Well holy shit, this is the longest chapter of the story so far. Now a few things... I had the song "Like a fool" by Crazy P playing on repeat while I wrote the bar scene in this chapter, so I dunno, check it out if you wanna. It's kinda funky.
Also, a bit of a Trigger Warning here: There's some mention of death.
Lastly, I wanted to say how grateful I am to all of you. I'll probably never get tired of saying it because you guys honestly keep me going. I've gotten so many incredible and touching messages that it is hard to convey in words how much they mean to me. Times are very strange and shitty right now, too, so I wanted to put out there that if there's anything any of you ever want to talk about no matter how personal you may think it is, I'm here. We shouldn't forget that to take care of others we have to take care of ourselves first.
Anyway... Enjoy!
It is a rainy morning in London. Placid. Gentle-sounding against the smooth stone pavement of the streets. The skies are painted a mild gray the same way it often is on clear, cloudless skies: plain and boundless, without a single trace of light bending into a different color.
Elsa walks looking ahead at the sidewalk she's treading on, oftentimes glancing up to take in her surroundings. These are the same surroundings she's passed through for nearly three months now; surroundings she is quite familiar with, but ones she can't completely regard as part of her life. She figures that five months are not long enough to call a place home. They may be enough to know your way around certain neighborhoods without a map; to have one, two or three favorite places to visit. To have a meeting spot with the friends you make, or know a few things about the way people live. But they are not enough, she thinks, to know the secret nooks and corners of the city, and develop a sense of being part of a whole.
They are not enough to not feel lost in yourself. Out of alignment; directionless.
It is complicated and so utterly simple at the same time. For Elsa lives her days with routinary ease. She wakes up, goes for a run—careful now, less impulsive—before making her way to the institute. She loves what she gets to do there, the technicalities of it as much as the practicalities. She loves the fact that she can immerse herself into doing exactly what she came here to do; to learn about the heart no longer through the lengthy, sometimes tedious lessons of a book, but through real people.
Yet... How complicated must it be? To feel as though everything makes sense except for herself. To love a city without so much as a second thought. To enjoy the walks amidst the plane trees of Green Park, or to lean against the rail of the Tower Bridge and look down at the murky waters of the Thames. To find herself increasingly looking forward to the strolls she takes through Covent Garden during the evenings with Sasha as her companion. And still, to come to love a city by means of seeking a distraction.
She wonders if it is all because she misses Anna or if there is something else, too. Something harder to decipher, something more hidden beneath her bare emotions.
She listens to the rain droplets hit the fabric of her umbrella in one continuous, subtle motion. She watches as her boots hit the thin layer of water coating the pavement, making no sound against the background of the rain falling on the city and the tires of the cars softly swooshing by. It is chilly, but not cold. Not for her at least. Still, she feels the need to cover her torso with her free arm. An involuntary action by now—it is a part of her.
Elsa is on her way to the institute, but has enough time to take a detour.
She nears the coffee shop on Midford Place before reaching its entrance in a few more strides. Inside, it is slightly crowded. Something about people looking for temporary shelter in a place that offers warm and soothing drinks.
She closes her umbrella and gets in line without checking the menu. Her phone rings inside the pocket of her coat and she pulls it out, frowning at the name on the screen. Elsa has always known Rapunzel was a night owl but this is a bit of a stretch. It is 2 AM in New York after all, but she answers the call anyway while her mind jumps to conclusions she has no time to consider.
"Rapunzel?"
"Hi," her cousin greets with a small voice.
"What's wrong?"
A sniff. "I just finished a really sad movie and I need comfort," she mutters.
Elsa stares at the back of the man standing in front of her. Seriously?
"You scared me, Rapunzel," she says, "I thought you were hurt or got yourself in trouble." I thought you'd set the apartment on fire.
"But I am... Elsa... the dog died."
"Oh."
"Exactly..."
There's more sniffing coming from her cousin's side of the line. She then breaks into a tiny sob before speaking again. "There's also something else I need to tell you."
Elsa's stomach drops a little. She moves forward on the line, forgetting for a moment what she had planned to order.
"What is it?" She asks, scared of the answer. There is enough silence on Rapunzel's side that she is already starting to consider another set of possibilities. Did Eugene break up with her? Does this have to do with Anna—
"Remember you told me never to set the toaster on high cause it would cause it to overheat?"
Her hand goes up to press the bridge of her nose in exasperation.
"Yes..."
A well of silence.
"Rapunzel..."
The brunette groans. Her voice is nasal when she says: "You know by now that I set it on high and that I burned the damn thing if I'm asking this question, Elsa. Don't make me say it..."
She takes another step forward, unable to keep herself from smiling this time despite the fact that Rapunzel has gone and done it again. How many times did she tell her not to set it on high? She should have left a sticky note on it. Should have hidden the toaster altogether.
"So what, no toaster until I get back?"
"I don't need your help to buy a toaster—"
"Only to keep it from burning—"
"Shut up. Anna's coming with me to choose one tomorrow."
There's only one more person in front of her: the man she's been staring at since Rapunzel's call. He's wearing a t-shirt, dark red and worn out. It has its tag sticking out and Elsa's hand curves into itself at the need to tuck it back in.
"Rapunzel, it's a toaster not a car. Do you really need a second opinion?"
"It's just an excuse. I like spending time with Anna," she says, "She's cooler than you."
"That she is," she concedes, smirking. "Just like Eugene is cooler than you."
"That he is not."
Elsa chuckles. She approaches the cashier and places her order: Earl Grey tea with a dash of milk and sugar. She finds that sugar in coffee is rather appalling but when it comes to tea, it complements it.
She pays and thanks the girl before stepping to the side, catching the last of Rapunzel's question.
"I'm sorry?"
"I said, where are you?"
"A coffee shop," Elsa states. It should be obvious given the exchange she just had.
"You go to a coffee shop to buy tea? God, what have they done to you..."
She rolls her eyes. "Nothing. I went through a detox that's all."
"You put yourself through a detox!?" Rapunzel screeches.
She pulls her headphones out of her ears before she goes to grab the to-go cup from the barista, giving him a smile and a mouthed Thank you.
"Not voluntarily, relax," she says, exiting the shop and opening her umbrella once more. She is waiting, as usual, to take her first sip. She scalded her tongue the first time. Never again.
"So you can go back to it then," Rapunzel suggests while Elsa resumes her way over to the institute. The detour to the coffee shop makes her walk more than is otherwise necessary, but the day is nice and she's chosen to treat is a such. As to her cousin's suggestion, she knows that one way or another she will go back to drinking coffee on a daily basis; it is everywhere in New York after all. The city runs on it just as much as it runs on electricity. But her time in London has broadened her taste when it comes to tea, and Elsa has no intention of dropping the habit any time soon.
"I'm scared of the jitters I'll get if I go back to it," she tells her.
Her cousin chuckles. "Wuss."
"Freak."
She waits for the light to change as she hears her cousin laugh. A black cab passes slowly by; its tires pushing the water back to a puddle by her feet before morphing into ripples that distort her own reflection. The light turns green, and she resumes her walking, careful to skip the puddle she then leaves behind.
"So... speaking of Anna..." She begins again, changing the subject. "How is she?"
Maple Street becomes University Street, and Elsa soon finds herself looking at the corner of the cardiovascular institute's building.
"Don't you guys talk like, every single day?" Rapunzel asks, failing to suppress a yawn.
"We do, and she tells me she's fine which I believe," she says, "But I just... want to make sure I guess."
Her cousin hums. "Right, well..." Silence fills the gap that she leaves in order to consider her answer. Meanwhile, droplets continue to fall upon Elsa's black umbrella while she waits for the last light to turn. "I think she's okay," the brunette says, "Though she does get spacey from time to time whenever we hang out, which is not as often as we would like cause she's b-u-s-y."
"Why do you say that like it's a bad thing?"
"It isn't, but the boss is kinda clingy. I forget his name... Franz, Paul, whatever—"
"Hans."
"Yeah, that dude. He calls her sometimes when we're all hanging out. I mean I get it, Anna's his assistant but damn... anyway it's always work related so don't get your panties in a twist."
Elsa frowns. "I don't even know what that means."
She spots Sasha entering the building. Their eyes meet and he grins before she gives him a small wave. She remains outside, sheltered by the roof of the entrance; her umbrella still high above her head and her tea yet untouched.
"You're so strange," Rapunzel mumbles, "How do you not—okay whatever, it doesn't matter. Just don't get weird ideas about Anna is what I'm saying. Franz is a bit weird in a way I can't describe and Kristoff doesn't like him even though he's never met him, but dudes, right? He's probably just jealous cause he's not the only himbo in Anna's life now... No wait, there's also Eugene..."
"Oh-kay..." Elsa has no idea what that means either—she is not a dude and has never dated one—and she has not the energy to correct Hans's name again. She tries to take a sip of her tea but the hot liquid doesn't touch her mouth. She is scared; of burning herself—of something else entirely, too.
"Anna is crazy about you," Rapunzel adds, "Probably crazier now that you're away. She misses you a lot, it's kinda cute."
Elsa lowers her umbrella slowly, the sharp tip of it grazing the waterhog mat they've placed to prevent people from slipping on the wet tiles. "I miss her too," she says, "And you, and everyone, really." Emotions are beginning to take a hold of her again and she fights them by closing her eyes and focusing on her breathing.
She ends the conversation by telling her cousin that she should head to sleep and that she has to get started with work soon. Neither of those statements are a lie. Rapunzel is up appallingly late and Elsa should head inside in the next few minutes if she wants to arrive on time. But it is also the unease that she is starting to feel that is causing her to say these things with sudden urgency.
She is desperate to escape it by burying herself in her work. Not the first, nor the last time this will happen.
And as she steps inside after finally having closed her umbrella and taking the first sip of her tea, Elsa thinks that getting weird ideas about Anna had never been—nor is it now—an option.
Unfortunately, she can't say the same thing about Hans.
Humans...
Do they ever take care of themselves the way they should? Elsa has found out: not often enough.
When asked, the answer is always a variation of the same notion. The idea of a placebo-like, left-for-another-day comfort. For it is easier to fall into the habit of not trying hard enough to take care of ourselves. We leave it for the next day and watch with indifference as they begin to stack on top of each other before accumulating into a pile made up of months and years. We allow our lives to stagnate like murky waters in a swamp—because there is always tomorrow. And tomorrow you will exercise, and tomorrow you will eat better, and do better, and think better. Tomorrow you will become a better version of yourself, and your body will be your temple, and your mind will attract what you desire.
But tomorrow keeps coming until it doesn't, and everything you had planned to do for yourself becomes nothing but one regretful, blurry memory for which you can do nothing but look back on when you know you're reaching the end. A mournful picture of the life you could have lived and all the things you could have done before it was too late.
Elsa has thought of this over and over again since she began med school. And as she stands in the middle of their tiny office set-up, with Sasha entertaining a little girl and chatting with a middle-aged woman before going over the details of their case research, she is hit with memories of her first year.
The cadavers. Nothing but empty shells of souls long gone—but souls... bodies... what is the difference in the end? When her parents left this world both concepts ceased to exist.
Elsa recalls the bodies they had to dissect during that first year. She in her green scrubs, washing her hands over and over again in the giant sink of the autopsy room, thinking that she couldn't do this; that she couldn't go through with staring at the body of another dead person again. Soulless. Lifeless. Anxiety kept running rampant through her veins, clogging them with fear, closing in on the pathways of her lungs.
She remembers her weak resolution, and her nauseating reluctance as she stood amongst a group of young med students who were asked to examine the body before even applying scalpel to skin. She remembers that he was a man of nearly sixty years old. A white-collar given his clean nail beds and his non-calloused hands. Clean-shaven; waxy, pale skin. She recalls the man's swollen limbs and how she came to—shyly, overly hesitant—guess right that this person had suffered from congestive heart failure.
That was the first time she ever thought of this question, and of every other that came with it. Did he have a family? Was he a good man to others? What was his life like?
It was during those times when Elsa encountered strangers that had come to the end of their lives that she was reminded that as an aspiring doctor, she couldn't just focus on how a person may have died, but also how they had lived. It had opened up an entirely new range of questions that constantly filled her mind from her very first year up until this point.
They filled her mind the same way they do now while Sasha goes over the description of the study with the woman and, by proxy, the little girl sitting on the other chair with her legs restlessly swinging about as they hover over the floor.
The research is simple: a study consisting of questions regarding medical history and current lifestyle. Data gathering and thesis construction on tendencies that lead to plaque building up inside the arteries until they begin to block blood flow. Nothing overly practical and nothing overly complicated to explain, which is why Elsa suggested that Sasha should be one doing it since the beginning. Elsa tends to speak mumbo jumbo when she tries to explain medical jargon to practically everyone except Anna. Why that is, she's never cared to understand.
They go over the questions with relative ease, only interrupted when Mrs. Davies turns her attention to the little girl sitting on a vinyl stool by the wall, sketching something on her notebook and singing under her breath. The leg that isn't propped on the chair keeps swinging back and forth; perhaps not out of impatience, like Elsa had suspected at the beginning, but out of self-restrained, youthful energy. She seems to be around nine or ten, her hair a dark blonde unlike Elsa's. She gives her a toothy grin every time their eyes meet, and Elsa returns it with a soft version of her own. Mrs. Davies is nearing her sixties and her hair is dyed with a brown that edges on black—a color now used for the sake of covering the gray lines that are starting to reveal themselves. She is the girl's grandmother, but neither Elsa nor Sasha inquire about the mother. It is not their place to know.
"We're nearly done, Mrs. Davies," Sasha announces. They are sitting behind the same desk Elsa once contemplated having to lie on for the sake of placing an ice-pack behind her thigh. She is doing the input of the answers while Sasha goes through the questions. Soon they will conclude the interview and take a look at a set of scans Mrs. Davies has brought along before sending her and her granddaughter their way. Sasha will lift his palm up, asking for a high-five.
But before they can get to that part, he pulls the scans out of a creased manila folder and his mood shifts the moment he looks at them. A faint frown comes and goes before the woman across from them can notice, but Elsa catches it with dreadful clarity. Mrs. Davies is distracted once more by her granddaughter just as Sasha leans closer to her.
"Look at this CT scan," he whispers, "The calcifications." He points at the scan but Elsa doesn't need guidance. She can see the white spots heavily scattered around the image that is meant to be her heart: a grayish smudge between two black shapes representing the lungs if looked from above.
Elsa knows what the calcifications mean. These white spots, she has seen them before, when she had yet to understand the meaning behind them as she looked at the X-Ray images hanging bright in front of her mother's hospital bed.
The walls around her chest cave in, pushing against her own heart. She bites her lip once before inhaling hard in an attempt to hide her reaction. Sasha doesn't see her true emotions and Elsa thinks that it is for the best. He doesn't know that both of her parents are gone. He doesn't know that her mother died of a heart failure and not in the car crash that took her father.
What he does know are the circumstances they're now facing. He knows how to interpret a CT scan correctly, and it is because of this that he understands the meaning behind Elsa's silent proposal before giving her a nearly imperceptible nod.
She leans across the desk in order to speak with Mrs. Davies at the same time that he stands up with an easy smile that he directs at the little girl. "What'cha drawing?" He asks her.
Elsa waits until he's stepped away to place the CT scan flat on the desk, showing it to the woman who now watches her with a curious expression.
"Mrs. Davies," she begins in a lowered voice, "Do you mind if I ask when you got these taken?"
The woman shrugs. "I don't know, luv," she says as she tries to recall the memory. "Some months ago, I reckon. Maybe more, maybe less."
"Right, okay..." Elsa watches as Sasha kneels in front of the stool occupied by the little girl. Lucy is her name; she will have a hard time forgetting it. She turns back to Mrs. Davies. "What did you get them taken for?"
"For some other study. They paid good, those lung doctors."
They may have paid good, Elsa wants to say, but they should have told you something was wrong. She is leaning more towards med students in this case because she thinks—hopes—that these people, whoever they may be, did not just look at her heavily blocked arteries and thought that it was okay to send her on her way without so much as a warning.
Elsa leans closer still. She thinks about giving her a smile but finds it impossible to feign it. "I'd recommend you take this to an actual doctor, Mrs. Davies."
"Why?" The woman asks, oblivious and confused. "Aren't you and that young lad doctors then?"
This succeeds in drawing a small smile out of her. How many times has Anna implied the same thing? And how many times after that has she said: "Not yet."
The woman's lips form a small 'o'. She appears surprised but not disappointed.
Elsa tries a more direct tactic. "This is something that should be diagnosed and looked at by a real doctor," she says, pushing the scan farther across the desk. "Do you see the white spots here? These are called artery calcifications. They can be pretty dangerous if they're left untreated for a while."
"But I feel fine, luv," Mrs. Davies states, pulling her handbag closer to her chest.
She nods, accepts this and continues: "The body can trick us like that sometimes, but things like these... they tend to go on for a while without any obvious symptoms."
They fall into a silence that is only filled by the conversation going on nearby between Sasha and Lucy. He is asking her if she has any more drawings she'd like to show him before she gives him an excited, albeit tiny yes. Elsa thinks for a moment that Sasha will make a great pediatric cardiologist one day.
Mrs. Davies is lost in the contemplation of her own heart, staring at the image with a hand grazing the dark surface of the scan. Her hands are worn and calloused; her nails are clipped short. How has she lived her life this far? What choices has she made that have led her to this moment?
"Is it bad, you reckon?"
Elsa's heart drops a little. She wants to say that the amount of white spots she is looking at can kill her. She wants to ask her to go see a doctor as soon as they leave this building; to think of that little girl whose head is perhaps full of dreams and far away from the mere thought of losing her grandmother. But she wills her mind to stay clear. She wills herself to remain professional.
"It could be," she states with difficulty. "Have you checked your cholesterol lately?"
The woman shakes her head. "Don't think I have. It is bloody hard to keep up with all these tests you people make me get for these studies."
"Okay... how about this. Why don't you go check your cholesterol levels as soon as you can and bring the doctor these scans?" Elsa suggests.
Mrs. Davies nods slowly, still looking at the haunting images of her heart. "I could do that."
"Good." Elsa gives her what she hopes is a reassuring smile before saying, "You guys are free to go now if you'd like."
This is heard by both Lucy and Sasha as the former leaps out of her stool with a wide, ready-to-go grin. She closes her notebook and turns to Sasha with her neck craned up before extending her hand with overt formality. "It was very nice to meet you, sir."
Sasha brings a hand to his chest as he turns to look at the blonde. His eyes are brimming with pure and unfiltered delight—he could cry.
Elsa rolls her eyes and smiles while the two shake hands. She follows suit as Mrs. Davies stands up, puts the manila folder with the CT scans back inside her handbag, and straightens the invisible creases of her clothes. A small sigh escapes Elsa when she sees the woman lift up her arm to welcome Lucy's embrace around her waist. She can tell she feels protected in the presence of her grandmother but the sight only breaks her heart.
When they shake hands, Elsa can't stop herself from covering their handshake with her left hand and emphasize that it is important that she goes to see a doctor as soon as she can. Mrs. Davies gives her a weak nod, understanding the gravity of the situation, before she thanks them both and gives them a dejected smile that Elsa will always remember.
She watches as they walk down the hallway while Lucy clings to her grandmother's waist and she finally understands, like a hunch—heavy and heart wrenching—that her grandmother is the person the girl cares about the most. But it is precisely this thought, combined with the images Mrs. Davies carries inside her handbag like dead weight, that suddenly make Elsa feel as though she can't breathe.
She feels like her entire being is closing in on herself.
"I'll be right back," she mumbles before walking away in the opposite direction, not bothering to stick around for Sasha's response.
Elsa reaches the restroom's door just as the first of her tears begin to make their way down her cheeks. A woman is standing in front of the mirror, reapplying her lipstick, and Elsa does her best to hide her face as she locks herself inside the nearest stall.
She pushes her back against the door, her face scrunching up as the tears finally break free from her eyes. Her chest is heaving in a desperate attempt to keep her sobs from making any noise while she brings her shaky hands up to cover her face. She feels weak, powerless; the white marks on Mrs. Davies's heart appearing once again on the back of her eyelids. The door to the restroom opens and closes before the space is engulfed in silence. She sees herself in Lucy, in her oblivion, and it's as though her parents' loss were happening all over again.
Another sob breaks through before her knees give out. Her tears continue to fall no matter how hard she tries to make them stop.
Somewhere, swimming below her consciousness, Elsa realizes that she has gone to the restroom wearing her coat. But more prominent still is the desire to have Anna right next to her. To feel the comfort of her arms wrapped around her shoulders, or her fingertips threading softly through her hair. She aches to feel safe once more in Anna's presence. To hear her voice, and to have her whisper in her ear over and over again that it will be okay even if Elsa feels deep down and with a heavy, broken heart that she has just gotten a glimpse of how Mrs. Davies is probably going to die.
It has been a semi lovely Monday so far. It's been rainy and productive, and minus the bathroom-stall breakdown, Elsa could consider this a decent way to start the week—optimism all the way.
Now, it may be true that Elsa spent the rest of her hours at the institute more quiet than usual; that she stepped out of the restroom with cleaned up, albeit red eyes, and her white coat hanging from the crook of her shoulder like a sign of defeat. It may be true that Sasha welcomed her into his arms without a single question; that he gave her the space she needed during lunch, but also that he treated her to an early dinner at a Thai restaurant in Fitzrovia for the sake of chatting about everything and nothing in particular. It may be true that this all succeeded in distracting her for the most part. She's had all these years, after all, to learn the art of suppressing her own emotions. Of pretending not that everything is okay, but that she needs to keep moving forward without dwelling on the traces of any emotion that may threaten to swallow her whole.
It may be true, as well, that she craves the comfort that Anna represents now more than ever. That she craves to hear her voice, and feel her skin, and get lost in the love reflected in her eyes. Because memories are no longer enough, and Elsa is starting to feel like something is shifting inside of her. A distortion of sorts fed by insecurities, grief and longing; fed by circumstances outside of her own control.
But what is left for her to do?
Keep moving forward.
She arrives with Sasha at the dorms with her blonde hair covered in the fine droplets of an incessant rain that has been falling upon London since last night. It was Sasha's idea to walk in the rain without an umbrella—a reckless, sort of genius idea that reminded her of Anna in a way. Her girlfriend had a thing for leaving her umbrella at home on purpose, always saying that she'd forgotten to check the forecast until Elsa began to realize that even if the sky were colored a dark gray akin to doom, Anna would still leave her apartment without it.
Elsa hadn't understood, until she did.
Walking in the rain feels like an emotional cleanse, and it makes Elsa wonder if that is precisely why Anna does it. It forces you to focus on nothing else but the feeling of cold water falling upon your face as it slowly begins to seep through your clothes. It is about ridding yourself of the thought that being unprotected from the rain is an inconvenience, because eventually you will dry yourself off, and eventually the rain that once was will no longer be.
She runs her hands through her hair once, smiling a little as she does so. Sasha doesn't hug her goodbye this time but instead gives her the high five he didn't get to have after Mrs. Davies and her granddaughter were gone.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he tells her with his signature, charming smile.
Before going up to her room she goes to the lobby desk and asks if there is any correspondence for Elsa Anderssen. The girl sorts through the office basket and pulls one envelope out of the pile. It is lightly smudged with three USPS stamps on the front and another one with the face of the Statue of Liberty on it. The last one of which Elsa suspects Anna used for decoration purposes.
Her smile broadens at the sight of it. She then makes her way to her dorm room, finds no one inside to greet, and sets to pulling out of her drawer the dry clothes that she takes with her to the showers. She is practicing self-control here, keeping herself from tearing open the envelope's seal while she is still wearing a sweater that feels glued to her skin and jeans that are turning her thighs into two blocks of ice.
She showers quickly as she tries to focus on the positive events of the day, letting everything else wash off her like the water cascading down her body.
Once she is back inside her room she finds her roommate already there, which makes her take her laptop, a book and Anna's postcard down to the common room.
Downstairs, Elsa finds an empty table near the farthest end. Being a Monday, most sitting areas are occupied by students working on assignments or studying, but Elsa won't be doing any of those things tonight. She will read her girlfriend's postcard; she will catch up on the adventures of a certain young girl named Lily Owens; and she will wait for Anna's video call.
The card Anna has chosen this time draws an unexpected chuckle out of her. It is so simple. So... New York. The back of it is, predictably, covered by the redhead's messy, yet stylish handwriting:
I know what you're gonna say...
Anna, you couldn't have chosen a more cliché postcard?
Why no, I couldn't. What's more classic than the I heart NY logo?
Moving on, I've decided to make a list of all the places I'm gonna take you to when you come back.
I'm searching for inspiration everywhere I can because one of my biggest sources is off in London
researching all about atherosclerosis (I had to look that up to make sure I was spelling it right).
And speaking of that. Have I told you how proud I am of you? I'm sure I have but I'd like to remind you.
Theo told me recently to remember why I started writing, and I think it's fitting to pass on the message.
So when you feel off, try to remember why you ever started in the first place and why you continue everyday...
I will always have your back, Elsa, and I will always be there for you when you're feeling down.
You're my heart, after all. And I can never leave my heart behind no matter how far she may be sometimes.
Yes you might say: Anna that doesn't make sense. But I don't care. It does to me.
I miss you every moment that we're not together...
and I LOVE YOU, you sexy, intelligent, kindhearted woman.
-A
Elsa's face is adorned with a smile from start to finish. She feels like her chest is blooming; the weight on her shoulders easing up a little with every word scribbled by Anna's hand.
The minutes pass before they turn into hours. Two: That is how long Elsa waits for Anna to let her know that she's arrived home and is ready for their video call. Up until this point she has allowed herself very little opportunity to let her mind idle, and by the time her girlfriend's face lights up the screen of her computer, Elsa is more than ready to give herself a break.
"Hey you," Anna says.
She is all cheeky smiles and bright eyes as she settles herself on top of her bed still wearing her office clothes, only then pulling at the tie constricting her hair and letting it fall freely over her shoulder. Elsa follows every movement with close attention, wishing with every fiber of her being that she could run her fingers through Anna's hair.
"Hi, sweetheart," she responds, her voice soft without being weak.
Anna lies fully on the bed, her elbows propping her up in front of the computer. "How did research go today?"
Elsa considers lying for a moment but she can't bring herself to pretend like everything went well. Not with Anna.
"It was a little overwhelming," she replies honestly.
"Why? What happened?"
She pauses before giving an answer. How much of it can she say out loud without dragging herself back to that moment?
"We had a lady and her granddaughter come in today for the study," Elsa begins, "The interview went as usual but she showed us some scans of her chest and they were..." She takes a forlorn breath. "The calcium levels were high on her arteries. She had a lot of blockage..."
"Oh," her girlfriend breathes. "That's not good at all, is it?"
Elsa shakes her head slowly. "It could lead to heart failure," she mutters.
"That's..." But Anna doesn't finish the sentence. Elsa knows exactly what she was going to say, so she nods. That is what took her mother's life.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Anna asks her instead, her voice tender; full of love. "Or I can distract you, too. Whatever you need I'm all up for."
This girl, Elsa thinks, what did she ever do to deserve her?
Still, she doesn't believe that discussing Mrs. Davies's frail heart will do anybody any good. So she decides right then, hoping—nearly praying—that Mrs. Davies follows her advice. That she gets to see a doctor and that when she does, it isn't too late. That her heart is strong enough to endure many more years and that Lucy, her granddaughter, doesn't get to experience for a long time what Elsa did.
"Can we talk about something else?" She says, "I feel like I've drilled a hole through my mind thinking about it all day."
Anna grimaces. "We don't want that. Your mind's a national treasure."
She manages a smile. "No, yours is."
The redhead flips her hair in feigned vanity. "I'll take that."
Elsa laughs at this. It feels liberating.
"Oh, I know what I can tell you!" Anna continues, "I went off on someone at the party on Friday."
"What?" She leans closer immediately. "Why didn't you tell me that sooner?"
"Time zones, baby. And we both got busy."
Elsa begins to recall her weekend then. She'd gone on a trip with the group to the Tower of London before going to see the Phantom of the Opera at Her Majesty's Theatre. She remembers half of her colleagues groaning at that, one or two people mumbling that they had already seen it on Broadway. Anna on the other hand had spent most of her waking hours searching for inspiration, writing tids and bits, going through her old journals. She'd had dinner with Kristoff on Sunday night, too; all of which had made Elsa glad.
"Okay... so what happened then?"
Anna tells her everything from the moment Lauren approached her at the party to her fixation with a chocolate fountain she never got around to trying out. She describes Mr. Frank as a rather hideous, gross and misogynistic person, and Elsa's blood boils at the thought of somebody, anybody, leering at Anna the way he did. It isn't jealousy, nor is it possessiveness what goes through her mind. It is anger; a pure surge of outrage directed at a man capable of thinking that he had a right to disrespect and look down on Anna simply because she was a woman. And although she admits that Anna's reaction could have gotten her in serious trouble with Hans, Elsa is still unable to keep herself from blurting out—
"Good."
"Wait, what?"
"I said good. I'm glad you told him off, and I'm proud of you for doing that."
"But it was scary," she admits.
Elsa hums in agreement. "What did he say afterwards?"
Anna blushes. "I don't know I walked away really fast."
The blonde bites her lip as she tries to suppress a giggle. There's a mental image being created in her mind. Now that she knows Anna's job is not on the line, nothing remains but the humor of this ordeal.
"It's not funny," Anna says even as her smile grows.
"It kind of is," Elsa giggles.
Her girlfriend gives out a small laugh that turns into a deep, weary groan. She goes to cover her face with her hands. "I just need a vacation, I swear."
"Come to London then."
Anna stops halfway through dragging her palms down her cheeks, leaving her lips puckered and the skin below her eyes sag. It makes for a lovely sight, really. Just gorgeous.
"My parents want to come and spend Thanksgiving here," Anna mentions.
Elsa opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again. "That's—" Definitely not what I expected to hear "—that's good, right?"
"Are you kidding? I haven't seen them since the whole graduation fiasco and the Rapunzel breakdown. It should be good and fun, and by good and fun I mean awkward."
A chuckle. "It will be okay, Anna. At least they know where you stand. And you did mention that things were getting a little better now."
The redhead shrugs with discouragement. It leaves an indentation on the mood that was present in their conversation only moments ago. It is then that Elsa chooses not to bring up London again.
"You know what's also next month?" Her girlfriend asks in an attempt to change the subject.
Elsa sighs. She knows the answer; it fills her with a dreadful sadness that shouldn't be there in the first place.
"It's our anniversary," she murmurs.
Her girlfriend nods with a soft expression while Elsa catches from her peripheral vision somebody approaching. A guy points at the empty chair across from her and asks her if she's using it. She flashes him with what she hopes is a genuine smile before she shakes her head. The moment acts as a stabilizer. It clears the air a little.
"I can't believe it's only been a year," Anna says.
"Has time dragged that bad for you?" She asks, teasing.
"No," the redhead drawls, "I just feel like it's been longer than that... I feel like I've known you my whole life."
The statement pulls a sigh out of her. It softens her—changes her entire mood. Like the reassurance of everlasting love she didn't know she needed. Is it possible that things like these could be real? To feel like you've met someone in previous lives, reconnecting with them over and over again like two souls never meant to be apart?
Elsa gazes into Anna's eyes and catches the familiar glint in those teal-colored pools of hers. It is in them that she finds her answer.
"Maybe we have..."
Anna grins. "But we haven't."
"No," she says, "I mean literally we haven't but maybe—I don't know, in a way we always did? And that's why when we met something just..."
"Clicked."
"Yeah..."
The redhead gives an expression that is easily read. She understands.
"Are you saying we were meant to be together?"
The blonde covers the side of her face with her hand, blushing. "I don't know what I'm saying," she laughs, "It probably sounds like a bunch of cheesy nonsense."
"It doesn't," Anna states. Her voice is soft yet serious, and Elsa realizes right then and there that this is something she has always thought to be true.
They fall into a brief silence that is not uncomfortable. Elsa catches people roaming about the common room but none of it registers in her mind. She is far too focused on the way her girlfriend tilts her head and looks her straight in the eye.
"You know the first thing I'm gonna do when I see you again?"
"What?"
A beaming smile suddenly breaks across Anna's features, lighting up her whole face. "I'm gonna hug you really, really tight and never let go."
Three weeks go by as time settles heavily into November. The days are starting to become shorter and constantly rainy. The air is getting colder and the skies are beginning to loom above the city in one engulfing, single-toned mood.
None of this has a negative effect on Elsa if she were being honest. She's come to relish the lower temperatures of London's fall the same way she does with New York's winter. It is as though they encapsulated a feeling of deceleration—a stillness in time. As if everything and everyone slowed down the same way snow falls and hits the ground.
Then again, this weather isn't for everyone...
"I hate this," Sasha mumbles, his chin burying itself deep into the navy blue fabric of his scarf and his hands looking for shelter inside the pockets of his coat.
The group is heading to the British Museum today, led by Professor Park and Tracy all the way at the front. They all have umbrellas hooked on the back of their elbows or inside their backpacks, and all of them are wearing layer upon layer of fabric as if they had not come from New York knowing a thing about cold weather. They are all standing between Elsa and Tracy too, even if, every so often, Elsa catches the brunette's eyes; keen and indecipherable.
Elsa has seen her every weekend for the past few months, and every other weekday, too, but it is rare that Tracy approaches her at all without the intention of asking her something that is not related to the trip. It is so rare in fact, that if it weren't because Elsa keeps finding her intently staring during trips like this, she would think Tracy was not interested in her anymore.
It is an irking sensation; one she chooses not to dwell on for the sake of her own sanity.
Or so she tells herself...
"I say we ditch the group and go get a nice, steamy cup of tea," Sasha suggests in a lowered voice.
Elsa chuckles before elbowing his arm.
The British Museum is an imposing, long-withstanding symbol of humanity's footprint on the history of the world, and once the group of twelve pseudo-adults, one questionable adult and one real adult enter through its gates, Elsa takes everything in with one sweeping glance.
She looks around at the nearly colossal space that is the Great Court while most of the group shakes off the tension that their bodies had accumulated during the long—but not really—walk here. She looks up at the glass ceiling that opens up to the overcast, gray sky, and then down at the people roaming about like lost souls in Dante's Limbo. She follows the group towards the entrance of the Egyptian gallery as she vaguely listens to Professor Park's instructions: They are free to join a guided tour or to explore the museum at their own pace, but they must all meet by the exit in three hours. Sasha hands her a map while she thinks that a guided tour has never been her thing, and that three hours are not enough for this kind of place.
She sees Tracy walk off by herself while Professor Park and a few other students begin to trail after a tour guide, but smiles when she finds Sasha walking next to her and into the gallery. For being an extrovert, he seems to have learned quite well when she needs solitude and when she is up for some company. Like a radar that only the people closest to her end up developing.
They explore Egypt together, then the world of Alexander and the Assyrian empire. Sasha gushes about almost every sculpture, constantly in awe, in enthusiastic astonishment. Elsa takes her time reading the descriptions, learning about the emperors, the goddesses and the gods that once reigned over entire civilizations. She checks the map every so often, always catching the phrase printed on its front.
Two million years of human history and culture, it reads.
Stolen or burrowed? She thinks.
They run into Tracy somewhere by the Chinese Tomb Guardians after losing Sasha twice and taking a bench break in front of Native America headdresses. They find her alone and engrossed in the glazed ceramic figures that once belonged to the Tang dynasty—according to Elsa's map.
Sasha pats her shoulder with urgency even as the brunette senses their presence and turns around, giving Elsa no time to swat his hand away.
She approaches them slowly, her eyes dancing between the two before focusing on the blonde.
"How are you guys liking the museum?" She asks.
"I love it," Sasha states while Elsa only nods.
The girl chuckles before biting her lip. It is the first time Elsa sees her doing this; a gesture that isn't meant to be suggestive but rather a telltale of the girl's nervousness.
"Are you guys joining the rest of the group later today?"
"For what?" Elsa asks.
"They're going to a pub," Sasha chimes in, giving her a sheepish grin when Elsa looks at him. The first thing she realizes is that he wants to go; the second, that he will try to convince her to go; and the last, that he will most likely succeed.
Tracy smirks the moment she understands their silent interaction but doesn't add anything else. She tells them that she will see them later and with a final glance in Elsa's direction, she walks away.
"She likes you," Sasha says when she's out of earshot.
You don't say. "So it seems," she replies coldly.
They begin to walk at a slow pace again, spending little to no time studying the rest of the objects in the room.
"Does she know you have a girlfriend?"
"She's met her."
Sasha's mouth goes agape. "But she's not actively pursuing you is she?"
"Seems like not anymore."
He crosses his arms, narrows the grayish blue eyes behind his spectacles. "That's sketchy."
She can only nod.
The three hours are up soon after they conclude their tour. They continue to act up the role of tourists for a couple more hours before Professor Park releases them. For a moment, Elsa considers the idea of having tea with the professor so that she can soak up some of her medical wisdom, but the mental image is so bizarre that she pushes it as far away from her mind as she can. It is best to socialize with people her age, she figures. Fake it til you make it, Anna would say. Even if that means joining the group on a hunt for alcohol that leads them straight to a place called The London Gin Club.
Gin... Elsa doesn't recall the last time she had it—if at all—, but the place is warm and inviting with its vintage signs hanging all over its walls, and the jolly people enjoying one more weekend of their lives.
They're barely looking at the menu and Sasha is already having the time of his life; his shoulders bouncing up and down, his smile wide from ear to ear. This is the kind of environment he thrives in: the energy of dozens of strangers reinvigorating him the same way a quiet afternoon in the library does so for Elsa.
More than half of the group has come along, including Tracy, but Elsa doesn't pay her any mind this time. She's resolved to have a good time tonight no matter how much longing her heart may be filled with, and no matter how much she still wishes a certain someone were here with her.
"So what are you getting?" Sasha asks, his eyes twinkling with mirth.
Elsa looks at the menu as they settle themselves by the bar. She could go for wine as usual... but what the hell, this is a gin club.
Let her have tonight, if only for a while.
"The eighteen-eighties' Gimlet," she decides, her voice mixing in with the sound of the music and the conversations all around her.
Sasha cups his mouth before hollering, "Eighteen-eighties' Gimlet comin' right up!"
The blonde laughs at this as she watches him order the drinks with an ease that is almost enviable. She is beginning to let loose of the tension that often builds up whenever she's surrounded by a crowd.
Her phone vibrates inside the pocket of her black pants and she pulls it out while simultaneously accepting the cocktail that Sasha hands her over. It is a text from Anna that makes her smile, containing three simple sentences: Have fun, I miss you, and I love you.
"Anna?" He asks, smirking.
Elsa nods as she types a response. She hesitates for a second before pulling the phone away from her face and pointing its front camera at herself and at Sasha. A selfie. That is what people do in occasions like these, right? The picture she ends up sending to Anna has her smiling and Sasha making a weird face behind her. That will do. It states their blossoming friendship rather well.
"So when is she coming?"
"She's... not," she says, putting her phone away with a frown. "I'm sure she would have mentioned something already."
Elsa doesn't want to talk about this tonight. She doesn't want to accept that the memories she expected to create in London with Anna will remain nothing more than wishful thinking.
Sasha pouts behind his glass just as Elsa goes to try her own cocktail. It is strong. Very, very strong.
Sweet mother of G—
"This tastes like nothing."
She stares at him.
"What? It doesn't."
The cocktail does taste like something, but Elsa drinks it all anyway. She drinks one before Sasha orders another round that goes nearly as fast as the first one. It is the conversation, she tells herself, or the feel of the room; the communal energy; the music. It is something that overtakes her until she goes to the restroom and the realization hits her right in the face: She is tipsy. As. Hell.
She walks back to the bar with this newfound, tiny fact about herself only to find another cocktail waiting for her. It draws no reaction whatsoever. She knows her limit and she has not reached it.
Give her another cocktail after this and she probably will.
They cheer to something—whatever it is, Elsa forgets it as soon as it's left their lips. She sips more slowly this time, conscious of her current state, and mildly convinced that she should probably order water. She forgets this, too. They discuss London before making plans to travel all over the world once they become doctors and then retire. They will go to Thailand, they say, and then to Japan, and then all the way up to Siberia where Sasha's mother was born. They will go to Norway and Sweden and a few other countries that Elsa won't recall in the morning.
"We're gonna be like those old, cute couples that travel the world and then make it to the national news or some social media thing," Sasha gushes, "It'll be you and Anna, and me and my future husband."
Elsa nods excitedly before she takes another sip. The drink doesn't taste as strongly, and Elsa wonders if the bartender has been putting less amounts of gin in each cocktail. She observes him suspiciously for a moment, her blue eyes glassy below her frowning brow.
It is then that her gaze finds Tracy again sitting on the farthest side of the bar, talking to a few people from their group. She appears to be retelling a story—making herself the center of attention. This is something Elsa has often noticed; the way everyone in the group seems to gravitate towards her like the cool kid in school everyone wants to be friends with. It makes Elsa wonder if there is something she is not seeing.
She probably didn't flirt with them to the point of exhaustion.
That must be it, yes.
Tracy's eyes connect with her own.
"Speaking of future husband—"
She whips her head back to Sasha.
"Look at that guy over there," he says lowly, his head nodding imperceptibly at another corner of the bar. "He's been staring this way since we got here."
Elsa cranes her neck to take a better look. Subtlety has flown out of the window tonight.
"What makes you think he's looking at you?" Elsa asks, teasing.
"When a gay knows, he knows."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"You wouldn't know, you're a lesbian."
"Rude."
Sasha bites into his lips. She can see in his features the desire to go up there and strike a conversation. And really, who is Elsa to deny him that?
"You should go say hi," she says.
His eyes widen. "I'm not just gonna leave you here."
It's the perfect excuse, if she's being honest. She can just finish this cocktail and call it a night without feeling guilty about cutting Sasha's fun short. The gin is starting to get to her good. She needs to take a nap. And eat pizza. And call Anna, maybe.
"I'm not a kid, Sasha," she mumbles, lovingly patting his chest. "I can take care of myself while you go do your... man business."
Her friend wiggles his eyebrows at her and she grimaces. She doesn't need the mental image. He laughs out loud before dropping a chaste kiss on her cheek and mumbling, "You're the best," and "I'll be right over there if you need me."
And with that, he is gone.
Elsa pulls out her phone with the purpose of texting Anna but somehow ends up going through her pictures instead. She goes back months, lingering on the ones where Anna is present. There is one taken in Central Park, with the redhead sitting on the grass, her eyes closed while her features bathe in the summer's warmth. Elsa skips in time, landing on a picture of her girlfriend holding a sandwich and smiling through a mouthful. "You look like a chipmunk," she remembers telling her. "A very happychipmunk," Anna had said. There are photos of them together in many parts of New York: an evening in Bryant Park, a walk by the Hudson, a dinner in the West Village. These places are seared into Elsa's mind in a way that will never allow her to look at them without reminiscing the times when she was the most happy.
She then lands on a picture her girlfriend once sent her while Elsa was in class. Anna is winking at the camera as she lies on her bed, wearing a loose tank top that shows off her freckled collarbones, its fabric thin enough that Anna's hardened nipples can be seen through it.
Elsa stares at it; gets lost in it. The things she would do to Anna right now if she were—
"Here."
She slams her phone face down on the bar, scared out of her wits.
Tracy is standing by the stool Sasha has left unoccupied. She's staring at her with bemusement, still touching the glass of clear liquid she's just placed on the bar.
"What is this?" Elsa asks, putting her phone away while heat continues to rise in her cheeks.
"Water?" Tracy's smile grows before it turns into a smirk. Dear God she knows.
Still, she pretends to eye the drink with suspicion.
"Seriously, Elsa? You may think I'm an asshole but I would never do that to anyone, especially you."
"I never said—" She stops herself. Has she ever called her an asshole? She doesn't remember—Yes, you have, just not in her face.
Tracy's smirk leaves her completely. Hazel eyes focus on her before she asks: "Do you really think that little of me?"
Elsa sighs. She reaches for the glass of water and takes a big gulp. It is refreshing and much needed, although she will deny this to anybody who asks.
"Thanks," she mumbles.
The brunette nods. She then drums her knuckles against the surface of the bar, looking everywhere that isn't the blonde sitting next to her. She may be searching for something to say, who knows? Elsa has no clue.
Is it getting louder in here or is that just the alcohol?
"I see you were watching me," Tracy says nonchalantly.
"It's what I do." You sound like a creep. Stop she's gonna get ideas.
"Should I be flattered?"
"No."
Tracy throws her head back in a laugh so unexpected that it throws Elsa off balance. Does this girl just enjoy being rejected?
"Okay, you know what, I need to ask," she blurts out.
The brunette waits, her hand reaching for a lowball glass that Elsa hadn't seen until now. She searches for the water without looking and her hand comes back with her Gimlet cocktail. She stares at it.
This will do.
"Ask what?"
"Hmm?"
"You said you needed to ask," Tracy says, arching her eyebrow.
Oh, right. She nods once, utterly serious. "I want to know what you want," she says, "I made myself clear and you seem to have gotten the message but somehow you didn't so I want to know exactly what you want from me." She feels as though her words are tumbling out of her lips without checking in with her brain first.
Tracy bites the inside of her cheek as she carefully places the glass back on the bar.
"You're pretty smart, Elsa. I figured you would have known by now."
The blonde glares at her, or tries. Her eyelids feel heavy.
"I just wanna be friends that's all."
That is highly unlikely to ever happen, she thinks, but something in the seriousness of her statement makes her feel like Tracy actually means it. It keeps her from giving out a snarky reply at least. Does that mean they'll become actual friends? Well, it feels a little too late for that now.
"You should drink that water," Tracy suggests, "I think you've had too much gin."
She closes her eyes tightly. She feels woozy. "I think I have."
"Finish the water and I'll call you a cab."
She could chug it, she knows she can, but the idea brings up a distasteful grimace that she is unable to conceal. She'd probably barf if she tried.
"What are you drinking?" Elsa asks in a mumble.
"Whiskey."
"That's gross."
Tracy snorts. "It's a matter of taste. The first time I tried it I was in Ireland and it knocked me out so hard I spent the next day in a crampy hostel bed."
"You've been to Ireland?"
She nods, tilting her lowball glass, sipping from it. Her hand goes up to push her hair back in one swift motion, and Elsa sees the three helix piercings on her ear before catching her scent again: sandalwood without the nicotine. "Backpacked it all the way from France to Ireland once," she says.
"That's," Elsa frowns, not believing what she's about to say, "That's really cool."
"It's what I do," the brunette says with a smile, mirroring her own words.
Elsa goes silent. She has no idea what else to say. She wants to finish the water, go back to the dorms and pass out thinking of all the ways she could be kissing Anna right now.
"So tell me about Anna."
"Why do you wanna know about her?"
"Because she's your girlfriend."
It is so hard to think right now Elsa doesn't even try. The music seems to be blasting through the speakers of the bar. The conversations are getting louder somehow. Is there a level between tipsy and drunk? What is buzzed? Does that go before tipsy, or after? Why is Tracy acting like a normal human being? And what could Elsa possibly say about Anna other than—
"She's the most sensational person I have ever met in my life."
Tracy smirks.
"Care to elaborate?"
There are two things in Elsa's life that she could spend hours rambling about. One of them is the heart; its functions; its diseases; the fact that such a fragile, mushy thing can go on for decades pumping life into a full-grown body.
The other one is Anna; the freckles that adorn her skin; the way her smile radiates and her eyes twinkle when she's happy; the fact that she's in love with words, and likes to drink coffee a little too much, and is a chocolate junkie. The fact that she doesn't know how to ice skate very well; that she's able to fall asleep anywhere; that she is strong, and selfless, and caring beyond a trace of doubt.
And perhaps she can blame it on the gin. Perhaps she can blame it on the distance. Perhaps she can blame it on the fact that by talking about this she can invoke the memories she's been longing for all these months.
Because when Tracy asks her to elaborate, she does.
The day before their one year anniversary finds her in a small tea house on the corner across from the dorms.
It has been raining all day: a steady downpour.
Elsa sits in a corner of the room, right by the window. She's brought her book, but she does not read it. She keeps gazing out, distracted by the drops that fall high from the sky before hitting the pavement; distracted by the people who walk by on foot, oblivious to the eyes that follow them until they are gone.
Anna is off on another trip with Hans.
It is Seattle this time; a last-minute thing, she'd said—her face downcast, her eyes avoiding contact with Elsa's for the rest of their call. A sign of guilt that Elsa had understood. They had planned to have a long video call, after all. To order take-out separately and eat it together. Anna would buy a sandwich from John's Deli that she would eat at home, and Elsa would get her hands on some Pad Thai that she would eat in the common room. A virtual date, Anna had called it while Elsa had gone along with it, giddy out of her mind.
Hiding her disappointment had been hard; to pretend that it didn't hurt this much to picture Anna in Seattle with Hans rather than at home, celebrating their anniversary. But Elsa had smiled through her sorrow and reassured her time and again that it was okay. They could talk when she got back to New York and celebrate properly when she returned from London. If Elsa could smile her way through her own pain only so that Anna could feel a little less guilty about it, she would.
Yet, it doesn't make it any less hard. And Elsa is finally beginning to understand what people mean when they say they love so much it hurts. To feel a love so monumental, so boundless that it aches. As though one's heart is screaming to reach out to the person it belongs to. As if it couldn't be contained in such a small, human space.
She sighs, watching as a woman treads by, her umbrella high above her head, and Elsa instantly thinks of Mrs. Davies. She wonders if she's okay, wonders if she ever got to see the doctor like she'd recommended. She follows her away with her eyes until they catch a hooded person standing on the edge of the sidewalk, glancing to their left before crossing to the other side of the street.
The first thing that courses through Elsa's mind is: What a New Yorker thing to do, crossing the street without so much but a glance in one direction. It draws a smirk out of her; the image a projection of the city she calls home. The second thought that hits her is: How silly to leave the house without an umbrella.
The shape of the person is indiscernible in the rain. A black car drives by, then another one, breaking the view that for some reason Elsa can't keep her eyes away from. The person stops in the middle of the downpour, glances up at the building next to Elsa's dorm, and pulls out their phone—a questionable choice that is undeniably amusing. The action, however, drives them to pull back the hood of their jacket and the contour of their face makes Elsa gasp.
She stands up in an instant, takes a few steps away from her table. The person keeps walking in the opposite direction, towards the dorms, and Elsa catches a quick sight of their Chucks: green and worn-out.
Anna's favorite pair.
She leaves the tea house without a second thought, leaving her book behind. The cold, London air hits her all at once, the rain pouring down on her as she crosses the street as recklessly as the person she is following.
Please let it be her. Please.
Her heart is beating hard against her chest, aching to reach out. She can barely breathe as she stands on the sidewalk looking at the person's back. Those Converse; those legs; that walk. She could recognize them anywhere.
"Anna!"
The person turns around, and Elsa feels as though her heart has finally made its way out.
It is her.
She will not recall the few seconds that pass between calling out Anna's name and falling into her arms, but the sensation of it, she always will. It feels like being home.
The rain falls mercilessly on them both while Elsa tightens her arms around the girl's shoulders and Anna does the same around her waist. She can hear her laugh; a joyful sound that fills her ears and her heart with happiness.
"I'm so sorry," Anna says as they continue to hug, "I felt horrible about lying to you but I just really wanted to surprise you and I didn't know what else to tell you cause I wasn't gonna be able to text you for hours and I kept thinking—"
Elsa cuts her off with a kiss.
She tastes Anna's lips for the first time in months and feels like she could soar in that moment. She cups the redhead's cheeks in an attempt to draw her closer, dampening them in the process, pushing the hood that had already been threatening to fall back. They kiss over and over again, impervious to the downpour of the rain, lost in the sensation of their lips melding together as they try to make up for every day they have spent missing each other.
When they separate, Elsa realizes that tears have fallen down her cheeks. And when she gazes into Anna's eyes, she feels like she could cry all over again.
"Where is your umbrella?" She asks, tugging at her girlfriend's hand to guide her back across the street. She doesn't try to protect them from the rain anymore; it is far too late for that.
"I left it at the hotel," Anna responds with a laugh.
They find shelter by the entrance of the tea house but don't go in just yet. Elsa's body is shaking, both from the coldness of the rain and Anna's presence.
"I can't believe you came all the way to London," she breathes.
Anna grins at her. She is soaked from head to toe but then again, that has never been an inconvenience to her. "Well," she says, "I love you."
Elsa leans closer again before connecting their dampened foreheads together. Everything she has felt in the last few weeks is beginning to wash away the same way that water flows down the roads and back to the sea. Everything her heart has ached for is fading, substituted by something else—something much lighter.
She will never look at rain the same way again.
"I love you, too," she whispers, "So, so much."