Hook

by shealwaysdies

The call is haunting, overwhelming, overbearing. It says no words but it manages to crack the foundation of Elsa's home. The call is on repeat, it's an index finger curling into itself again and again, a lure. It's the hook of any good song. Elsa wants to follow it.

1. Into the Unknown

Summary - The call is haunting, overwhelming, overbearing. It says no words but it manages to crack the foundation of Elsa's home. The call is on repeat, it's an index finger curling into itself again and again, a lure. It's the hook of any good song. Elsa wants to follow it.

This Fic was written for Tumblr's Elsanna Shenanigans Monthly Contests for November 2020. The prompt was "discovery" and required that one of the Spirits have a role in the fic. It is slightly different from when submitted to contest so if you've read it before, check it out without the word count limitation!

TW - Homophobic language and Slurs

Hook by SheAlwaysFlails

Sunday.

It's not the screeching sound of the crane lifting the neon sign that catches Elsa's attention. She has kept the old brick building in her peripheral during her entire walk down the block. There seems to be a lot of people looking, so she allows herself more than just a glance. It's a jarring sound, the new signage coming into contact with the side of the building. There are a couple of people below heavily invested in its safe installment. The rest are sneering, gawking, rubbernecking.

Mixed into the sounds of construction, Elsa hears something out of place. Her senses are immediately called into action looking for the source. It's a voice, a call, perhaps a part of a song. It hits the street again and Elsa is ready this time. It's coming from the open door belonging to the same building holding everyone's attention. It's not a lyric, there is no music backing it. It draws no one else to it like it does Elsa.

Her feet take action, crossing the street without Elsa's command. She's in the middle of all the commotion when she hears the call a third time. While every other set of eyes look up at the construction crew, Elsa is able to get close. She steps right up to the threshold of the Unknown, immediately locating its origin. The call hasn't broken through the frenzy again but it undeniably belongs to the girl, woman, on the small stage within the building.

She's sitting on a wooden stool with one foot on the ground. Her other leg is bent at the knee, the heel of her boot hooked on the middle rung of her seat. There's a mic stand perfectly aligned to the height of her lips, as if she is in both a casual and calculated position.

"How's the sound?" Even her speaking voice is ethereal. Her nose scrunches up as she gets a negative response. Her eyebrows rise. She is also surprised by that, but her jaw drops and her lips make the shape of a ring. The call flows out of her again. It causes Elsa to take a step back as if the sound waves are pushing at her shoulders.

Someone addresses Elsa. They are telling her it isn't safe to be standing where she is. She agrees; she has a thousand reasons to go about her day.

Monday.

The Unknown is a gay bar slated to open, this Saturday, in Elsa's neighbourhood. The Homeowner's Association has been petitioning against it since the bar's initiation early last fall. It's been months on the painted red lips, hot topic, heating up one-sided discussions every Monday night.

Elsa is invested. She has spoken up. She's worried about drunks and property values. Her home is meant to be a dream, a safe place for her daughters to transition into puberty without exposure to any and all vices. She has a clipboard on her lap, after spending another afternoon canvassing local business, she has compiled quite a lot of hate onto these pages.

The group is impressed with her work as if they had not strategically knocked on doors that might share this association's family values. The chairwoman has an expectant outstretched hand pointed in her direction. Elsa cannot seem to hand off her findings.

Elsa feels as if there is a fist wrapped around her spine at the base of her skull. It's pushing down on all the nerve endings there, cutting off her thoughts from the rest of her body, and sending pained pulsations to all her systems. It's a familiar feeling, even though she can count the moments it has come to her with one or two hands.

It's peculiar, she's thinking about reciting her wedding vows at the same moment a woman is pairing the sentiments with all due respect and faggots. Elsa doesn't understand how two very distinct moments would cause the same tingling burn at the back of her neck.

The chairwoman snaps her fingers. The click triggers a much more comely sound to play. The call she heard yesterday has been ringing in her ear since she walked away from it. It has her distracted. It feels like a mistake when she dismisses herself early, taking her clipboard. Yet when she shuts the door behind her, her mind plays the sound of the call again. It hits her sweeter without the laced contempt spewed during this evening's HOA meeting. It releases the hold Elsa felt was suffocating her. She walks half a block before she is home.

Tuesday.

It's just like having a lyric stuck in her head. Elsa is trying to block out the call by letting her daughters play the Excavator Song on repeat in the car. It works when they are in the school zone but when Elsa inevitably has to make a left onto the main drive, she hears it. It sounds so clear in her mind, she is almost certain the redhead is on stage doing mic check again.

Elsa's car nears the corner of the building where the Unknown has taken residence, she doesn't have to take a second glance to know she is wrong. The singer is outside of the building. Her red locks are tied up in a braided but also messy bun. She's wearing a pair of faded overalls with a white tank top. There is nothing provocative about the amount of skin she is letting summer touch, still, it draws Elsa in as much as her voice does.

There's a stale green light illuminated at the intersection. Elsa slows down. The crawling of the car takes the siren's attention away from scrubbing bright orange spray paint off of the antique brick. She looks through the passenger side window. When she brings her hand to her forehead, the glare of the sun is suspended so that her vibrant eyes may meet with Elsa's shaking ones.

The street light turns yellow, Elsa accelerates.

Wednesday.

Elsa has two daughters. Their twin-sized beds are almost pushed together so that they may still be close to each other throughout the night, without crossing one another with an elbow to the face in their sleep. Elsa has to wedge her body down the middle to get to her spot on the floor. She crosses her legs under the beds and offers each of her daughters an arm. She sings them the same two songs she does every night.

Their tight eyes are more visible now that Elsa has sat in the dark for a while. In the night, she answers an urge gnawing at her since she first heard the call. She tries to sing it with her own throat. When her vocal cords vibrate, it feels like a connection. Even with one hand laced in her eldest's hair and another cupping her baby's cheek, Elsa feels the closed fist. This time it's gripping her stomach.

Elsa showers at night. Only after eyes are shut and deeply asleep, she is truly able to be alone. At least she used to be alone. She is now incapable of being anywhere without this call plaguing her.

She wants to ignore the whispers but the quiet seems like the perfect place for the call to play in her mind. She wishes it away. Yet it has transformed into a sort of symphony. The call turns into questions, it becomes an impulse. It is telling her so much more than just hear me, more than just follow me.

During Elsa's few minutes alone it calls to her, explore me. Elsa rakes a feathered touch over her abdomen where that tightening sensation is still clutching at her. The pull is alluring, the secret siren is calling. Yet when she reaches down further, she suddenly gets an image of her husband that morning. He had the dog by its neck shoving its face into a mess it had made on the carpet.

The gnawing on her stomach hits each vertebrate as it climbs up her spine to the spot where her husband's hold on their new puppy was. Elsa decides she can skip conditioning her hair for one more day.

Thursday.

Everything behind the bar already looks like it is in its place. There is an order here that dispels most of what the Homeowner's Association has said about the likely crudity of the Unknown. If it didn't have the odd variants of the rainbow peppered into the gloomy but modern decor, this establishment would be getting bookings from Elsa when she is required to host Group.

Mx. Nokk enters their space holding a cardboard box, their swagger is matched by a smile. If they did not have the bar already rounding the finish line of completion, Elsa may have not stood out like a sore thumb. Their tracks are stopped, the box gets heaved onto the bar, and the arms holding it cross over Nokk's chest.

"What do you want?" The skepticism is already laced with defensiveness. Elsa has not a single answer to that question, for some reason, the words resonate with her. She asks herself the same thing.

The individual before her is glorious is all their confidence. Their eyes are lustrous blue, piercing but also refreshing. Their hair is a rare blonde that is almost white, just like the locks Elsa has tied tight close to the pores on her head. Elsa suddenly feels that if she removed a single pin in her hair, she might be able to emanate that grace.

"A word, Mx. Nokk." Her voice doesn't have any of its usual forwardness. She had not meant to enter. She followed the call here.

"You're from the HOA. I am afraid I don't have time for the tirade. I have a grand opening in two days."

"That's why I'm here," Elsa steps forward deeper into the bar. She pulls out her wallet and pretends to root in it for a moment before bringing out a business card. The bar's owner accepts. "It's a local non-profit. Keys Please. Two people arrive in one car and they drive you and your car home. It's fairly inexpensive and addresses both overnight parking concerns and reduces the number of intoxicated people walking down residential streets."

"I remember you from the open town hall, out of all the speakers you were the only one that managed not to be offensive." It's not a compliment. The owner has a raised eyebrow as they flick at the card in their hand.

Elsa sees something in this person. It's a similarity. It almost feels like a reflection, but the mirror can translate more than what it looks like on both sides, perhaps alternative lives. They are akin, these two, except one is fluid, free, and soft. Elsa is solid and cold. Looking at this elegant beauty, Elsa feels rigid, stuck in a box but also frozen in the shape of that cube. She and this being are water in two very different forms. The way Nokk looks at Elsa, makes her feel like they can see right through her.

"You're not really here just to give me this." The statement hangs. The hold on Elsa's spine is back again, this time it's got her throat in its fingers too. She has no response.

"Are those the shirts?" The fist takes a bound, skipping down to squeeze Elsa's stomach. Elsa feels as transparent as ice when the redheaded vocalist bounces past her to practically dive into the box. The same logo on the recently installed signage is suddenly thrust in front of Elsa's face. The voice that has been calling her here, is whooping in excitement.

Elsa finds herself envious of the version of water the bar's owner gets to be, as they lose all focus on the uptight mother from down the street and pour themselves into the singer's attention. The exchange is somehow not a deterrent. Elsa feels the power of the call grow as she quietly recedes back onto the street.

Friday.

There's already a bar close by, and Elsa's not a huge fan. It's where her husband makes stops Tuesdays and Fridays after work. Elsa doesn't like him walking home drunk, dropping off his friends along the way.

Yet, the neighbourhood belongs to these men who frequent the sports bar. They don't make too much noise and they don't stop to piss in people's gardens. They honour their neighbours like their neighbours honour them.

For months Elsa has pictured the patrons of the Unknown drunkenly taking to the streets as if they parade every single time they go out. Now when she closes her eyes, she envisions the singer on her street. She's taking in the flowered coverage the linden trees provide from the yellow glare of street lights.

Elsa sees herself walking alongside her, asking her questions every chance she gets, just to keep her talking. She actually doesn't want the streets to be quiet anymore. Elsa wants them filled with the siren's voice.

Every day is a little harder. Every day Elsa not only hears the call, but she sees the singer, she pictures the redhead. Thoughts of her are keeping Elsa awake. She's normally asleep when her husband comes home from the bar. She tells herself it's not because she wants to avoid him, but because she is put off by the taste of beer. Awake, her lips are his for the taking.

He's eager, excited by the notion he dreams up, she's waited up for him. Her husband hits the lights. In the dark, with the smell of yeasty booze, and the call ringing in her ear, the movements of Elsa's body are driven by a longing to follow the siren into the Unknown.

Saturday.

Everyone she has ever loved is within the walls of the home she's just left behind. She locks the door behind her. Although Elsa is afraid of what she is risking, she follows the insistent call down her block to the bar's grand opening.

It was simple to just announce to her husband that she was going out for the night. A grunt was apparently the only thing between her family and her exit. Simple does not translate to easy, as Elsa wipes the sweat off her palms onto the denim of her jeans.

She's landed on casual, wanting to not look like herself for the night. She's dressed up her simple white capped-sleeved blouse with a pair of royal blue Choo's. Her solitary walk is punctuated by her heels.

There is a lineup to get into the new bar. Elsa is the only one that stands alone. She receives enough encouraging smiles that she decides it best to get lost in her cellphone. The text chain between some of the women from the Homeowner's Association is far gone in a diatribe. Elsa skims it for a moment. She's ignored it since Monday night, out of context she does not know why the different chicken and egg emojis keep popping up. Elsa mutes the chat.

Every time the door to the Unknown opens, she hears little previews of the band playing. In the chaos of far too many human bodies, the sound is distorted. It's impossible for Elsa to make out the siren's voice.

Without her phone to fidget with Elsa twirls her wedding band around her ring finger. When she is next in line she finally lands on an answer. She pulls the gold off and tucks it behind a zipper in her purse. Right before Elsa is invited in, she yanks her hairpin out. Her braided crown falls down over one of her shoulders. She can't help but run her hand through her bangs as she takes a step into the noise.

It's applause. Cheering. Catcalls and whistles. Elsa pushes her way through them but once she's in a spot to get a good enough look, the stage is emptied. The crowd loosens as attention on the microphone disperses. Elsa is left with backs turned to her as she stares up at an empty wooden stool. Music starts up through the sound system, there are no lyrics, just a beat that commands drunks to dance.

Elsa gets stuck between moving bodies. She lets out even breaths. The bar looks and feels different than it did in the daylight. This is a designated safe queer space, Elsa feels that vibe even though she cannot seem to let herself get comfortable. She is stiff in the middle of the dance floor. It does not bother a single person around her.

She gets a tap on the shoulder. A towering body is selling her a smile and offering a clear glass, toped to the rim with an amber liquid, out on a serving tray.

"Nokk says I'm to make sure you receive whatever your heart desires tonight, I'm reading you as someone that takes their drinks spiced red." Elsa takes the whiskey and a wink from the tall boy who points towards the bar. When Elsa follows the sightline across the way, the owner is raising their glass at her. They take a wide-mouth chug. It's a challenge Elsa accepts as her open throat burns.

Mx. Nokk doesn't hold back a smile as they shake out their long flowing hair. Elsa reads it as a compliment; delight that she decided to let her own hair down. It's almost as if Elsa is slowly starting to melt.

An entire minute fails to lapse after her interaction with Nokk before Elsa already has a second drink in her hand. She finds an empty spot on the wall to lean up against and dips her lips into the alcohol. She's disappointed the band is done but is also relieved that she hasn't heard the call since walking out of her home.

She's blocked out the call but she still has the image of the redhead lingering in the back of her mind. Elsa knows she has to be somewhere in this spectrum of beings but she doesn't go searching. Rushing her night just gets her more time in bed next to the sound of snores. Elsa admits it to herself as she looks up at the empty stage. She actually wants the sound of sirens.

Elsa may have starred for a moment or maybe an hour but her third drink is empty. She almost drops the glass when the redhead returns onto the stage pulling up one of her bandmates as she goes. Two others follow, taking their respective spots behind their instruments.

"I have to do one more song," the siren speaks. "Hopefully it won't undo the good we just did because this one is new. I wrote it this week. Hence the reluctance." She's nervous, her eyes are bouncing from face to face. She has all her fingers laced together and is pulling them all back towards her knuckles.

Her squirming stops when her eyes find a mark. They bear down on Elsa. Elsa feels like they are hands on her shoulders playfully dunking her into a pool, coupled with the feeling that she might be floating in that water and perhaps choking on it too.

The music cues up, a roar leaves the body of the crowd in a collective excitement. Elsa is still, locked to the connection. The redhead is steadfast on the other end of it, even while her head and her shoulders move to the rhythm. It is her band that feeds its audience.

Elsa hears nothing when the Siren starts to lead the song. Everything fades, except for the spotlight that's just as focused on the singer as Elsa is. The light shows off every detail on this woman's face.

She's covered in copper freckles that lessen as they near her temples, and there, at the corner of her eyes, is a set of wrinkles. She's young; the only reason the linear dents would appear is if she has spent her life smiling. Elsa doesn't doubt it because she assumes everyone is desperate to hear this siren laugh.

She even smiles as she sings. Elsa has gawked for quite a while, but the singer holding her stare felt like permission. She has to force her eardrums to register the waves hitting them for the voice to properly reach her. The song is at the bridge. It all rushes at her as she hears the call fill the bar.

"Are you out there?

Do you know me?

Can you feel me?

Can you show me?"

The call. It fills the unknown, it rifts wildly. Its power grows.

These four questions are sung directly at Elsa. The vocalist doesn't waiver. Fixated on the blonde, she asks questions that all have the answer yes. Elsa doesn't know if it's the whiskey or the crescendo of her week hitting some sort of climax, but it feels like this girl, woman, purposely drew Elsa in days ago. They shared an experience on opposite ends. This redhead is dying to know if Elsa received each call.

It is only when Elsa nods affirmatively that the singer can address her microphone again. Now that her target is met she can continue doing her job enchanting everyone else. Elsa is able to break her connection. She lets her eyes seek out the red lights illuminating the word "exit."

She leaves the Unknown shaking. Elsa can feel the fist in her stomach, it's rolling her intestines in its fingers. She's overcome by anticipation, trepidation. She needs something to do if she is going to move forward and maybe approach the siren.

Even with the dispersal of the sun, this particular summer night is still hot. Taking a deep breath of the air outside of the bar is thick. Although free of the taste of shared space, it does not aid Elsa's tested temperance. Her unease is rooted far deeper than her lungs, it doesn't stop her panting.

The mute setting of the text chain has lapsed. Her phone buzzes. Elsa is suddenly inundated with the nerve to tell the women in the homeowner's association that this establishment is nothing like they say. They have all wasted their time, their energy and their hate.

Elsa doesn't get a singular character written when a vehicle starts slowing down at the intersection in front of the Unknown. She pays it no mind. As the car takes a slow corner, all the windows on the passenger side open. A voice calls out the word dyke as Elsa feels a sting on her temple, an impact to the breast, and a splash at her ankle. The fresh but also gamy smell of egg hits the night.

"There you ar-" Elsa barely registers the voice reaching to her. She's dropped her phone and her jaw. The hold on her neck is present again. It's exhausting her. She stumbles backward.

"Oh my god!" It's the singer's voice. Elsa's afraid to blink as a viscous fluid drips down her face. "Did that minivan just do this to you? Those psycho mom groups!"

There's a new level of intensity in the tone of this woman. It's as frantic as her limbs as she rips off her blouse and starts rubbing it across Elsa's face and then over her chest. The material is cheap and doesn't lend itself to the job. She is mostly just rubbing the yoke around and grimacing at the futility of her actions.

"Oh my god, it's really bad. Are you hurt? Are you okay?" Elsa doesn't feel the wet string along her skin anymore. The beat of her heart, that shot off like rapid fire fear, is placated by the concerned emerald eyes that are skimming her now. The singer brings her forearm up to Elsa's face and drags it down her past her chin. A plopping sound hits between their feet. Elsa is fully aware of the proximity. The woman at her aid doesn't seem to register it, as she continues the contact of their skin by wrapping her fingers around Elsa's bicep.

"I was egged," those will forever be the first words Elsa ever said to the siren. She finally blinks and the only relief she feels is in the burning of her eyes.

"Yeah, uh, let's get you cleaned up." The woman offers. She yanks on the hold she has on Elsa but Elsa doesn't budge.

"Shit, you don't want to go back in there like this. I get it." The singer's eyes bounce, looking for nothing but maybe an answer in her head.

"Okay, well, I'm staying upstairs. Would you want to come up with me? I must have something you can change into. If you don't mind looking like a slob, not that you would look like a slob. I just dress kinda frumpy." The redhead is blathering but Elsa isn't really registering her words. She's looking at a strappy practically see-through undershirt and the hectic way the singer's chest is taking breaths.

"Ah!" She gets stuck making that sound for a moment before the rambling continues. "You are dressed beautifully. You would look beautiful in anything, even eggs, or my ugliest sweater. What am I saying? It's too hot for a sweater. You're hot- I mean, you must be hot… Are you hot?" The words come out quickly, Elsa's mind is stalled. She's still repeating the words that flew out of the redhead's mouth several seconds after she finally cut herself off.

The entire thing is sort of comical to Elsa. This voice, which she had praised as angelic, just managed to fumble her words. The mess of it is just as hypnotizing as the melodies she has just sung. Elsa's tangle of emotions had little to do with the call that has been haunting her and everything with the woman wielding the voice. The hold on Elsa's stomach is a pulling now, a hook, dragging down to her core.

"I, am." They both suffer from a lack of eloquence.

"You are coming upstairs with me?" There's a hint of apprehension in the question as if there is more to it than just getting cleaned up.

"Hot."

"I have several fans- that blow air. I don't really have, like, a following." The redhead bites her lip. She looks down at her feet. She's bouncing on her heels. From the hold she still has on Elsa, Elsa can feel the wistfulness of this siren. Elsa doesn't know how to answer the call without saying she fears she is spoken for. To say so would feel like such denial to every single thought that has crossed her mind since first hearing this woman sing.

Elsa is certain if the redhead took even one step back, Elsa's body would take a step forward with her. She'd made up her mind about this the moment she followed the siren into the Unknown.

"Sure," she says instead because the betrayal of a decade of marriage seems less than the thirty years she's been drowning out this call.

"Really? Okay, I got your phone." The singer says and her body comes alive again. She dives down picking up the device, at the same time her grip on Elsa follows the length on her arm and interlaces with her fingers. The singer pulls at Elsa and adds,

"And I've got you."

There is something new bouncing around Elsa's head, repeating even more insistently than the call ever did.

Anna.

Her name is Anna. Anna, the singer, the siren. They exchange names as Anna leads Elsa up the stairs into her home. It is overcrowded with open cardboard boxes, castoff clothing, and dirty dishes. The small space is closing in on itself with all the junk lying around. Anna. Anna is visibly annoyed at herself as she introduces Elsa to the space. She pounces on random objects, gathering some up in her arms and kicking others aside.

"So sorry, we've been so focused on the bar," she says over her shoulder. When she rounds the corner, Elsa assumes the thud she hears is Anna offloading her haul onto her bed. Elsa moves in a bit, a few steps and she's in the tiny kitchen. She leans over herself to get a better look as to where the siren has run off to.

She returns smiling only to wince after catching sight of Elsa standing stiffly, trying to cover up the spot over her breast that has been made see-through by the wet whites of an egg.

"Shoot, you still need some clothes." There is a lot to choose from, scattered around them but Anna gets stuck looking around again. What she grabs is the nearest thing to her, a bottle of red wine. She pushes her way into the kitchen and grabs two glasses and leaves her serving on the counter to hand Elsa hers. Elsa accepts, smelling the acidity of it.

"Let's get that shirt off of ya," Anna tries. Elsa moves to put her glass down but there isn't a safe level surface for it within reach.

"I got it," Anna says, pouncing on the opportunity. Elsa squirms in surprise when she realizes Anna means the shirt and not the wine.

Her fingers jump at the buttons and begin to reveal pale skin. The siren is looking at her own fingers. Elsa fixates on Anna's bottom lip tucked under a few teeth. It dawns on Elsa then, she really is here, looking for trouble. She pulls her gaze away and pays more attention to her alcohol. The wine isn't just cheap, it's likely been uncorked well over a week ago. It's barely palatable, still, she takes a mouthful. It doesn't help, not with Anna's lingering eyes on her.

The siren's task reaches its completion as she hooks her fingers on the open fabric and pushes it off Elsa's shoulders. Elsa moves her drink between her hands, giving Anna permission to undress her.

"Whoa," Anna breathes, clearly without filter, as she takes in the view of a bra-clad chest stuck in an inhale. Her desire is evident, distracting both of them from the task at hand, calling Elsa to make a big mistake.

Anna has the lead. Elsa is just following. Her eyes do just that as Anna takes a step closer to her and reaches her hand out to cup Elsa's face. Elsa readies herself, resigned to kiss the lips that created the call, but Anna's fingertips fall into the sticky side of Elsa's face. It triggers the panicky side of the singer.

"I'm sorry. You need to get cleaned up. Sheesh. I'm everywhere right now. So sorry," Anna bounces away, making her statement true as she rummages through her kitchen looking for a rag. She finds a clean one and runs it under the sink.

Elsa watches her move sporadically and gracelessly. She feels more than just the knots in her stomach as she begins to feel endearment too. When she turns around again Elsa's goosebumps beg for the singer to be the one to wipe her off. Anna hands her the cloth instead as if she had been able to collect herself while her back was turned.

"I'll be right back with something for you to wear," Elsa is left alone with both her arousal and anxiety. Elsa lets it sink in as she scrubs at her face and chest. She allows herself to acknowledge her yearning, the one that has a tight hold of her insides. There had always been a part of Elsa that longed to go into the unknown. Elsa doesn't wait for Anna to return instead she answers the call she's been hearing her entire life.

She puts an empty wine glass on top of the microwave. It reads 11:59.

Sunday.

Anna's face is dug deep into a sweater. Elsa watches her inhale deeply as if she's hoping that this article of clothing might be suitable. Anna catches a glimpse of Elsa as she tosses the knit top down into the reject pile. It startles her, her body hiccups in fear. It lasts only a moment as she begins to laugh at herself.

"I'm sorry," Elsa hums, infected by the siren's glee. "I didn't mean to be such a creep."

"You're doing a bad job." Anna is clutching at her heart. A few chuckles escape between her words. "You haven't said a single thing this whole time and suddenly you're staring me down."

Elsa wants to turn and run as she realizes it's true. Other than her name she has not said a single thing since they were out on the street. Her introspection and her awe of the siren had overtaken her.

"I'm nervous," she says.

"I've never heard someone this gorgeous say that before." Anna's tone takes a serious note as if she wants to convey honesty behind the compliment. Elsa sighs wistfully, smiling down at herself. She shakes her head.

"What?" Anna shifts nervously in the middle of her bedroom.

"It's just that I'm used to people looking at me. But I'm not often seen." Elsa takes the siren's eyes with hers and she takes a brazen step forward, almost daring Anna to take her in.

"Hm, well Elsa. I'd say you aren't nervous. You're eager." Anna takes a step back, testing out her own theory as the back of her legs come in contact with the edge of the bed.

"Yes," Elsa admits, following Anna all the way and making contact at the hips, chest, and then, of course, lips. They fall into each other easily. If it took Elsa a lifetime to get to this, she thinks it might be because it was the siren's job to call her here. This feeling seems like it was orchestrated by some sort of higher power.

Elsa didn't know that you could take someone's bottom lip between your teeth during a kiss. It had never been done to her before, she'd never had the urge to even dream it up. The tiny pull that puts a piece of her into someone else, for even a fleeting moment, feels like being taken into the unknown. Elsa lets herself be taken by Anna, whose bold hands bring them ever so close together.

Elsa isn't sure who lowers who onto the mattress, only that neither of them has any care of the articles of clothing under them. Although she can feel herself get lighter, Elsa pushes her weight on the siren. The things she'd long ago buried are surfacing and being fed into the girl below her. Anna takes it in by the mouthful, moaning at the ferocity of it. The sounds are their own call waiting to be answered.

She listens to the pull in her stomach. Elsa makes every part of Anna's body known to her. Each stroke erases every missed opportunity in her past, every time she has denied the grip in her gut. Anna rides the intensity of it. She opens herself to it. It doesn't matter how rough or overwhelming the pleasure is, she is able to keep her eyes wide and focused on Elsa. Her voice sings. In turn, Elsa allows the siren to discover her, to see her. Each touch is another crack in her ice, but she doesn't break. At the height of the siren's touch, Elsa feels herself melt.

When Elsa finally has to disconnect, she doesn't know how to fit herself into anything she brought with her into the unknown. It's almost ceremonious when she leaves some of it behind, knowing that the yoke stain on her white blouse will never wash off. She feels better in the pair of grey sweatpants and branded bar shirt Anna pulled out from underneath her lulled body to offer.

Anna walks Elsa back downstairs. The bar is still wide awake, alive in celebration. It is calling Anna back in to bask in its success.

"Goodnight," is all Elsa can think of to say. She knows it sounds hollow but as she stands now she is as full as she's ever been. But still, Anna hesitates to let go of Elsa. Rightfully so, Elsa thinks, as she watches the singer realize what each step away from another means. Yes, Anna sees Elsa. She feels what this was, maybe she even feels Elsa shrink as she turns away.

Elsa hears the music hit the night stronger as the door to the Unknown opens and Anna steps back in. The sound cuts off abruptly as the heavy doors shut. Elsa's bare feet pad on the pavement. She can walk a straight line. It's confirmation that her head is clear of the whiskey and wine. As she gets closer to her street, she names the grip at the base of her skull, dread. The one in her stomach is now, undoubtedly, desire. It's the first time she feels both simultaneously. They couple together, contrasting but settled in neatly.

Her fingers are hooked around the heels of her shoes. Shame courses through her, ending at her toes but starting at her mouth. It's an emotion consuming her mind but her body does not seem to take any notice.

She has come out into Sunday morning with an answer to the call that may overwhelm the risks. Elsa is water now. And while she can alter herself to fit her wedding ring back onto her finger, she can also better slip out of the feeling of dread.

if you made it this far please leave me a review. I have some ideas for the continuation of this fic and would love to know if others are interested in more chapters.

Thank you so much for reading!