Work Text:
"Here We Are."
Delia glances sideways at Patsy, who sits beside her against the headboard, hair mussed, cheeks still flushed from their kissing. A cigarette rests between her fingers, smoke curling lazily as she stares into nothing in particular. She looks maddeningly composed, as though her pulse isn’t still echoing in Delia’s own ears.
Delia hesitates. Patsy is just as likely to shut down and leave as she is to answer, yet after the long, lip-locked moment they’ve just shared, the question feels reasonable. Necessary, even.
“Pats…?”
Patsy turns, one eyebrow lifting in quiet inquiry.
Delia swallows. “Am I the first girl you’ve… kissed?” Her voice falters at the end, unsure how to phrase it, unsure she wants the answer.
Patsy’s other eyebrow rises to meet the first. She pauses, takes a long drag of her cigarette, holding Delia’s gaze until she finally turns away to exhale.
“Well,” she admits, a little grudgingly, “no. Not technically.”
Delia lets out a short huff, equal parts indignation and surprise. Jealousy pricks at her, sharp and unwelcome, but curiosity quickly follows. “Well! You’re a dark horse.”
Patsy glances at her, lips tugging into a half-smile, her voice warming. “I went to an all-girls Catholic school, Deels. Everyone was kissing everyone, practice for future boyfriends, or just to pass the time.”
Delia laughs. “Who would’ve thought Catholic schools could be such a hub of… well, you know.”
Patsy snorts, laughter breaking through despite herself.
“So,” Delia ventures, emboldened now, “were there many?”
Patsy scoffs. “No. Hardly any at all. And I haven’t kissed anyone since I realised it meant something different to me than it did to the other girls.” She pauses, then adds quietly, “You’re the only person I’ve kissed since.”
Delia’s breath catches. It’s the first time Patsy has put words to the difference they’ve danced around, kissed around. Until now, Delia hadn’t known whether she was an exception or a revelation.
“So,” she murmurs, her voice dropping as if they’re sharing a secret, “you’ve always known?”
Patsy turns fully toward her, eyes clear and, for once, unguarded. She stubs out her cigarette and shifts back against the headboard, settling in.
“I knew early on that I wasn’t drawn to boys the way other girls were. The way I was supposed to be.” She exhales slowly. “I didn’t understand what that meant at first, not until I found myself drawn to one of the girls in my class. That’s when it clicked. Whatever women are meant to feel for men, I felt for women. And that was that.”
She smiles faintly. “I tried to fight it, for a while. Let a chap take me to a dance once. He was lovely, handsome, kind, funny. By all accounts, a perfect catch. He leaned in to kiss me, and I tried to stay still, to accept it as I should, but I recoiled at the last second. His lips brushed my cheek, and I bolted. Ran all the way back to my room without a word.”
Patsy shakes her head softly. “Mortifying. But clarifying. I realised then it was never going to be for me, and I’d be better off not pretending otherwise. So I focused on my studies. Nursing school. Becoming good at what I did. That was enough.” Her gaze flicks back to Delia, fond and steady. “It really was, until you.”
Delia blinks. She’s never seen Patsy like this, so certain, so open.
Patsy’s head tips back against the wall, a teasing lilt returning to her voice. “And you, Delia? Am I the first girl you’ve kissed?”
Delia feels her cheeks warm. “Well, I didn’t go to a girls’ Catholic school. And the girls in my village were boy-mad. So yes, you’re the only girl I’ve kissed.”
Patsy raises an eyebrow, amused. “And boys?”
Delia sighs, embarrassed but smiling. “I courted one, briefly. We were sixteen. His name was Dafydd, a nice boy, lovely family. My mother adored him. We held hands, went to the cinema. He kissed me on the cheek, took me walking.” She grimaces. “I liked him well enough, just not like that.”
She pauses, then shudders, nose scrunching. “When he finally kissed me properly, it was awful. Just wrong. Nothing at all like kissing you.”
Patsy smirks, pinking at the praise.
“He pulled away looking so happy,” Delia continues softly, “and I knew it was over. I ended it then and there, rather bluntly, I’m afraid. Poor thing was baffled.”
Patsy winces in sympathy.
“After that,” Delia says, “I knew I needed to focus on school. I needed to get out of Tenby, to be something other than someone’s wife in a few short years. I didn’t know I’d meet someone like you. Someone like me. But I knew I had to give myself the chance.”
She exhales, a small, amazed smile forming. “And now here we are.”
Patsy reaches for her hand, threading their fingers together. She leans in and kisses Delia gently, reverently.
“Here we are,” she murmurs.