"oh," dominique says, "honey."
"yes?" lucy says mildly, turning around. she's in a crop top and boyfriend jeans, a leather motorcycle jacket thrown over her shoulders that she's not actually wearing. her earrings are twinkling little guitars today. they're probably something from an quaint, unknown shop. "hi, dominique."
"your style is improving," dominique tells her. she's dressed to the nines: velvet slip, silk bomber jacket, pastel ankle boots with a clear heel. there's a choker wrapped around her neck, her hair done in artful curls.
lucy smiles, something soft. "i like your dress."
"i like your tattoo." dominique struts closer. her strawberry-blonde hair had gotten coloured with pale blue bayalage. lucy doesn't touch it, but she does squeeze her shoulder when she gets close enough.
"i missed you," she confesses, and it's easy to get out. that's lucy: honest, comfortable, and a bit rebellious.
dominique ignores her, and reaches for the neckline of lucy's shirt. she tugs at it, getting a look at the watercolour tattoo curling around her collarbone. it's just a bunch of abstract strokes, done in a myriad of pretty colours. "when did you get this done?"
"three months ago," lucy says.
dominique nods; once, definite. "i like it." she steps back to look lucy over and she looks almost the same. she's still lucy, with her long red hair, and those freckles cast over her face and draping over her shoulders. she still has blue eyes for days, and legs for miles. she still looks too-thin, all sharp bones and long limbs, but she's fucking beautiful.
yet - there's a weight to her that wasn't there before she left. lucy isn't that free-floating, mellowed out musician who wrote all over her hands and arms until the ink bled into her skin. lucy's got a weight, a sort of heaviness, in the set of her shoulders. she looks older, more mature, and dominique half-wishes she hadn't gone to america. she wouldn't have missed this change if she hadn't gone.
on the other hand, she wouldn't trade the experience for anything. almost.
"i like your hair," lucy smiles, soft and lovely. it makes dominique's heart do funny things.
"you saw it when we flooed."
"it looks different in person."
"i think i look even more gorgeous in person," dominique tells her, a smirk curling her painted lips. "but, like, i always look gorgeous. so maybe only i can tell."
lucy laughs, the sound fading out to an agreeing hum. she reaches over and takes dominique's hand, and their fingers tangle together. perhaps hand-holding should be a delicate, adorably fumbling process. instead, it's easy and comfortable, something they've done a thousand times before.
"i guess i missed you too," dominique says, and lucy's smile is quick to grow.
lucy hums something - a high, lovely melody that describes how she's feeling, as her hums always do. then she leans over and carefully fits their mouths together, warm lips to painted ones, and dominique sighs into her mouth. tension drains out of her form when lucy squeezes the back of ther neck. dominique carefully curls her fingers around lucy's hip, the bone sharp under the creases of her fingers.
dominique hasn't missed much about britain, but she has missed lucy.
disclaimer: i don't own harry potter, rights to J.K. Rowling.
