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Chapter Text

‘This is shite,’ Yaz mutters. It’s quarter to nine on the Monday evening, and she’s finally got the chance to listen to this most recent announcement from BoJo. She’ll be stuck here for another three weeks. She’s been trying to self isolate the past four days, and she’s seen this coming, but the government making it official overwhelms her a bit. It’s been hard not seeing her family, especially over Mother’s Day, but just in case she has it, she can’t risk giving the Corona to her Nani. God, but what if Nani has already got it? That’s terrifying.

‘What’s shite?’ A blond head pokes around the corner. That’s another reason Yaz is a little nervous about self-isolation: her housemate. Her older, intelligent, stunning roommate who she is a little intimidated by. Maybe it’s because Jolie shuts her out a bit. They’ve said more to each other in the past few days than they have in the whole year they’ve lived together. It’s Jolie’s fault that Yaz has been home the last four days, after her insistence that she not go out to protect the vulnerable. Yaz’s job has only just started letting her work from home, though, so. It’s been complicated.

‘Have you seen the most recent broadcast?’ Yaz asks.

‘Oh, Boris? Yeah. They shoulda implemented this three weeks ago at least.’

‘Jolie, I don’t think it was that easy,’ Yaz starts, but Jolie interrupts her.

‘Jo.’

‘Sorry?’

‘I know my name on the lease is Jolie, but we’re going to get real cozy in the next few weeks. Might as well call me Jo. Jolie never suited me, anyway.’

‘Oh.’ Yaz is pleased to be given permission to use a nickname, without knowing why. And she agrees. Jolie is a bit twee for this hurricane of a woman. ‘Alright,’ she acquiesces, but before she can continue, Jo is waving her hands around.

‘And of course it were that easy. If these greedy politicians put their people before their pockets, then things would be better. But they won’t.’

Yaz groans. This is what she means by intimidating. ‘Are you going to be like this for the next three weeks?’

Jo laughs. ‘Oi. There are worse places to be stuck than at home.’ There’s an adorable scrunching thing that Jo does, and Yaz’s smiles.

‘I guess,’ Yaz agrees, distractedly.

‘You alright, Yaz? Not getting sick on me, are ya?’ It’s a joke, but there’s concern, and of course, Jo would be concerned. She seems like a good person. Besides, she won’t want to get sick.

‘Nah, just… I’m bored.’ She flops on the settee and groans. ‘I miss my family,’ she admits. ‘I couldn’t make Mother’s Day and Nani was really upset. She understood, of course, but I haven’t seen them in a while and I’m… I’m worried that she could catch it. Yanno. She’s old, and if she catches it, she likely won’t survive.’ It’s a lot heavier than she meant to get, and tears prick at her eyes.

She feels the settee dip beside her and a hesitant, but comforting hand on her back. ‘This is a stressful time. You’re allowed to feel however you feel.’

God, she hates crying in front of other people. Why is she such a mess today? Sonya says she looks like a snot monster when she cries, and she must do, because Jo pushes a tissue at her. It just makes her cry harder, and this is so embarrassing. Why is she so stupid? Why is she crying in front of a virtual stranger like this? Ugh, this is all so unfair, and Yaz is a hot mess.

She’s enveloped in a soft hug, and it shouldn’t make her feel better, but it does. It’s just a side-hug, but it’s warm and it takes the tension out of her shoulders.

‘Why’re you being so nice?’

‘I’m a nice person,’ Jo quips cheerfully, giving Yaz a squeeze before she lets go. ‘And we’re going to be stuck together for a while. You and I are the only moral support we’ve got.’

Yaz snorts. ‘You’re right. Isn’t that a bit sad?’

‘I dunno. I can think of worse things than quarantine with Yasmin Khan.’ There’s a softness to the way Jo says it. Yaz is sure she’s imagining it, and she must be because then Jo laughs and says with a massive grin, ‘You’re the best housemate I’ve ever had.’

‘Oh?’ It’s the first time Jo has mentioned having other housemates before.

‘The others were alright, just, you’re clean and quiet and don’t bring blokes ‘round every minute.’ Jo does that irresistible scrunch again.

‘What if I were to bring girls ‘round?’ Yaz asks, suddenly emboldened.

‘As long as you’re quiet, I don’t mind who you bring to stay. Once the quarantine is over. You seem sensible, anyway, Yasmin.’

Yaz shrugs. ‘Yeah, seems silly to think of now. But if I do bring someone home, it’s likely she’ll be a woman.’

Jo smiles encouragingly. Well, at least she isn’t homophobic. Might even be queer with all the rainbows she uses.

‘Yeah. My wife River, she was a bit funny about housemates bringing people in. I never minded. It’s not like she could complain with how vocal—oh.’ Jo turns a blotchy red colour and then rubs her hand through her hair. ‘Ah, sorry. I’ve gone and made myself sad.’

‘Did you divorce?’ Yaz is so curious, now.

‘Hah,’ Jo barks. ‘No. She died.’ The blotchinesss on her face has disappeared, her pale skin drawn and her expression pinched.

‘Oh. Oh, Jo, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…’ Yaz doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. She is embarrassed and there’s an ache in her chest. She would’ve never guessed that her housemate is a widow.

‘Nah, it’s fine. It were years ago,’ Jo says, like she's trying to downplay it.

‘But you’re still allowed to miss her,’ Yaz tells her.

‘Yeah. Yeah, I am. Thanks, Yasmin.’

‘My friends call me Yaz.’

‘Brilliant. I like Yaz.’

Yaz starts laughing first. Jo seems affronted to start with, but then she’s joining in and they’re giggling and snorting and Yaz is holding on to her sides because laughing this hard hurts.

--

When Jo goes to bed that night, she can’t help but glance at the picture on her bedside table.

‘Don’t look at me like that, River. She’s fifteen years younger than I am, at least. And she may be gay, but that doesn’t mean she’s interested.’ She scrubs a hand through her hair. It’s not like she meant to get stuck in quarantine with her housemate, her gorgeous and young housemate, who is roughly the same age as her students at the university. How’d that happen?

Oh yeah, Jack. Jack, who had found her through a friend of a friend. It had been risky setting up two strangers to live together, but Jo wasn’t lying when she said Yasmin, Yaz, is quiet. Not so quiet she doesn’t have a personality, but… Respectful is probably a better word.

On her professor’s salary, Jo can afford the rent here on her own, but she never has liked being alone. It’s nice to share the space, even if they hadn’t ever really spoken before Covid-19 entered the scene. Having someone else’s things around the house, and the sound of a person rummaging in the silence, it all makes her feel less alone.

There’s a twinge in her heart. Jo never got on with her own parents, but it hurt her to see Yaz so sad about not seeing her Nani. She supposes they could Skype, but that feels silly when they live within ten minutes walking distance.

Oh well. Nothing Jo can really do about it. She gets into her pj's and flops onto the bed. God, she misses River. River, with her curly head and her mischievous smile. Now there was a woman who knew how to misbehave.

Jo frowns. She’s making herself sad again.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair that River died saving her from a goddamn house fire. It’s not fair that Jo’s here, alone, without her. She misses River so much, it’s a physical ache, and it’s been six years! But of course, if anyone deserves her constant grief, it’s River. Ugh, she’s gone and given herself a stomach ache.

She curls up, alone, and tries to sleep.

Chapter Text

Jo’s been using the front room for the Zoom call with her classes. She hates it. She hates this whole thing so much. It’s not that she doesn’t like the technology, she’s always been fine with that. It’s more the students seeing the inside of her home. It makes her nervous like they’ll get too close. When people get too close, they get hurt. Like River, and Rose before her. She loses her breath just as Yaz walks in.

‘You look tense,’ she comments, and Jo feels heat flushing through her system. She wants to be rude, close Yaz off. She’s caught her in a vulnerable state, and Jo doesn’t do well with vulnerability, but they still have to live together. So, she opts for a shrug instead.

‘None of this is ideal,’ she says with a grin that she hopes comes off as friendly.

‘How long ‘til your class starts?’

‘Um.’ Jo looks down at her watch. ‘Seventeen minutes.’

‘I made a mug cake. Wanna share? It’s bigger than I thought. Bloody BBC recipes.’

For the first time, Jo looks at Yaz’s hands. Towering out of the large mug is a brown spongy thing that certainly smells like cake. There are white chocolate chips embedded throughout, and Jo’s mouth waters. She is very glad she didn’t scare Yaz away, now.

‘You sure?’

‘Yeah. I didn’t expect it to grow this much. If I eat it all, I’ll be sick. I even made a cuppa for you. Four sugars, right?’

‘Tea and cake with Yaz? Brilliant!’ Her smile becomes genuine and Yaz grins back at her. Yaz produces two spoons, and they both dig in with gusto.

‘S’not that sweet, actually,’ Jo says, finishing off the last piece. ‘Good, though. You made this in a microwave?’

‘Yeah,’ Yaz beams. Then, her brow furrows. ‘Uh, Jo?’

‘Hmm?’

‘You’ve got some…’ Yaz motions to her own face and Jo’s hand reaches up. She misses, though, obviously, because then Yaz’s hand is reaching for her and Jo stills. Yaz’s fingers brush off the crumbs on the corner of her mouth, and heat ignites in her belly. She watches carefully as Yaz takes her thumb into her mouth to eat the crumb.

Fuck. It’s terribly intimate and very much unintentional; the obliviousness on Yaz’s face tells Jo that she’s innocent in all this. But it’s the first time Jo’s felt something like that in a long time. She yearns to be touched again. When was the last time she was touched like that? The image that flashes in her head is positively filthy. Brown eyes looking down at her, a smirk on Yaz’s face, quick fingers between Jo’s legs. God, it’s been a minute.

She lets out a puff of air that she didn’t know she was holding and realises that Yaz is looking at her with concern. ‘Y’alright Jo? You’ve gone a bit flushed.’

‘I, er, I just. Just realised I forgot something for my lecture,’ she manages, finally. But her voice is an octave higher than normal and she’s shifting awkwardly in her seat. ‘Wasn’t that important, though. Should probably just get on it with. Thanks, Yaz.’

Yaz is about to say something, but Jo lets her fingers fly across her keyboard and pointedly ignores her.

Yaz leaves the room and closes the door with a quiet click, and Jo can finally breathe. She tries to compose herself before dialling into the Zoom call.

--

Yaz is bored. She’s already finished all her work for the day, and made a mug cake, and eaten said mug cake but it’s only quarter to 12. Jo is doing her whole professor thing, and not for the first time, Yaz wonders what she teaches. She couldn’t go to Uni. Not because her grades weren’t good enough, or because she didn’t have the drive, but because she didn’t want to be saddled with student loans. Sometimes she regrets that decision.

She runs the water and far too much fairy liquid into the washing up bowl, but the washing up takes no longer than half an hour, even if her hands are pruny and boiled by the end of it. She could do the drying up, but she’s bored of crockery, now.

‘What do you want to do, Yaz?’ She asks herself. She could scroll through Twitter forever, but mostly it’s people talking about the coronavirus, and she really wants to avoid that as much as possible. She could clean? A bit boring, but not as boring as washing up, so she’ll give it a go. She grabs the hoover and turns on some loud music. Hoovering is good. Might as well do some proper cleaning while she’s stuck. They’re due for a spring clean, anyway. She’s singing along to Boss Bitch by Doja Cat, making funny faces and pausing every so often to dance with the hoover. In the middle of affirming that she is both a bitch and a boss and she shines like gloss, she notices a shadow.

She jumps, but it’s just Jo stood there, chewing on her lip. Yaz kicks the hoover to turn it off and pauses Spotify. ‘Finished so soon?’

‘No, er… the hoover and the music are making it hard for my class to hear me.’

‘Oh!’ Yaz squeaks. Okay, so, that was a bad idea. ‘Sorry,’ she grimaces.

‘S’okay. Thanks for cleaning, but I can help you when my classes are over? I’ve got another’ Jo checks her watch. ‘Thirty-two minutes.’

Yaz nods, and once Jo leaves, she collapses on the dining room chair closest to her. She should’ve thought of that and been more courteous. God, she’s so stupid. She’s so dumb! Her housemate is trying to teach for fuck's sake, and she was playing music and hoovering, of all things! What kind of idiot?

Her chest aches and she breathes through it. ‘It’s fine, Yaz. You’re fine.’

It takes her a moment, but eventually, the panic passes. Jo hadn’t seemed too upset. Bemused, certainly, but not angry.

Yaz sighs, shaking, and picks up a book. It’s one of Jo’s, and she doesn’t think that Jo will mind. It’s some gay romance novel about a time traveler. Good. Not usually Yaz’s cup of tea, but she loses herself in it easily. Anything to distance herself from the anxiety bubbling just underneath the surface.

‘Oi! I hope you didn’t lose my place.’ But the tone is soft as if Jo doesn’t want to startle her.

‘I didn’t see a bookmark.’

Jo’s smile falters. ‘Oh, there wasn’t one. I just wanted to make conversation. I don’t read those anyway.’

‘Then why buy them?’ Yaz asks.

‘Oh, I didn’t. River did. It makes me feel better to have them around.’

Yaz gets a chill and immediately puts the book down. ‘Oh. Sorry.’

‘Y’don’t have to apologise for everything, Yaz. Besides, she would’ve liked to know someone were enjoying them.’ Jo winks, and Yaz drops the book in shock.

Is… is Jo flirting? It feels surreal. They were just discussing her late wife, and now Jo is flirting. But maybe she isn’t. Yaz gets the impression that Jo isn’t the best at social cues.

‘Now,’ Jo claps her hands together. ‘Let’s get this hoovering thing sorted.’

Yeah. It’s must’ve just been in Yaz’s head, the flirtation. No way, right? No way.

Chapter Text

Yaz doesn’t know what comes over her. One minute, she’s sitting on the settee, staring at Jo. The next, she’s up, stalking toward her and pressing her body against Jo’s. Jo doesn’t stutter, doesn’t hesitate when they kiss, just leans into it, allowing Yaz to take what she wants. Their lips slide over each other, slick and warm and gentle. How long has she wanted this?

Yaz pulls them toward the settee again, gasping slightly when Jo’s fingers brush over her belly. She feels the goosebumps erupt over her skin and the electricity coil up in her core, winding her right up.

Her breath against Yaz’s throat is a question, and Yaz grants her permission with a small sigh.

Jo’s mouth is hot against her neck as her fingers slip between her PJ bottoms, warm, clever fingers pressing against her wet folds. She skims over Yaz like she’s taking her sweet time, worshipping her.

How have they not done this before?

Yaz feels soft and Jo’s lips against her skin are soft and her fingers are soft and everything about this is soft, hazy, dreamlike.

Dreamlike.

She’s dreaming.

With start, Yaz sits up, the dreamscape broken by her realisation.

Oh, God. What was that? She’s dreaming about a widow, someone who’s still obviously grieving, but her knickers are sticky and she feels slick between her legs.

It’s been a while. Jo wasn’t exaggerating when she’d mentioned that Yaz hasn’t brought anyone home in the year she’s lived here. That’s what this is. And the non-flirty wink yesterday, it all makes sense. Yaz is reading into signals that aren’t there. But Jo is fit, Yaz can admit it, and her eyes are soft and her hands, God, those hands look like they have experience. They look like they could make her feel good.

The implications of what this means escape her when she lets her hand slip underneath the waistband of her pj’s. She finds wet heat, and her fingers move before she can decide that this is a bad idea. Jo’s name escapes her in quiet gasps. Her fingers never usually feel this good, but that’s probably because she’s imagining they belong to Jo, and God, what she’d do to feel that mouth against her pussy.

The thought makes her come without another second, grunting into the air, legs clamping tight around her hand as she tries to work herself through her release.

‘Well,’ she says aloud, arms flung out on the bed like she’s a starfish. ‘That was a thing.’

She sighs and huddles in the warmth of her bed for a little longer before she goes to make breakfast.

--

On day three of self-isolation, Jo wakes up to the smell of eggs and the sound of music that’s nostalgic of the 80’s but isn’t at the same time. It’s confusing her, so she follows it into the kitchen.

She creeps in to see Yaz in a cami, a loose cardigan and PJ bottoms. Her stomach is exposed and she’s wiggling around the kitchen. She’s throwing her head and hair around, singing into the end of the wooden spoon, ‘I know it’s really bad bad bad bad bad, messing with my head head head head head, we drive each other mad mad mad mad mad, but baby that’s what makes us good in bed, ple-e-e-e-ease come take it out on me me me me me, I know it’s really bad bad bad bad—oh, hey Jo! I’m makin’ breakfast.’

Jo chokes, her very active imagination conjuring up another dirty image of Yaz as she shakes her head to eliminate the image. ‘What song is that?’ She hopes it comes off as casual, but her voice is sleep-husky and it sounds a bit like a growl even to her own ears.

‘Oh, Dua Lipa released some new music. This one’s called Good in Bed. Easily the best song in the album, even if everyone disagrees with me. There’s lots of good stuff on here. The whole album is chocka full of bangers.’

Jo sighs. She’s reminded of Yaz’s youth from the way that she dances—badly—like no one is watching, and before she can think the question through, she asks ‘How old are you, Yaz?’

‘Twenty-two. You?’

Jo swallows. God, that’s young. There’s something intense about the way Yaz is looking at her. ‘Thirty-seven.’

Yaz says something under her breath that Jo doesn’t catch.

‘Oi, I heard that!’

‘No you didn’t,’ Yaz says, smiling like the Cheshire cat. Now Jo really wants to know what she said! ‘Why the sudden interest in my age, anyway?’

‘Just curious. I don’t know much about you.’ Good save, Jo.

‘And you want to start with my age?’ Yaz raises a perfect eyebrow, and uh-oh, Jo really shouldn’t be thinking of any part of Yaz as perfect. ‘By the way, I’ve been living here ages but I still don’t know what you teach.’

Thank God, a way to change the subject. ‘Astrophysics.’ Jo hoists herself up on one of the counters and swings her legs. ‘Don’t look at me like that, Yaz. It’s fun!’

‘Maths is fun?’ Yaz doesn’t look like she believes her.

‘Numbers are familiar, and they let you predict things about an otherwise unpredictable universe. There’s nothing more satisfying than getting to the end of an hours-long equation and solving it. There are even cash rewards for some of the most complicated maths questions, but that’s not why most of us do it. At least, that’s not why I do it. Also, I get exclusive access to some of the world’s best telescopes. I’ll take you some time.’

In the midst of her rambling, Jo hasn’t realised what she’s offered until Yaz is coming closer and beaming at her. ‘It’s a date.’ She says it so smoothly, so unselfconsciously, and then she jumps up and down as the next song comes on. ‘You’ll like this one, then.’

‘Why?’ Jo swallows, thankful for the space that grows between them.

‘Levitating, the next song. Lots of references to space and stuff.’ Yaz turns around and ignores Jo in favour of the eggs. ‘Almost ready. Made enough for the both of us. Do you eat eggs?’

‘I eat anything,’ Jo admits.

A timer beeps and the oven gloves are on before Jo can blink. Yaz removes what looks to be hash browns and places the oven tray on a cork to protect the counter.

‘If you’re feelin’ like you need a little bit of company you met me at the perfect time.’

Jo decides she does like the song, but not for the reasons Yaz said.

Chapter Text

Yaz spends the morning teasing Jo mercilessly. She plays with her hair, touches Jo’s arm at every opportunity, and gives Jo the once-over at least three times. Yaz really is ramping it up, and it results in a flustered Jo who talks a lot more than usual, waves her hands around, and avoids Yaz’s gaze.

Is it bad to tease? Yaz doesn’t think so. She doesn’t know whether or not she’s glad Jo didn’t hear her ‘love an older woman,’ comment in the kitchen. Maybe that was a bit much, but it doesn’t really matter because Jo didn’t hear it.

Did she? Yaz can’t really tell. She’s acting funny, but then, so’s Yaz. It feels like they’re dancing around each other, and the forced proximity doesn’t help. Or hurt. It’s only been a week since they started isolating, and only three days since it’s been official. They’re stuck here for at least another two and a bit weeks, and Yaz feels like she’s suffocating. This gives her something to do besides work and twitter and mope. Besides, she wouldn’t do it if she didn’t think Jo was into it.

Last time Yaz had a crush this bad, she was blonde, too. But that was in secondary, and that hadn’t turned out well at all. Izzy Flint, her name was, and she was beautiful. Long hair, wicked smile, sparkling eyes, quick fingers. She was her first, and when Izzy’s mum found them in her bed feeling each other up one day in Year 11, that was it. Izzy had thrown her to the wolves.

It wasn’t just that Izzy became cruel, but Yaz had fallen hard and fast for her and they weren’t even allowed in the same classes after the incident. Yaz doesn’t particularly blame Izzy for telling her parents that Yaz’d come on to her. It was hard enough to live in her own house after, with supportive parents, but Izzy? She was living in a homophobic household, and she had to do what she had to do to survive. Telling the whole school had been a bit shit, though. Sometimes, she would throw apologetic looks Yaz’s way, but that had been worse in some ways. Yaz’’d kissed Danny Biswas at a party, kissed him like she meant it, to stop the rumours. It had pretty much worked, except she’d had to suck face with someone she was really not interested in.

It’s not that Yaz hasn’t had other flings and lovers, or whatever. Gay clubs had become her best friends after Izzy, and Yaz’s had more sexual partners than she cares to count. Mostly in club bathrooms and other people’s houses. Sure, she’d been sixteen and banging women way older than her for the most part, and sure, it was a way to forget Izzy, but it hadn’t been sustainable after a couple of years. Yaz has put an end to that part of her life. Nothing wrong with it for other people, but it isn’t for her.

This feels different. This feels like more than just a way to blow off some steam. She hasn’t dreamt about someone specific since Izzy. She’s had sex dreams, but they’re always full of faceless women doing her bidding. Now, she’s got a face and a name and a warm body that, if she’s not mistaken, leans toward her touches and glances.

Yaz shakes her head. She doesn’t want to think about Izzy Flint or her time in the club scene. She wants something else entirely.

--

Jo is nervous. First day of classes level nervous. It’s all the little touches that started this morning, the way Yaz glows when she smiles at Jo, and her dark eyes when they make their lazy way up Jo’s body.

That girl is definitely flirting with her, and it’s exciting! But it’s not because it’s not supposed to be happening. People don’t flirt with her. Well, Jack does, but it’s fine when he does it because he’s Jack. His natural state of being is flirtatious, and she’s been there, done that. Speaking of, they’re due to Skype, soon.

The familiar ringtone sounds through her headphones, and she removes her glasses. Jack’ll never let her live it down if he sees her wearing them.

She answers the call and Jack smiles at her through the screen.

‘Hey, Doc!’

‘Jack, I know you were going to ask me for some advice, but I need your help.’ She feels frantic with this energy.

‘Why, you haven’t caught it, have you?’ The screen is a bit blurry without her glasses, but he seems concerned, and she needs to nip that in the bud, now.

‘Not as far as I’m aware. No, I’m, uh… you know my housemate?’

‘The cutie Graham’s grandson went to school with? Of course.’

‘She—I think she’s flirting with me,’ she whispers. Jack’s face lights up in delight, and Jo groans. ‘No, I don’t want her to, Jack.’

‘Oh, come on. She’s gorgeous!’ The outrage on his face would be funny if it weren’t directed at her.

‘She’s fifteen years younger than me!’

‘Is that your only objection? Look, if she’s flirting with you, then she doesn’t have a problem with your age. Besides, a fifteen-year age gap is hardly criminal. She’s what, twenty-five?’

‘Twenty-two,’ Jo hisses.

‘Old enough to make her own decisions. C’mon, Doctor Smith. Think about it? Some hot young thing, bossing you around in bed. Tell me you’re not into it, eh?’ He’s waggling his eyebrows and Jo is miserable with embarrassment. She shouldn’t have told him. He knows her far too well and she’ll never hear the end of it, now.

‘So,’ she says, desperate to change the subject and rocking in her seat, ‘Your syllabus?’

‘Nah, babe. We’re talking about this now. Syllabi aren't nearly as interesting as your sex life.’

‘I don’t, I mean, I don’t have a sex life?’ She splutters, and her rocking is increasing in intensity.

‘Not yet,’ he grins. ‘We’ve got two and a half weeks left, at least, and if your reaction is anything to judge by, you can already cut the tension with a knife.’

Jo hears a door open and Yaz walks by. She’s never been more grateful for headphones. Isn’t Yaz supposed to be working in the dining room? Jo thought the front room was her work-place.

‘Sorry, Jo. Just grabbing my tablet,’ Yaz says.

‘There she is. She’s even hotter than the last time I saw her.’

‘Okay Jack, bye!’ Jo’s voice squeaks and she slams her laptop screen down.

‘You okay, Jo?’ Yaz asks, coming to sit beside her and rest her hand on her shoulder. It’s a light touch, barely there, but Jo is so touch starved that she leans into it. She says the first thing that comes to her mind.

‘Wanna sit in on one of my classes?’ Oh God, not what she meant to say.

‘How long is it?’

‘An hour and a half. C’mon,’ Jo grimaces. She shouldn’t be trying so hard to convince her, but now she’s got to commit. ‘Maybe I can make you believe in the magic of maths.’

‘I doubt it but sure, why not.’

Fuck. She wasn’t supposed to agree.

‘Be ready at three, yeah?’ Jo says.

‘Kay.’ Yaz smiles broadly and winks, and heat travels up from Jo’s neck to her face. This is going to be a long day.

Chapter Text

‘Hey, Son.’ Yaz grins at the screen. She’s taking a much-needed break before she sits for ninety minutes. Though maybe sitting before sitting isn’t much of a break.

‘Yaz! Nani missed you on Sunday. Her favourite wasn’t here.’

Yaz groans. ‘Fuck off, Sonya. I need your help.’

‘Oh! An insult and a plea for help? You finally fall for that milfy housemate of yours, then?’

‘What?’ Yaz rubs her forehead, trying not to smile and opting for a scowl instead. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘I hear no denials there, Yaz.’

Yaz smiles, then. Oh, she's forgotten something. Doesn't want Jo walking in on this convo. ‘One second lemme put my headphones on.’

‘Oh my God, that’s a yes, innit? Yaz, you motherfu—’ the headphones are in and she misses the rest of the word, though she can certainly hazard a guess.

When she finally puts her headphones back on, Sonya is squealing and cursing up a storm.

‘Okay, so tell me everything.’ Sonya says finally, propping her head in her hands.

Yaz swallows thickly. Where to begin? ‘She a, uh, she’s a widow.’ God, why’d she start there?

‘Oh, you like a traumatised bitch, don’t ya, Yaz?’

‘Oi! That’s not all there is to her,’ Yaz defends.

‘But it’s the first thing you said,’ Sonya grins.

‘You don’t want to know the first thing I thought,’ Yaz sticks her tongue out.

Sonya grimaces. ‘Ew, keep it in your pants, Yaz.’

‘You asked. But no, seriously,’ she sighs. ‘She gets all blushy when I flirt, and she’s all sweet and she’s very fun to tease. She invited me to sit in on one of her lectures, too.’

‘Yaz, please, I really don’t wanna hear how much you wanna shag her. Wait, is she a professor? Aren’t they usually old as balls?’

Yaz rolls her eyes. ‘Not all of them.’

‘Whatever. So, I guess quarantine will be an all-out lovefest.’

‘Nah.’ Yaz sighs. ‘I think I may be coming on too strong.’ It’s bothering her, really, that Jo hasn’t reciprocated yet, but this is the closest she’s been able to verbalise it.

‘Or maybe she feels guilty? There’s a bit of an age gap, Yaz. Don’t give up. She did invite you to see her lecture, right? Oh wait, that isn’t some weird euphemism, is it? No, don’t answer, I don’t wanna know. Mum needs my help with something. Let me know if you end up banging, byeeeee.’

Yaz shakes her head. Her and Son have gotten a lot closer since she moved out. Less fighting, though they’ll never be lovey-dovey sisters, and Sonya has been trying desperately to get her laid. Yaz thinks she’s worried. Sonya was the first person she told about that Izzy business. Sonya saw her come in at night, wasted, and covered for her more times than Yaz can count, despite getting caught herself whenever she went out. And that was before they got along.

It’s quarter to 3. She needs to get a shift on. Yaz locks her work and home laptops and goes to see what Jo is up to.

Spending time with Jo, even if it’s time Jo isn’t spent paying attention to her, that’ll be fun. Usually, they just see each other in passing. She wonders if she can make Jo jumpy in front of her class. Maybe that’s not the best idea, actually. She’d gone absolutely pink when Yaz had winked at her. It’s cute. It’s cute how hard Jo is trying to resist her, but Sonya’s right, Yaz will get through. Yaz wants her, and she thinks Jo wants her, too. There’s no reason they shouldn’t find mutual pleasure. And then maybe the good professor will get out of her head.

The thought startles her. Is that why she’s trying so hard? Because she wants to bed and forget Jo? That’s not… could make things awkward. They live together, for fuck’s sake! ‘What are you doing?’ She asks herself aloud. She’s been doing a lot of that since she started self-isolating. But no, really, what is she doing? She has a good thing going. Cheap rent for a great place—she knows that she pays less rent than Jo and she could never afford a place like this on her own.

She sighs. It’s getting late, she thinks as she grabs a sketchbook and makes her way to the front room.

‘Hiya, Yaz.’ Jo is focused on her computer again, ignoring her in favour of getting her work done. Fair enough. ‘I’ll be dialling in early. There’s always questions, bright eager minds wanting to learn.’

‘Hiya. What type of questions do they ask?’ She’s genuinely curious.

Jo looks up, nose scrunching. ‘Er, maths mostly. Help with equations. Should let my teaching assistant help with that, but I usually guide them a bit if they’re in early. I’m dialling in now.’ She points to the ottoman and Yaz sits there, crossing her legs.

‘Hi, all! What’ve you got for me today?’

Yaz tunes out after that but does note that the students call Jo ‘Doctor,’ and also, Jo seems to be in her element. Her hands still move, but they seem less chaotic, and her expression is focused. Every so often, her tongue will poke out of her mouth, pink and adorable. It’s endearing, and it’s sweet, and Yasmin Khan, you’ve got it bad.

She shakes the thought away and realises she hasn’t touched her sketchbook. She picks it up and begins to draw. It’s not particularly good, just a little sketch of Jo with a speech bubble that says ‘Maths is fun actually.’ She’s totally engrossed in what she’s doing, drawing Jo partly from memory and partly from reference.

‘Yaz?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Class is over.’

‘That were fast.’

‘It were the longest 90 minutes of my life,’ Jo groans. ‘I love helping people, but some things just—what’s that?’

Yaz feels shy all of a sudden as Jo glances at the sketchbook open to the drawing of her. ‘I thought you were taking notes. Ambitious for someone coming in midway through the term without foundational knowledge. But this is much better.’

‘You think?’ Yaz passes it to her. She doesn’t usually like to show people sketches, but she feels comfortable with Jo, despite the fact that she’s been making Jo uncomfortable all day. She giggles and Jo looks at the sketch with wonder.

‘I’ve never been able to draw. This looks like me! You’re seriously talented, Yaz. What is it you do?’

‘I work for an archivist as admin staff. Not a key worker, so I’ve mostly been dealing with spreadsheets. This has been a nice change. You’re passionate about maths, which is bizarre but cute.’

For the first time since Yaz entered the front room, Jo fumbles again. Yaz doesn’t have the patience for it.

‘Do you run?’ She asks, interrupting Jo’s stutter.

‘Sometimes. Why?’

‘Let’s get our hour’s designated exercise and blow off some steam.

Jo nods uncertainly. ‘We have been cooped up. Good idea, Yaz.’

‘I’m full of good ideas, Jo.’

Jo trips out of the room, but not before Yaz hears her mutter, ‘I’m sure you are, Yasmin Khan.’

Chapter Text

It isn’t hot by any stretch of the imagination, but it isn’t the bitter winter cold, either. Spring is finally here, just in time for everyone to be stuck inside, and the daffodils and crocuses and even the tulip magnolias are showing off their colourful array.

Jo likes this time of year. It feels like a promise of better times, spring. The whole cycle of rebirth and new growth and hope. Spring is very hopeful. Lots of ancient societies felt that way about this season; must be something to do with the assurance of warmth after the long winter.

The run is quiet. There are a few people about, mostly with dogs, but there’s an eerie sort of stillness to the world. When they pass the shops, most of them are closed, despite it being early Tuesday evening. The local Chinese takeaway, which is usually open all hours, has a ‘closed’ sign in the window with a notice about Coronavirus, though the chip shop is open for ‘deliveries only.’ It’s just bizarre.

They pass the shops, and in the freedom of the open space, Jo allows herself to get lost in the rhythm of the run. She’s enjoying the biting breeze that keeps her from overheating and the way the fading sunlight touches her skin, when Yaz speaks.

‘I didn’t realise how much I’d missed being outside.’

‘Yeah. We need the outdoors. The sun, the fresh air. I understand why we have to stay at home, but it’s a shame we don’t have a back garden.’ Jo thinks to the back garden she had in the old house with River. It was big enough for a small greenhouse for River's passionflowers.

‘Sunbathing’d be nice when it gets warmer. It’s still cold for mid-March, innit?’

‘It is,’ Jo agrees. Yaz is keeping up with her well; the woman’s got stamina. Either that or Jo is getting old. She scrunches her face.

‘Whatcha thinking?’ Yaz asks.

Jo doesn’t know what to say, so she doesn’t say anything. Sure, River was ten years older than her, but those extra five years between Jo and Yaz really are making her uncomfortable. Besides, these feelings came on so quickly. Jo’s sure they’ll fade just as fast; she’s only feeling lonely and isolated.

Fingers curl around her arm, halting Jo. ‘Am I reading this wrong?’ The question startles her. She didn’t think Yaz would address it so soon, and it’s the first time she’s heard Yaz sound uncertain, her air of confidence gone. ‘Just because I’m having a hard time telling if you’re into this. I can stop. I should stop, and I will, if you want me to.’

Jo sighs. Okay, maybe it won’t go away. Of course, they’ve not acknowledged this thing, whatever it is, out loud to each other yet. But this isn’t really a conversation she wants to have in the open, despite the quiet in the street. ‘I…’ She begins running again, and Yaz follows.

Yaz takes a deep breath, but before she can say anything, words start tumbling out of Jo’s mouth. ‘I’m into it, into you. That’s the problem, don’t you see? You’re so young, and I’m not, and I come with a lot of baggage. You may think you want me, but you certainly don’t know me.’

She sneaks a glance at Yaz, whose face is warming with a smile, and Jo knows she’s in trouble. ‘It don’t have to be serious, Jo. We’re in lockdown. It’s, like, liminal spaces and all that. We’re both adults, we can do what we want. As long as it’s consensual, I don’t see why we shouldn’t have a bit of fun.’

Jo deflates. A bit of fun? ‘Is that what you want?’

The silence lasts a bit longer than it should before Yaz says, ‘Sure? Why not?’ It’s not a convincing argument, but Jo is weak. She’s been wanting Yaz since the incident with the crumb, which, fair enough, was only yesterday, but still.

‘Lemme make you dinner first,’ Jo says. Jack must’ve gotten into her head because she could kick herself for wasting time romancing when this beautiful woman wants to have sex with her. But it’s not a waste of time, not to Jo.

A huff beside her distracts her from her thoughts. ‘I’ve been messing with you all day and you’ve been tripping all over yourself. And now you wanna take me on a date?’

Has she thrown Yaz off? She opts for honesty. ‘It’s easier when I don’t have to look at you. Doesn’t make me as nervous.’

‘I make you nervous, then.’ When Yaz laughs, it’s loud and bright.

‘A bit, yeah.’

‘Well, let’s see if we can rectify that.’

‘Fancy a lasagna? Lasagna’s brilliant!' Anything to diffuse the tension.

Yaz takes the bait. ‘Sure. Why not?’

--

Yaz watches as Jo bends over to place the lasagna in the oven.

‘I never could cook. It wasn’t until 2015 that Jack insisted I couldn’t live on takeaways for the rest of my life. He taught me, patient, told me it was like chemistry and laughed when I said I’m a physicist for a reason.’

‘You couldn’t cook until five years ago? You going to poison me or something?’

‘Nah. This is easy. It's mostly out of jars. 'Sides, you're too pretty to poison.’

It’s Yaz’s turn to stutter. She could get used to Jo calling her pretty, she thinks, and teasing her back. There are butterflies in her stomach, and she swallows them down, but not before Jo notices.

‘What? Cat got your tongue?’ There’s a challenge in Jo’s eyes, and Yaz blinks. She likes Jo bold. Yaz walks toward her. She pushes Jo against the fridge with her body, her hands resting on Jo’s hips. Jo doesn’t back down. It seems as though, in their admissions, Jo is a lot sturdier.

‘Have you been holding yourself back, Jo? You’re a lot braver than you were this morning.’

There’s the slightest of height differences, and before Yaz can talk herself out of it, she leans up to kiss Jo. Jo’s entire body is stiff, and for a moment, Yaz wonders if she’s done the wrong thing. Maybe it’s too much, or too soon, or both. But then, Jo melts into the kiss, her mouth pliant and open and real. This is real. This is actually happening. The flutter of eyelashes, the way her mouth feels against Yaz’s. She can hardly believe it.

When Jo pulls away, her eyes open, and Yaz notices for the first time their unique shade of hazel.

‘Let’s wait a bit? Until we’ve eaten.’

‘How long will it take to cook?’ Yaz asks.

‘Half an hour.’

‘Oh yeah, let’s wait. I wanna take my time with you.’

Jo bites her lip. ‘Can I, uh…’ She motions to the lack of space between them.

‘Oh, sure,’ Yaz agrees, but not before she places another kiss on Jo’s lips.

Chapter Text

Jo had just put the lasagna in the oven when Yaz decided she didn’t think she could sit in her presence for too long without spontaneously combusting. She wants to touch her, wants to feel her, and Jo was sitting there fidgeting like she wanted it just as much. Which is what makes this fun, but also frustrating.

So she’d disappeared to her bathroom, and here she is. Yaz steps into the shower, relief washing through her. It should be illegal to be this wound up, but a hot shower helps. Yaz has never understood the concept of a cold shower killing need, like need should be killed. She’s always encouraged the heat fizzing under her skin, the way that she wants and yearns and desires.

She takes the showerhead from the wall and changes the setting. She can’t help herself, and as the hot water jets against her, she does her best to quiet her cries. She comes quickly, violently, without any sense of completion, and a groan rips itself from her throat. Leaning against the shower wall and swallowing the air in great heaving breaths, she groans. It’s nothing like this morning when it was soft and sleepy and satisfying.

‘Fuck.’

She washes quickly, frustrated and overheated and mad with desire. It’s the worst shower she’s ever taken. Dressing feels like torture as the fabric drags over her damp skin, and she barely has time to blow dry her hair before Jo is calling, ‘Tea’s ready!’

She zhuzhes her hair and swipes some of the aloe vera vaseline on her lips. There. Presentable. Her hair is curlier than she likes, but she doesn’t have time to straighten it tonight.

By the time she steps out of the bathroom, Jo has set two places in the dining room and plated the lasagna.

‘Soz,’ Yaz says. ‘Needed a shower after my run. This looks nice.’

Jo’s hands are expressive, sweeping through the room. ‘I were gonna make garlic bread, but I forgot. The plating looks okay, doesn’t it? Oh, and I brought out the nice napkins. Dunno why, but it felt like a special occasion. What do you think?’

Yaz has no idea what’s come over her. Something about Jo drives her absolutely up the wall, and the way she’s chatting is so endearing, but Yaz wants to shut her up and leave the lasagna to cool while they finally get each other out of their systems. But that’s not going to happen, not right now anyway because she’s starving after everything.

‘Yeah, it does look nice.’

They sit to eat in front of each other, and as awkward as Yaz thinks it’s going to be, it’s actually pretty chill. Jo is animated, filling up the emptiness with her words and encouraging Yaz into conversation.

‘You really are passionate about space, huh?’

‘It’s amazing. Didja know wormholes might let you travel faster than light? I mean technically, nothing can travel faster than light, but I mean—’

‘I thought wormholes were science fiction.’

Jo looks genuinely affronted. ‘The maths supports their existence. I mean, they’re theoretical at this stage, sure, but I wouldn’t call them science fiction.’ She goes on to explain something about an Einstein-Rosen bridge that Yaz doesn’t follow, so Yaz tunes out and watches her. She really does love astrophysics. It’s nice to see someone so passionate about something, even if it is maths. Yaz laughs to herself. It’s not just maths, though, is it? It’s space, and who doesn’t love space?

God, she’s cute. Jo is cute! The way her face lights up when she talks about the things that make her happy, her expressions—she’s not afraid to look silly, and it’s endearing as anything—and those hands. Those expressive, beautiful hands that swoop in the air when she’s excited and scratch at her head when she’s thinking, and tap on the table when she’s looking at Yaz.

Yaz bites her lip. She’s halfway through her lasagna, but somehow Jo’s managed to finish hers, and she’s not hungry anymore.

‘You alright? The lasagna okay?’

‘Honestly? I haven’t been able to taste the lasagna ‘cuz my mind has been elsewhere.’

‘Oh?’ Jo looks disappointed for a second, but then she catches on. ‘Oh, you mean because we’re gonna bang!’ She says brightly, before turning scarlet.

Yaz bursts into laughter, some of the tension relieved. ‘I wouldn’t put it like that, but yeah.’

Jo joins in. ‘Oi, I’m trying!’ She’s trying to be stern, but her giggles completely ruin the effect.

Once their laughter subsides, Yaz suggests that they clear the table and worry about the washing up later. Jo smiles. ‘Fine by me.’

There’s some awkward shuffling to the kitchen, and they stand there for a moment before Yaz chokes. The transition between food and sex is just not something she thought about.

‘Uh, do you wanna watch a movie?’ Yaz asks, for once desperate for a distraction.

‘Yeah, yes please.’

They shift to the front room. Yaz doesn’t even pay attention to the movie Jo picks out, just sits beside her on the settee. They don’t touch. They don’t even move for the first ten minutes.

It’s meant to be a funny movie, Yaz thinks, but she’s too nervous to relax or act like a normal human being, and she’s so high strung, she wants to scream. What is she doing? Honestly? This seduction has backfired painfully, and she’s nervous. She’s nervous! It’s not fair, she’s usually suave and smooth and just better at this. At least, when she doesn’t care so much it’s easier. When it’s just a quick fuck. That’s what this is supposed to be, anyway.

It takes her a few minutes to finally chill the fuck out, and once she does, she realises that Jo is sitting there with one hand between them, inching ever more slowly toward her own hand. God, she’s desperate for a cuddle. Foregoing the hand-holding, she leans her head slowly on Jo’s shoulder, giving her time to back away if that’s not what she wants. While Jo’s shoulder stiffens for a moment, she relaxes and takes Yaz’s hand.

‘S’nice,’ Jo murmurs, rubbing her thumb over Yaz’s knuckles. ‘You’re nice.’

Her heart melts a little bit.

‘So are you.’

‘Hm. I haven’t been paying attention to anything on the telly.’

Yaz smiles. ‘Me either.’

Jo doesn’t stop rubbing her knuckle. ‘D’ya wanna get out of here?’ She raises her eyebrows with exaggeration, and Yaz can’t suppress her smile.

‘Yeah,’ and they’re standing, hands linked, moving toward Yaz’s room.

Yaz might’ve done some setup. Her room is clean, the bed is made, and she’s put on a playlist. It’s not too romantic, no candles, but Yaz wants to make Jo comfortable. Still, she wonders if the music is overdoing it.

‘D’ya think the music’s a bit much?’

‘Nah, I like music; music is brilliant.’ Jo inches toward her and brings their heads together. ‘You’re brilliant.’

Yaz’s breath stutters in her chest. She closes her eyes and the distance between their mouths disappears. Jo doesn’t hesitate this time, her mouth hungry against Yaz’s, her hands roaming everywhere. It’s tender and sweet and pulls at her heartstrings more than it should.

No, this isn’t how this is going to go. Yaz is the one in control of this, and even if a power struggle is fun, she always gets what she wants. Her hands drift over Jo’s breasts, and the teasing touch is rewarded with a hitch in Jo’s breath and a falter as her mouth opens. Yaz takes the opportunity, letting her tongue graze over warm lips.

She likes being in charge, has always liked it, but this is absurd. The way Jo whines against her mouth makes the heat coil in her belly like nothing else, and her little trick in the shower has only left her more desperate.

She fists her hands into Jo’s hair and pulls to tilt her head back, maybe a little too forcefully, because Jo’s groan turns into a sound of displeasure.

‘Sorry,’ Yaz whispers, mouthing at Jo’s neck. All seems to be forgiven because one of Jo’s cool hands makes its way between her shirt and skin and Yaz squeaks. Her other hand stays firmly on Yaz’s waist.

‘Do you want me to stop?’

‘Jo, if you stop right now I will cry,’ she admits. They stumble together toward the soft pillows of the bed; Yaz lands on her back with Jo on top of her. Jo’s pupils are blown wide, almost eclipsing the hazel of her irises, and her hand underneath Yaz’s shirt finds her nipple. Yaz arches against the bed.

Jo looks stunned. ‘I don’t know what you like,’ Jo admits, and Yaz giggles.

‘I don’t know what you like, either. Let’s find out together, yeah?’ When she reaches to take off her shirt, she manages to catch Jo’s face with her fist.

‘Ow,’ Jo says mildly.

‘Sorry!’ God, she sure is hurting Jo a lot, isn’t she? ‘I’m just… eager.’

‘I like eager! I can work with eager,’ Jo smiles, rubbing her nose. ‘I just need a second.’

‘D’ya need ice?’

‘Nah, you didn’t hit me that hard. Just smarts.’ Her expression scrunches and she smiles. ‘There, all better. Now, where were we? Oh! Takin’ your shirt off!’

Yaz grumbles and Jo smirks. It’s a good look on her.

Her brain short circuits when Jo pulls her shirt over her head, leaving her in nothing but a navy sports bra. Jo’s skin is accentuated with a constellation of moles and freckles that disappear down past her trousers and her bra.‘Your turn.’ Jo’s voice is gentle.

Yaz lets Jo help, and there’s something erotic about their joint efforts. The way that Jo’s hands slide over her torso, her cool fingertips resting lightly on her hips. Yaz doesn’t miss the way Jo looks at her, the way she reaches out to touch her breasts, and Yaz can’t just sit here. She reaches up to help Jo out of the sports bra.

Jo’s kissing her again, and then Yaz groans. Fuck, this is too slow, too sweet. She needs this to be more, more frenzied, feral, wild. She bites Jo’s lips, pushing her tongue into her mouth and relishing in the sound Jo makes. Like surprise and arousal, and she swaps their positions so Jo is beneath her.

‘You like being on top, huh?’ Yaz doesn’t think Jo means it to be sexy, but it makes her rut against the knee Jo’s pushed between her legs.

‘I dreamt about you. Last night, you and your clever fingers,’ another admission, this one making her more vulnerable than she’d intended, but it’s worth it the way Jo laughs in disbelief.

‘Is that what all this is about?’ She reaches up for another kiss, misses, and bites into Yaz’s neck. Yaz’s elbows just about keep her up, but it’s a close thing.

Jo’s fingers slip into her joggers and Yaz feels her hips buck as Jo’s fingers find her warmth, sliding between wet folds. She makes an embarrassing noise, but can’t find it in herself to care, not when Jo is looking up at her like that and her fingers are working her to madness.

‘Was this in your dream?’ Jo asks, her voice serious and teasing at once.

‘Ah, this is… fuck! Better.’

‘Better?’ Jo’s fingers are going too slow, and when Yaz tries to speed up, she goes slower.

‘Faster,’ she groans. ‘Please.’ She’s not used to begging, and she doesn’t know if she likes it or not but it seems to do the trick. She dances on Jo’s fingers, desperate, heated, close. This is going to be embarrassingly fast.

She doesn’t warn Jo when she comes, but she doesn’t need to. ‘I’ve got you, Yaz, you’re doing brilliantly. It’s alright, you can let go.’ Her eyes roll into the back of her head and she slumps over Jo, who’s still trying to work her through it.

‘Stop, stop, I’m done!’ She laughs, wriggling away from Jo’s insistent fingers. ‘It’s your turn anyway.’

Jo grins up at her. ‘Where do you want me then, Yaz.’

‘Oh, I’ve got you right where I want you,’ She pulls off Jo’s trousers, kisses down her belly, and grins against her skin. Jo wears boxers, and she’s delighted once more by how cute this woman is.

‘What’re you smiling about down there?’

‘You’re cute is all. I like your boxers.’

‘I weren’t expecting this when I got dressed this morning,’ Jo grumbles.

‘And when we went for the run?’

‘I wanted to be comfortable!’

‘See? No self-awareness. Very cute.’

Before Jo can protest, Yaz pulls the boxers down her legs and continues kissing down through the hair there and finally, finally to Jo’s wet heat. She’s slick and wet and God she smells divine.

Her tongue pulls through Jo’s slick folds, and God, Jo is vocal. Yaz likes it. She loves it.

‘Ah, Yaz, right there, please, please keep going. Please, I need more, more, please.’

Jo keeps wriggling her hips, and the second time that her pubic bone hurts Yaz’s nose, she withdraws and huffs. ‘You’re going to need to be a bit more still than that.’

‘Sorry, it’s been a while,’ Jo whines.

Yaz rolls her eyes and places a hand on Jo’s belly. Her other hand, she uses to ease a finger into Jo. ‘This okay?’

‘Only if you go back to—hnng—eating me. Please, your tongue is brilliant.

Yaz is more than happy to oblige. She smiles against Jo’s clit as she curls her finger and Jo nearly ascends off the bed. This time, Yaz is prepared and she hums in false displeasure.

‘No, no! Don’t stop, Yaz.’

‘Stay. Still.’

‘I’ll stay so still, you won’t even—aaaaah!’ Yaz has crooked her finger again, but true to her word, Jo’s hips only twitch. She decides she likes shutting Jo up like this.

She mouths at Jo’s clit until Jo is keening above her, begging, desperate, loud. A litany of pleases and Yaz’s own name are all she can make out from here. Jo finally breaks, her legs clenching around Yaz’s head, rocking violently and crying out.

Yaz doesn’t stop eating her until Jo tries to pull her up, her arms weak in the wake of her orgasm. ‘C’mere.’ Her voice is husky, raw, and Yaz grins. She did that to her.

Jo holds her carefully like she’s made of spun glass, but Yaz isn’t delicate. Still, she’s happy being the little spoon for the time being. She drifts off to sleep to the sound of music and Jo’s breathing.

Chapter Text

Hours later, Jo drifts in and out of sleep, her hand curled up in Yaz’s hair and a lovely warmth suffusing through her body. The music on Yaz’s playlist has been pleasant, and their evening together has been revelatory. She suspects that Yaz doesn’t want it to be a one night stand any more than she does. Besides, she doesn’t think she could live with Yaz after this and not want her again. She’d dreamed about her! The grin spreads over Jo’s face. It’s nice to be the object of someone’s desire again.

Vaguely, in the back of her mind, she knows that this has happened too quickly—that if she wants more, then tonight was a bad idea, that they should’ve gone slower and paced themselves and gotten to know each other a bit. But Jo is only human! And Yaz makes her feel things she thought were forever buried under trauma and grief.

She’ll deal with this in the morning. They can have a proper conversation now that they aren’t so desperate.

Jo closes her eyes, content, when the music catches her attention. It’s a piano riff that sounds familiar, makes her adrenaline spike. Suddenly, Jo is very, very awake. Trapped by Yaz’s limbs, trapped by the duvet, trapped by this mess of her own making.

‘Cause you’re a sky, ‘cause you’re full of stars.

I’m gonna give you my heart.

Her heart rate ticks up and she’s too hot, too warm, too wrong in her own skin. She needs to go. She needs to go!

With trembling hands, she jostles Yaz off her. She mumbles sleepily, but thank God she turns over, away from Jo. Jo is shaky as she finds her clothes and tries to pull them on, the song droning on behind her, too loud in the quiet of the room, but too low to drown out her gasping breaths. She manages to throw her shirt on and flees, making an effort not to bang the door behind her, but she can’t tell how loud anything is, because all she can hear is the crackling of fire. All she can smell is the smoke of her home being burnt to a crisp. All she can hear is that bloody song, and River’s corrupted breaths as her life ended.

Her stomach is in turmoil, her hands twitching, her head pounding. She makes her way through the house on memory alone. Miraculously, she finds her room, stumbles into the ensuite, leans over the toilet. She’s choking on memories and spit and bile, and once she heaves the bile into the toilet, there’s nothing left but the emptiness in her chest and the burning in the back of her throat and the memories in her head.

She’d been asleep, dozing. It was summer, hot, but she was warmer than she should’ve been. River shaking her, trying to get her to wake, but her brain was fuzzy. River carrying her, breathing in the toxic air, getting her to safety. Her smile when Jo had finally woken, both of them coughing up the sludge in their lungs. River collapsing and being taken away in a different ambulance. She died alone. She died alone! It should’ve been her. It should’ve been Jo.

Jo’s head rests against the toilet bowl.

A Sky Full of Stars had been their song. It had been played at River’s funeral, and it features in the odd nightmare as well.

She failed River. She got her killed. Logically, she knows it was more to do with the neighbour who’d overloaded his extension cable lead, and that it was an accident not of her own making, but if she’d only woken up! If River hadn’t had to carry her out, maybe she would have inhaled less smoke! If they’d moved from the terraced house out to the countryside like River wanted!

She feels her stomach begin to rebel again. God, she needs water. Unsuccessfully, she tries to stand before toppling over. She huddles on the floor, quiet, alone, rocking against the linoleum and descending into her worst memories.

--

The bed is cold when Yaz wakes up, and disappointment sinks into her belly. She had been the one to suggest that they be casual, but… Izzy was the last girl she allowed in her own room. Sure, a different room, a long time ago, but still. It feels like she let Jo get too close, which is absurd. They only started talking a week ago, only started flirting yesterday. Maybe she went too fast? Scared her off? Yaz wouldn’t be surprised. If she were Jo, she’d probably think that Yaz would be a good lay, but it’s not sustainable. Jo is older, has a different life, and probably only fucked her because Yaz had been insistent and there’s no one else around.

Still, that disappointment, though!

Before she knows what she’s doing, she turns off the music, unplugs her phone, and calls Sonya.

‘What do you want? I were sleeping.’

Yaz can’t help it. A choked sound escapes her throat and yup. She’s crying.

‘Hold on a sec,’ Sonya says, panic in her voice. In a moment, Yaz’s phone is requesting facetime. She struggles with a t-shirt, finally getting into it to make herself decent before she switches the call.

‘What happened?’ Sonya asks.

‘I messed up. Real bad, Sonya. I think I messed up real bad,’ Yaz hiccups.

‘Tell me what happened’ Sonya’s voice is low and comforting and it’s easy for Yaz to tell her. About their talk on the run, and the awkward dinner, and not paying attention to the movie. ‘And then we had sex. But I woke up and she’s not here. She left.’

Sonya sighs and leans her head against the table. ‘Yaz, you’re the one who said it was casual. Maybe she were just respecting your wishes? Besides, how do you know she’s not making you breakfast right now?’

‘I guess. But like… I don’t know! Something feels wrong.’

‘Calm down. Get dressed, get your sex hair under control, and like, talk to her. You’re going to be stuck with her ‘til this is over, and I really don’t think it’s only gonna be two weeks. Things are getting way more intense. Worst case scenario, this doesn’t work out. You’ll still need to be friendly until quarantine is over, which, yknow, it might not be for months.’

‘Thanks a lot for that.’ It comes out more sarcastic than she would’ve liked but it doesn’t deter Sonya.

‘Hey, I am not the enemy here. Seriously, you need to get yourself together. Go. Talk to her.’ Sonya has always been brilliant in a crisis.

‘Okay. Okay, you’re right. Don’t uh… don’t tell anyone.’

Sonya rolls her eyes. ‘When do I ever? And hey, call me if you need me. Oh, did you ever give Ryan my number?’

Yaz groans.

‘C’mon, you owe me! All those times I covered for you, eh? Besides, he’s not half cute and I need a distraction during quarantine. I’m sick of Tinder and dick pics.’

‘I’ll ask him if he’s happy for me to,’ Yaz concedes, wrinkling her nose. She already knows he’ll be over the moon; he’s been hounding her for Sonya’s number for months.

‘Okay. You gonna be alright?

‘I think so. I’m just sensitive. I thought we’d had a good night.’

‘And that’s where I’m tapping out. Good luck, Yaz.’ The screen goes black.

She rubs at her eyes. Okay. Okay, she can do this. She takes a deep breath and gets out of bed. Peering into the mirror, she grudgingly accepts that Sonya’s right. She needs to fix her hair first; it’s wilder than usual. Using her fingers to undo the worst tangles, she puffs out her cheeks. She looks around the room, finds her joggers, and pulls them on.

‘Now or never, Yaz,’ she tells herself, and she goes to find Jo.

Chapter Text

In the week that Jo ignores Yaz, BoJo contracts the Corona and so does the Health Minister. Yaz can’t remember his name. The only thing she knows about him is that in the advert where he tells people to stay home, he doesn’t look quite right; he looks like some sort of creature wearing a human skin suit. Maybe it’s because he’s been afflicted with no eyebrows, or that he doesn’t know how to speak to an audience on the telly, but still. It gives her the creeps.

She’s had a lot of time to watch Netflix and various other streaming services in her bedroom, doing her best to respect Jo’s space. If she doesn’t want to see Yaz, that’s fine. Yaz won’t inflict herself on anyone. It’s not like she hasn’t tried to reach out. Jo didn’t leave her room for three days! Yaz isn’t going to go crawling to someone who obviously wants nothing to do with her.

Still, the first few days, she’d cried, her self-esteem tanking. Sonya had gotten the worst of it. Even Ryan got an earful. They’d sat on the phone for two hours on day two. Ryan’s good for a laugh and for listening, too.

She’s better now, less likely to burst into tears, and carefully avoiding Jo. She sneaks to the kitchen for water and to take her antidepressants before sunrise, prays every morning, and works in her bedroom. She doesn’t want to get in Jo’s way. Actually, to be honest, if she sees Jo, her carefully constructed disinterest will shatter. If there’s something Yaz isn’t, it’s clingy. So why’s she getting so worked up about someone who doesn’t want her?

She huffs.

She’s been staring at her computer for ages now and she’s bored. Before she can think, she reaches for her stash of chocolate and groans when she realises she finished her last Ripple yesterday. ‘Uuuuugh. I hate this.’ They had a delivery from Tesco’s on Thursday, which Jo let Yaz deal with, and it is only Sunday, but she needs more chocolate.

She wonders for a moment if it’s worth it, then decides that chocolate is always worth it. What are the chances that Jo will be out and about anyway?

Pretty high, it turns out.

They run into each other in the kitchen. Yaz almost retreats to her room when she sees her, but she’s not a coward. She won’t run away just because things are a little uncomfortable

‘I’m going out,’ Yaz says, smiling with her teeth.

Jo flinches. ‘Oh, uh… me too. Ran out of custard creams.’

The flinch makes Yaz pay attention. Jo looks like shit. Her eyes have sunken into dark circles like she hasn’t been sleeping, and her skin has a pinched, hungry look to it. Yaz shouldn’t care. She doesn’t! It’s just an observation. Still, her manic smile softens.

‘I ran out of Ripples. Wanna come to the Co-op with me?’

‘That’d be nice,’ Jo says, a smile bringing some colour to her cheeks.

Yaz grabs her keys and her leather jacket and waits for Jo to get ready. ‘It’s a bit warm for a proper coat, isn’t it? It’s almost twenty degrees outside.’ Yaz asks, motioning to the long blue jacket Jo has thrown over her shoulders.

Jo just shrugs. ‘I run cold.’

Unbidden, the ghost of Jo’s cool fingers on her skin draws her back to their evening together. Yaz swallows and shakes the memory away. If Jo notices her misstep or the hitch in her breathing, she doesn’t say anything.

The Co-op is usually a brisk ten-minute walk away, but Jo is walking slowly and Yaz matches her pace. It feels like torture and once, their hands brush together. Jo jumps like she’s been burnt while Yaz feels her heart jump to her throat. It doesn’t happen again during that walk.

Waiting in the queue to get in is awkward, too. Walking together was strange, but standing there without saying anything is another thing altogether.

‘How long have they been doing this?’ Yaz asks.

‘It started last week I think. They’re also limiting how much of what you can buy.’

‘How long d’you reckon it’ll be like this?’

‘Months, I think.’

Yaz’s heart sinks, and the pinched look returns to Jo’s face.

Eventually, the woman with the crimson-dyed hair motions them forward. ‘Please avoid the first aisle as there are too many people there right now.’

Yaz nods and they step into the fairly empty store. ‘I’m going to get some baking things.’

‘I’ll go to another aisle then.’

It leaves Yaz bereft, watching Jo walk away, and she thinks they’re supposed to stick together anyway because they walked in together, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she focuses on the baking aisle, which is also the biscuit aisle. Oh, are those custard creams? Jo said she wanted some. Not that it matters, really, but it’s the neighbourly thing to do, and Sonya was right when she said they’ll be stuck together for the foreseeable future.

She grabs two boxes and deposits them into her basket before reaching for the flour and the vanilla extract. Does she need icing sugar? She definitely needs caster sugar.

She must be taking her time because as she’s deliberating, Jo enters her periphery.

‘I got your Ripples.’

Yaz turns to look at Jo and the peace offering in front of her. A seven-pack of Ripples. ‘It were the last one,’ Jo says. Her eyes are so gentle, and it takes all her self control for Yaz not to burst into tears in the middle of the Co-op. As it is, she has to blink away the moisture from her eyes.

‘Thanks. I got your custard creams.’ The words feel like they’re choking her, like they mean something else.

Jo looks surprised but hums, and Yaz really doesn’t know what to make of that.

They go to the self-checkout, and Jo’s paid with her phone before Yaz can dig into her purse for her wallet.

‘Oi!’

‘My treat. You can pay next time.’

Yaz shakes her head, but she doesn’t want to make a scene in front of everyone, so she holds her tongue and withdraws a collapsible bag from her purse. As soon as they’re a few minutes away from the store, though, Yaz rounds on Jo.

‘I don’t understand. You’re giving me a lot of mixed signals, here.’ Her voice rasps, harsher than she’d like, and Jo looks surprised.

Jo’s face scrunches like she’s confused. ‘You’re the one avoiding me,’ she says simply like she has any right to be hurt.

‘Me? You left me alone in my bed after we had sex and didn’t come out of your room for three days! If anyone’s avoiding anyone, it’s you.’ Her voice is high and loud and an older woman walking her chihuahua lifts her head to look at them before walking faster, away from them.

Jo seems startled. ‘Is that what you think?’ Then, Jo sighs. ‘Of course.’

‘Of course what?’ Yaz is feeling sensitive, and she doesn’t appreciate Jo looking at her like that.

Jo stops her with her cool fingertips on her arm. Her voice is hushed. ‘I didn’t realise. I… I have PTSD. I had a really bad flashback that night, and so I had to go. I didn’t—God, Yaz, you were great. You were so good, I didn’t think, I didn’t realise. And then I didn’t see you around the house, and I thought… I thought you wanted to be casual. I thought you’d think I was being clingy.’

Yaz feels her stomach drop out from under her. ‘What did I do?’

‘What?’

‘How did I—y’know, trigger your PTSD?’ Yaz didn’t mean to hurt Jo. She never wants to hurt anyone that way, especially not someone as sweet and kind as the woman next to her.

‘I don’t—oh Yaz, it weren’t anything you did.’ Jo looks mortified. ‘I don’t—can’t say what happened, but you had nothing to do with it. Okay, maybe you picked the playlist, but, please Yaz, don’t cry.’

Yaz sniffles, rubbing her nose against her sleeve.

‘Let’s get you home,’ Jo says, taking the heavy bag from Yaz and letting a hand rest on her back. ‘We can talk more freely there.’

Chapter Text

What a mess they’ve found themselves in.

Jo opens the door to their home and Yaz stumbles in behind her. She’s not crying anymore, which is something. Seeing Yaz burst into tears because she thought she’d hurt Jo was… well, it made her feel like proper scum. What kind of person does that to someone else?

She kicks her shoes off and takes their haul to the kitchen.

She’s not worth it, the tears and the pining. Yaz is miserable because Jo failed her with her stupid flashback and her stupid survivor’s guilt. Just another mark against her, breaking Yaz’s heart. She knew that Yaz would want more because Jo is many things, but she’s not completely unaware of what people expect from her. Still, she’d justified it to herself, citing Yaz’s need for space and the casual nature of their intimacy.

Except there was nothing casual about that night. It had been too nerve-wracking, too earnest and sweet. And even Jo can admit, if only to herself, that lying with Yaz in the afterglow had been the closest she’s been to peace in a long time.

No, Jo worries that she used her flashback as an excuse to close up.

Yaz hovers around her as she puts away the milk and the flour and various sugars. With a jolt, Jo realises she’s never made Yaz tea, so she offers, ‘D’ya wanna cuppa? I wanna cuppa.’ Except she doesn’t know how Yaz takes it. ‘Um, how many sugars?’

‘Just one, and a dash of milk.’

Yaz is staring at her with those brown eyes of hers like she can actually see Jo for what she is. It makes her nervous.

‘Comin’ right up! Want a biscuit, too?’

Yaz shakes her head. ‘Save ‘em. I’ve got my Ripples for later.’

Jo shrugs, ‘Suit yourself,’ and stuffs the custard cream into her mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, she boils the kettle and sits. Yaz is still staring at her, but when Jo catches her, this time she looks away.

The silence is unbearable, broken only by the rapidly boiling water and the quiet wheeze of the kettle. Jo taps her fingers against the counter, wonders how they got here, and remembers it was her lack of self-control. How to start talking about this? Should she just be upfront? How much does she really want to share with Yaz?

Before she can decide, Yaz beats her to it. ‘You said you had a flashback?’ Her voice is gentle.
Jo coughs and leans on the counter. This isn’t where she’d start the conversation, not by a long shot. She doesn’t want to say, but doesn’t Yaz deserve better than someone who’ll hide in her bedroom and ignore her? Surely, she does. Jo might not be able to give her stability or normalcy, but she can give her honesty. She can do at least that.

‘Yeah. One of the songs on your playlist? A Sky Full of Stars. Coldplay.’ Jo notes that her voice has gone monotone and grimaces. ‘They played it at River’s funeral, and it were our song before… y’know. She died.’ Now she sounds blase! Getting this right is hard. ‘Haven’t listened to it since, didn’t know it would make me freak out. If I didn’t know, you certainly couldn’t have. Don’t worry about it.’

‘Are you okay?’

‘Me? Right as rain.’

Yaz opens her mouth like she’s about to speak, then closes it. The kettle clicks, announcing the boiled water, and Jo pushes off the counter.

‘You like a builder’s tea, then?’

‘Sure. Also, if you don’t wanna talk about this, you don’t have to.’

God, Yaz is a perceptive one, isn’t she? Jo’s back is turned to Yaz as she speaks, and she spills some of the hot water on the counter, splashing her hand in the process. She flinches and hisses, plonks the kettle down and shakes her burnt hand.

Yaz is there in an instant, pulling Jo toward the sink and turning the cold tap on. Jo lets her lead her, lets her run the cold water over her skin, and even lets her put cling film on her hand.

‘What’s the cling film for?’

‘Dunno. Something I remember from a first aid class I took in college.’

Jo winces.

‘Did I hurt you?’ Yaz asks.

‘No. I just remembered how young you are.’ Jo wishes she could keep her mouth shut because it was obviously the wrong thing to say.

Yaz huffs, but her hands are still gentle as they perforate the cling film. ‘You didn’t seem to care about my age when I had my tongue in your—’

‘Please don’t…’ Jo interrupts. Her face burns almost as hot as the minor injury on her hand.

‘Fine. Doesn’t matter, anyway. We’re both consenting adults.’ Yaz says, the concentration on her face broken by Jo’s uninjured hand reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

She shouldn’t be touching her. Shouldn’t continue to encourage this. Too late, really, but better late than never? Maybe not. Does she want this? Jo sighs when she realises that yes, yes she does. She wants to wake up next to Yaz in the mornings, curl up to her in the evening, be affectionate when they’re together. She wants the whole lot, not just a few nights here and there to scratch an itch.

‘I have students older than you.’ She’s trying to convince herself that this is wrong.

‘Must be mature students.’ Yaz counters.

‘Grad students, nontraditional students, former military, y’know. Quite a few. How long do I keep this on for?’ She doesn’t like the crinkliness of the cling film, doesn’t like the way it sticks to her arm, and doesn’t really think she needs it. But for Yaz’s sake, she’ll keep it on.

‘Don’t remember. College were a while ago now. Google it.’ Yaz sticks her tongue out at her and goes to put the cling film away. ‘I’ll finish the tea.’

Jo leans against the counter beside Yaz, watching her steady hands pour the hot water and stir the tea. How is this young woman so composed? Jo feels like she’s falling apart at the seams.

A mug of tea presses into her hands, and Yaz speaks. ‘When my granddad died, it were really hard on my Nani. She were what, sixtyish when he died? I remember his quiet nature and kindness and the way he looked at her like she held the whole world in her hands. I also remember that she shut herself away for weeks. Didn’t leave the house, barely spoke. I can’t imagine how hard it is to lose someone you’ve decided to share your life with. You’re so young. But like, I want to understand. I want to help. I know it can’t be easy.’

Yaz stops to drink her tea, and Jo jumps in, nerves pushing her forward.

‘It were my fault.’ Jo recoils from the words. ‘Well, my trauma specialist says—anyway, not the point. A fire broke out and I didn’t wake up and River carried me out and inhaled too much smoke, and saving my life killed her. So yeah, my fault.’

Jo waits for the blame, waits for Yaz to turn off completely to this.

It doesn’t happen.

‘How long ago was this?’

‘Six years in August.’

‘Oh, wow. How often do the flashbacks happen?’

Jo sips her tea. ‘Less often. I didn’t get them at all for the first year or so, but then it got hot again in the summer of 2015 and that was it.

‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘Just… be patient with me? Understand that if you want this, if you want me, I am deeply flawed and not at all in one piece.’

Jo can see the hope filter back into Yaz’s expression. She steps toward her, takes her hands, and avoiding the burn, squeezes.

‘Wanna watch something with me?’ Yaz asks, her eyes kind. ‘There’s a new season of Nailed It.’

Even though Jo has never heard of Nailed It in her life, she acquiesces. Anything to get out of this conversation. Anything to feel normal. Watching T.V. with Yaz, that feels like normal.

They take their teas and shift to the front room. It’s too much when Yaz sits beside her, loops their arms together; it leaves Jo tense. She doesn’t deserve this. She doesn’t deserve forgiveness, or for Yaz to be good for her, or even the way that Yaz’s fingers press against her skin.

‘I can hear you thinking from over here. We’re fine. Stop worrying and enjoy the ugly cakes.’ She kisses Jo’s arm and cuddles against her side. Jo’s heart melts, and something like hope takes up residence in her ribcage.

Jo hesitates. ‘Um, Yaz?’

‘Hmm?’

‘I’m glad. I’m glad you’re here with me. I’m really glad.’ Despite her lack of eloquence, Yaz smiles at her. She kisses Yaz’s forehead, and Yaz’s grin turns softer.

Jo finally allows herself to enjoy the embrace, and for a few hours at least, forgets her sorrow.