Disclaimer: I own nothing, unfortunately
A/N: This is just something that popped into my head.
Break It Down With Joy
Miranda was pleased. Andy could tell in the unseen things: the way the air changed around her, the shade of her eyes, the marginal relaxation of posture. And that made Andy happy in a conspicuous way: in the width of her smile, in the excited spring in her step, in the thundering pulse sounding loudly in her ears.
"You're happy."
Miranda made no objection. "An odd feeling indeed."
The slightly deprecating tone made Andy want to reach out and envelop the editor. But, she hesitated. Theirs wasn't a physical relationship. As much as Andy wanted it, Miranda didn't. So, she gently bumped the shoulder walking alongside her and didn't widen the gap between them after the casual touch.
The soft look and slight smile Andy received in return made her chest ache with familiar pain. Inexplicably, in that moment strolling down a little known street in Paris alongside Miranda, she remembered a phrase she had read in a literature class she took her first year at college: you are the knife I turn inside myself, this is love. Her longing and desire sharpened against the chambers of her heart. She hemorrhaged love inside her chest, but didn't die. This, my dear, is love. "I love you."
"I know." The absolute certainty in Miranda's voice soothed the brunette.
Andy knew Miranda loved her, too. At the beginning, when Miranda had confessed she loved her and quickly laid out, in no uncertain terms, that they would not have a physical relationship, Andy had despaired. She had pushed Miranda until she had to choose between respecting the editor's decision or leaving. She had stayed. And then, she had searched for the physical part of a relationship in others. Only to find each time felt like a betrayal to the love she felt for a woman who wouldn't have all of her. Andy desired, longed, for only Miranda. And, her love was so encompassing that it was unconditional. So, she stayed and willingly accepted anything Miranda was willing to give, and gave the woman all of herself she would accept.
"I've realized something…" Miranda trailed off.
Andy waited patiently for her to continue, only slightly surprised at the hand that slipped into her own.
"You stayed." Blue eyes reflected the cloudless sky. "You'll stay."
Miranda tugged Andy to a stop.
Andy smiled bemusedly. "I could never leave." This love binds me to you. She unconsciously rubbed the space above her heart, feeling the edges of that love press tightly against her chest. It was painful but wonderful: a beautiful dichotomy.
"You're my best friend," Miranda said it reverently. Andy felt the rush of affection make her lightheaded. "I don't like the pain loving me causes you." She waved off Andy's interruption. "I don't want to be the thing that puts that untouchable sadness in your eyes."
Andy licked her lips and opened her mouth to protest, but Miranda spoke over her. "You make me happy. I was afraid of losing that. But, you won't leave. And, I'm ready to make you happy, too."
Andy didn't hear anything after that, her heart beating too loudly against her eardrums. But, she felt the soft press of lips against her own. It made the edges of her vision go dark.
"Breathe, Andrea."
It was the simple joy underlying the amusement that made Andy find soft lips again. Because, Miranda was the knife Andy turned inside herself. Because, Miranda cracked her chest open. Because, Andy would lie open and exposed if it were Miranda holding the knife. Because, nothing and nobody compared to the taste and feel of Miranda Priestly; she felt like joy and tasted of forever.
You are the knife I turn inside myself, this is love. This, my dear, is love.