if you want to talk. I know personally how epically shit the media is, and whilst your situation is way, way fucking different to mine, I’m always here to chat when needed. Mainly so I can steal food from you both.” 

And it wasn’t annoying as shit. It wasn’t the pity and belittling voices everyone else gave her. It was level and matter of fact and Leah actually found herself appreciating it. 


“No problem girlfriend fucker.” 

“Oh fuck off.” 

“To be fair I’ve slept with my fair share of taken people. Either out of desperation or not knowing.” 

“Fair share?”

“I like sex. Sue me.”

“No judgment.” Leah sipped on her coffee, feeling the energy come back to her knocked-out body bit by bit. 




When Rachel finally came back with food she pretended not to notice them on the sofa, trying her best but failing to raise a brow at the freshly showered girl laughing at something the other had said. So she placed the food on the table and kicked her feet up with them hitting play on the film.




Mondays, Wednesdays, and Sundays from that point on became movie nights. Somehow shifting unspoken into all three’s routine, some nights Martha or Toni and her girlfriend Shelby joined. Other nights Nora or Dot slipped in wordlessly forcing them to watch documentaries that Fatin groaned at but Leah really fucking enjoyed; feeling absorbed into the questions held about The Cecil Hotel or global water shortage reasoning. It was those nights with Rachel lobbing popcorn at her face that she cherished, slowly pulling her back into her somewhat shifted realm of normality. 

Fatin would take her and Rachel out occasionally, dragging them to the club or a concert; paying on her father's card as always, running the bill up at any given opportunity. It was never spoken why she hated him; but after a quick google search- Leah Rilke would never truly admit to- she saw the images and headlines of Fatin and her mother, saddened or fleeing the house with her younger brothers in tow. Mr. Jadmani had a leaked dick pic that swarmed the internet, unfortunately also popping up in her search as she tried to close that tab immediately. That was something she truly wished to erase from her mind. Gross. 

But from that point on Leah understood her more, understood why her father never cut her off and why Fatin continued to blow the cash and fuck anyone she met while out. Fatin was similar to herself. Simply trying to escape from a past that sat there on the first six pages of a google search never to be truly erased.




“Can we watch Jennifer’s Body tonight?” Leah placed the sushi she had made in her mouth. 

“Megan Fox killing men and making out with Amanda Seyfried?” She paused to push the food in her mouth. “Obvi.” 

“What time is Rach back?” Leah went to pull out her phone, realizing she hadn’t bothered checking her texts most of the day. 

“She’s helping Nora out. Gal has a date with this cute ass math nerd Quint. Made for each other. The boy knows everything just like Nor.”

It made Leah smile, Nora was particular with who she socialized with, rarely letting anyone else into her bubble. It meant Quint was most likely a kind soul like the rest of them; and would fit into their friendship group with ease. Plus now she could finally tease the girl that made fun of her for going on a date with a taken girl for weeks on end, Nor had latched right on to Fatin’s coined name for her; the girlfriend fucker. 

“So it’s just us?” 

“Don’t sound so depressed about it. I’m the best movie company.”

“Fatin, you literally pause the film every five minutes and say ‘where do I know that bitch from?’ Then spend twenty minutes on IMDB trying to find out. That or Googling where their fucking outfit is from.”

“Hey! When I see jeans that fit, I will search high and low for those fuckers.”

“Whatever, I’m pressing play you’re forbidden from Googling shit.” 

“Whatever hoe.” Fatin curled up against her as had become routine. 

Leah wouldn’t admit it made her feel warm inside when the girl laid there, fingers toying with the hem of her sweater at scary parts or jumps. Though this time she gave in slightly to the feel; not worrying Rachel would shoot her a dirty ‘You are going to fuck I know it.’ look. So she let her hand rise up, playing mindlessly with the baby hairs at Fatin’s neck, slipping her hand deeper as she massaged her scalp, feeling peace in herself too at the repeated motions of her fingers. 

But then Fatin moaned. She knew it was a content moan, yet her fingers stalled and heat that hadn’t been there for weeks hit her right there. Whilst Leah had known for a long while she was attracted to Fatin Jadmani, this was a whole new level of oh fuck no

Letting her fingers resume she tried not to pay attention to the hands that normally toyed with her sweater now played with the open skin of her abdomen. 

She was doing so fucking well until Megan Fox and Amanda Seyfried started making out on screen. Then she was crossing her legs, shutting her eyes and doing her best to ignore Fatin whose breath had momentarily stilled. 

“Do you want a drink?” 

Fatin was up before she could figure out what was going on, the girl pacing in the kitchen as if she didn’t know what she was there to look for. 

“What are you after?” 

Her eyes widened as she remembered she was in the kitchen for a reason, after all, grabbing two bottles of water and chugging half of one before returning to drop the other on Leah. 

But as she sat back down she sat as far from Leah as possible, knees pulled into herself at the opposite end of the sofa and it pissed her off. Why was she not Fatin’s type? Was she that fucking bad?

So she sipped her water and painfully awaited the end of the film. 

She couldn’t just sit there. Soon she was off her ass and in the bathroom; away from whatever the hell that was. Leah’s mind did this thing that when she thought of a situation she would hyper-focus upon it, analyzing every possible theory, trajectory and issue. Like why didn’t Fatin feel comfortable around her? Did she fuck things up by playing with her hair when they were just friends? Did she pick up on the fact her fingers stopped when she moaned? Like, why the fuck was Leah stood pacing in the fucking bathroom? 

Though she didn’t notice, ten minutes passed, and soon a hand was banging on the door. “Lea, are you okay?” 

And it made her heart clench, the way her voice rasped, the way she heard her knuckles rapped softly. Everything about Fatin was annoyingly perfect, for some reason her mind now finding nothing to hold against the girl, instead reaching for things that didn’t even bother her when they bickered. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute.” 

Five minutes passed and she opened the door to a girl with reddened eyes, neck of her top stained dark with tears around the collar, shoulders slumped against the bathroom door frame.

“Fatin are you okay?” 

She nodded. “Leah,” She seemed to be weighing up something in her mind but then her fingers reached around Leah’s wrist, pulling her in slightly.

“Fatin, please just fucking kiss me.” 

And then lips were on hers, overly expensive acrylic nails scratching against her scalp as hair bunched in the girl's hands. 

Her lips tasted salty from the tears, something that made Leah’s gut wrench that bit harder as she pulled her in tight, moaning as a tongue slipped into her mouth.

But then everything was spinning, and hot and claustrophobic but in a way that left her craving more. In a way that deprived her of oxygen, she decided she no longer needed instead gluing herself to the lips of the other girl, impatiently slotting a thigh between her legs as Fatin’s hands explored higher up her sweater, running tentatively over where her bra should be, moaning when she realized Leah didn’t have one on. 

Fingers stilled as did Leah’s lips. “Fatin you can touch me.” 

“Leah I don’t want you to think that I-”

“Please just fucking touch me,” Leah bit the girl's lip harder than she intended. “Shit, sorry,” 

“Fuck.” And then Fatin was palming her breast in a way that felt all too perfect, pulling her down onto the sofa and straddling her before tugging her t-shirt and Leah’s sweater off. She looked up at her bare chest with an admiration that made Leah’s heart swell, meeting her with her tongue against her collarbone, trailing it down as Leah’s head dropped back.

Leah learned a few things that night. As her fingers curled inside the girl who clung to her every move she learned that Fatin Jadmani was very much a bottom. Tasting the girl she moaned her name in a way that friends definitely don’t do, their mouths meeting as she willed Fatin to taste herself on her lips. And by the way they woke up naked on top of one another, limbs entirely intertwined at two AM to the shocked gasp of Rachel entering the living room with a ‘I fucking knew it’ from Toni, she learned that Fatin who never, ever did sleepovers, had, intentionally or not, very much slept over. 

It left Leah with a dopey smile as she watched her make coffee in the morning, curled in the blanket Fatin wrapped her in while she thought the girl was sleeping.




What absolutely fucking sucked though; was the follow-up to come. One she should have honestly predicted because Fatin didn’t do strings attached sex, and a friend was strings in itself. That week Fatin missed not one but two movie nights. She heard Rachel arguing on the phone with someone in her room, yelling but not loud enough to make it out through the wall. She knew who it was and why. Rachel protected Leah like her own sister and she had very much noticed the moping wreck that was Leah Rilke, after the second Fatin had pulled her clothes on and hastily exited like she’d been burnt. 

But Leah Rilke wasn’t the fire. No, Leah was the casualty Fatin was apparently happy to wager a loss on. The fire was simply that night that Leah regretted like no other, because she knew by that night, staring at the twelve unanswered texts on the screen of her phone, that she had lost anything she had with the girl. After a week of silence, she blocked the number, deleting their previous chats too in an attempt to hide from the storm that was Fatin Jadmani.

“Leah I got you valentines take-out, and by that, I mean Subway, with strawberry milkshakes.” 

“I’m not hungry. Go ahead and eat without me.” She buried herself in her latest book assignment; pained by how bland the choice of storyline was. 

“Lea you need to eat. Open your mouth and put some God damn food in it.” 

She smiled, they both used that line when the other wouldn’t eat. They were weirdly identical in many ways. She knew if she replied not wanting it Rachel wouldn’t care, wouldn't make her do anything because she knew too, but the initial joking prod was there to try and break the tension without the sappy shit. 

“I’ll have some fries.” 


Rachel pushed the fries into her hand and watched as she ate them, swallowing as if it was a chore; which at that moment it most definitely was. 

A fist hit the door in the background and Rachel smiled. “Oh fuck yes, it better be that boy from the gym sending flowers, he knows my room and this girl needs some cute valentines shi-” Rachel stilled. “Get the fuck out.” 

“I just need to speak to Lea-”

“You do not get to treat her like shit, to throw her under a fucking bus and ghost her for weeks then show up here out of the fucking blue like-”

“Please Rachel. I just need to speak to her.” 

“No. Fuck no. Leave.”

Leah could hear it all, eventually walking to the door in her pajamas that had the cookie monster all over them which she instantly regretted seeing the other girl looking like a fricken runway model in a tight dress and leather jacket. “Rach I’ve got this.”

“You sure?”


Rachel walked away, turning the television down so she could presumably hear their conversation. 

“Fatin just leave.” The girl held out some chocolates and flowers that looked far too expensive for Leah to stomach. “No.” She folded her arms against her chest, stepping back just an inch and straightening her back so the other girl knew she was taller. “No you do not get to fucking do this. You do not get to sleep with me, then to fuck off not just like nothing happened, that I could deal with, but to fuck off entirely out of my life like you regretted every moment of it and to not bother replying to my fucking texts Fatin.” 

“Leah I’m sorry.” 

“No. You don’t get to do that. You don’t.” She knew by the raised voice that she was probably gesturing wildly at this point; Leah kind of went all out with arguments. “You left Fatin. You fucking ghosted me for weeks. I get if you thought it was a mistake or if I wasn’t your fucking type but just fucking say. Don’t throw away all of our friendship like that just because you fucked me like what the-”

She heard the sound of flowers dropping and then she was up against the door with lips on her own, Fatin going straight in with tongue and knotting her hands in Leah’s stupid fucking pajamas. “I didn’t ignore you because I thought you were a mistake, Leah.” Then lips were on her neck, biting at her flesh, Leah shooting a death look to her neighbor who had just come out to watch them make out at her door like the utter pervy frat bro he was. 

She pushed the girl away. “Then why the fuck Fatin?” 

“Because I’m into you okay? I’m incredibly head over fucking heels into you. And not like in like ‘oh that sex was hot’ which holy shit was it, but like like I want to fucking date you Leah Rilke. And yes I fucking panicked. I have never fucking dated anyone okay? I didn’t know what the hell to do or say, so I ran. It took me a week to figure it out but then I text you how I’m feeling and you ignored me? Like I know I fucked up but that was a dick move Leah.” 

“I blocked your number.” 


“You pissed me off and ghosted me Fatin, so I blocked your number.” And now there was a rage in Leah’s eyes again because this was not fucking on her. 


“Yes, oh.” 

“Look, can we please just watch a film. I brought food, and flowers and girly shit I don’t know what people give for valentines I normally just get mailed thongs by guys I haven't seen in months but that hardly seemed appropriate.”

“I could have done without knowing that.” 

Lips melded against her own again. “Can I please make this up to you?” 

“And me you bitch.” Rachel’s voice carried from the living room. 

“Could I please make shit up to you both?” 


Fatin seemed to bob her head but wavered at the threshold.

“You can come in.” Leah paused at the kitchen. “Why do these chocolates have my name written on them?” 

“Oh, I went a bit extra.” 

“Why does this one just say Gal Gadot?”

“Because you’re my Wonder Woman.” Fatin pushed that one into her mouth. “Actually we’re just pretending that I didn’t just say that shit.” 

“Because she’s your Wonder Woman?” Rachel barked from the sofa. “Oh, fuck no please go back to hating one another I’m not dealing with that shit.”