Enough, a good place fanfic

Tahani Al-Jamil should not be in this supermarket parking lot. She really, really should not. But here she is anyway, staring vaguely around her in search of her car and determinedly refusing to acknowledge the blurriness in her vision. Someone is yelling at that poor boy who was handing out environmental flyers earlier. Her groceries (a bottle-okay, maybe three bottles- of the most expensive wine in the place, which was much too cheap all the same, so it'll probably be godawful) bang dully against her hip. Tahani can feel them leaving smears of condensation on her skirts.

Something bumps into her impeccable, sky blue, designer heels. It's a bottle of something called "Lonely Girl Margarita Mix." Tahani thinks she might have a simply ravishing dress that same color.

"Hey, you jag, a little help here?" Tahani, still a little dazed, believes she should probably be at least a bit affronted, and turns to the clumsy stranger. She's a short- tiny really, she reminds Tahani of that Disney fairy- blonde. Her clothes are truly atrocious, and do the woman no favors.

"Oh shit, not just a jag," the woman says, face going strangely blank. "A really, really sexy jag."

"Excuse me?" Tahani can feel the moisture in her eyes receding a bit. "What is a jag? I have the feeling you're insulting me, ma'am."

The other woman's face goes red in less than a second. It doesn't match her lipstick. "Ma'am? Wh-"

"Look out!"

"Duck!"

"Get out of the way!"

There's a cacophonous jangling somewhere off to the side and behind her. Instinctually, Tahani lunges forward, tipping precariously on her heels, and collides roughly with the tiny woman. She and Tahani go crashing to the ground, and the jangling (shopping carts, what on Earth?) passes by. The woman bangs her head hard against the concrete, and even though she's trying not to, Tahani can feel that her bodyweight is crushing the woman's chest. (It's a very nice chest, very nice, very soft, but Tahani should really not be thinking about that right now.)

Before either of them can move, another terrible noise, that of grating metal and screeching tires draws Tahani's attention. A truck with a quite uncouth sign being hauled on it has smashed into the shopping carts. Well, then.

"Holy shit," the blonde underneath Tahani wheezes, not even struggling to get up. "A really, really sexy jag just saved my life. You're my hero, sexy skyscraper lady."

This is how Tahani meets Eleanor Shellstrop.

It starts with the art. It's small, she really shouldn't make this big of a deal out of it. Really, she's making a scene. Mother would be so disappointed.

But she wanted to remember that day in the garden with Mother. She loved that day. They were alone, walking the grounds. It was spring, and beautiful. Tahani loved the lavender blooms the most.

Mother was listening to her, nodding along as Tahani chatted about China's growing GDP, the newest additions to the Louvre, and other small talk. And then the bird.

It was such a small creature, Tahani's heart tightened instantly. She'd always had a soft spot for small things, like if she didn't protect them they might break.

And it was so-normal. Not richly colored or feathered, not regal and proud. But it was still fine, still delicate, and so, so still. She wasn't used to seeing something like a bird, something so active and joyful, be so still.

So she draws it. She starts as soon as they get home, because Mother hadn't seemed to notice anything special about the bird when Tahani pointed it out to her, and if Tahani can just get this drawing right, maybe Mother will understand.

Mother doesn't understand.

The woman who would turn out to be Eleanor Shellstrop is bleeding from the back of her head. Tahani lets her hands flutter over her fine blonde strands for a moment, feeling useless. Goodness Tahani, don't you know you need to stop the bleeding? Head wounds are quite dangerous you know, says the Kamilah in her head. She grits her teeth so hard her jaw creaks and offers the woman her silk handkerchief.

"Thank you, gorgeous," the fairy woman says, and then, "holy hell, I can't believe you actually just saved me from being crushed by an erectile dysfunction ad. I owe you, man."

Tahani is so numb, she can't react to the abrupt change in nicknames. "I have to get you to a hospital. Head wounds are quite dangerous, you know."

The blonde, now listing dangerously to the side and trying to dab the blood away from her hair ineffectually, leers. "You asking me out on a date now, skyscraper?"

Tahani doesn't know what to say to that, so instead she puts a steadying hand on the woman's elbow and leads her to her car.

She tries again and again, over the years. Straight A's at boarding schools, fine art exhibits and modeling in Paris, charity drives and trips to undeveloped Africa. She tries and tries and keeps trying and it's not enough, never never nevernevernevernevernevernever-

Eleanor Shellstrop is sent home from the emergency room with a mild concussion, the good kind of painkillers, and instructions not to sleep that night. The passenger seat in Tahani's tasteful hybrid is stain with blood. She tries not to look at it, which means not looking at Eleanor Shellstrop, which means there's an awkward silence from the hospital to Eleanor's apartment. It's in-a not very good part of town. She doesn't like the look of the sagging roof or the peeling paint of the walls, but continues to say nothing.

Eleanor avoids eye contact as she unbuckles herself-Tahani thinks maybe she's embarrassed by the address, or maybe just tired, or annoyed that Tahani cost her hundreds in medical bills or-

"Hey man, thanks for bringing me home." Eleanor swipes her hair out of her face and gives Tahani a strained smile. "And for saving my life. Have I already thanked you for that?"

Tahani has answered this question five times now. "Yes, Eleanor, I think it might have come up."

The (sweet) smile falters, and Tahani's gut twists immediately. She isn't trying to be mean. "Ok, well, thanks again, but you're probably really tired, and I don't have enough room in my bed for two, if you know what I mean, so I'll just be going." She makes to get out of the car, and Tahani is surprised to find her hand clamped on the other woman's arm.

"Wait!" Too loud, too loud is such a small car, God, what has happened to you, Tahani? "Do you have someone to, you know…?"

"Make sure I don't crack my head open again and die horribly?" Eleanor says grandly, but her eyes are darting down and to the left. "Nah, I'm fine on my own, thanks, really-"

"No no no," Tahani has no idea what's coming out of her mouth right now, "that won't do at all. The doctor said you have to be kept awake and you won't be able to do it yourself. I'll come with you."

"Look, I know you're on like, a heroic streak or something, but I'm done being a damsel in distress for this week. Check back later, yeah?" Eleanor tries to pull away, annoyance evident in the curl of her lips, but Tahani can't make her hand uncurl from the strange-parking-lot-fairy-woman's arm.

"I'm not trying to condescend, Eleanor. I just want to make sure you're alright. It's my fault you got hurt in the first place."

Eleanor snorts. "You got a martyr complex lady? I don't even know your name." But she isn't trying to pull away anymore, and her hand holding her keys has loosened around them.

"I'm Tahani Al-Jamil," Tahani smiles, for the first time in a long damn time. The muscles moving in her cheeks feel foreign. "Lovely to meet you. Now won't you invite me in?"

1. It's not like Kamilah is mean per se. She never hurts Tahani, doesn't punch or kick or bite. No, that would be improper for a girl of her sophisticated twelve years. And Tahani, at fourteen, can't say she's being bullied by her little sister.

No, it's just-well.

It's sort of like Tahani just disappears as soon as Kamilah is in the room. She walks in and it's like Mother has finally found something to distract her from Tahani's dreadful conversation. She appears at the doorway and Father seems to need to discuss politics and art with her at once.

Tahani, while acknowledged is not-there. She's alone, but not. She feels like the hallways are growing longer, the walls between herself and her family thickening, closing in, suffocating her in silence. She's on an island.

But like she said, Kamilah is never mean. She's just not ever very nice either.

Eleanor, it turns out, can be kind of an asshole. Not that Tahani will ever say that to her face of course. Or even out loud. She kind of feels bad even thinking it.

Nevertheless, it's sometimes true. Eleanor took Tahani's phone that night and plugged her number in under "Parking Lot Hottie," and wouldn't give it back for another hour, which she spent running down the battery playing Angry Birds. She even beat Tahani's high score, the little twerp. It was dead by the time Tahani got it back in her clutches. She raved for half the night about something called "Jersey Shore," complained when Tahani won't let her drink anything but water, and eventually threw up on Tahani's designer shoes. She'd actually seemed to feel pretty bad about that last one, seeing as how Tahani couldn't shut her apologies up for hours. Eleanor finally fell asleep on the couch after Tahani concluded that she wouldn't die in her sleep in the very early morning light. She'd mumbled something about Tahani taking the bed for all her hard work, but Tahani felt she didn't want to see how this mess of a woman kept her bed. She'd left in the morning wondering vaguely what she'd gotten herself into with "Parking Lot Hottie" and feeling a strange lack of regret about it. (She didn't even remember her forgotten wine and misery session planned for that night until three days later.)

Eleanor texts constantly too. Not even just a few times a day, but all. The. Time. Little things like "Just saw a kid on a skateboard eat it. LOL!"

"Do you think I could score Hamilton tickets if I went all out pretending I have cancer?"

"Ugh, work sucks, I know, she left me roses by the stairs, surprises let me know she cares!"

(There's a twinge in Tahani's chest at that last one. Who is this mystery woman leaving Eleanor roses?)

She seems to have taken a shine to Tahani, which works out pretty well because there's something about Eleanor. Something makes Tahani keep coming back to check up on her, make sure she's alright. At first, she believes it might be residual guilt, seeing as how she caused the woman's concussion, or maybe she herself is just lonely. She's never really lived alone before, and now here she is in a forgiven country and her family-. Well. She thinks maybe Eleanor knows a little something about loneliness, anyway, because she never fails to let Tahani in, no matter how late it is.

But still, when it comes down to it, Tahani thinks maybe-well, maybe Eleanor is a good thing. She doesn't seem to realize who Tahani is, anyway, and never really mentions things like Tahani's expensive car and house and designer clothes further than to cat-call her when they meet. She doesn't mention anything about the time when Tahani first shows up on her doorstep at midnight, doesn't say anything about her running eyeliner or the imprint of her phone on her cheek or the way her dress isn't hanging just so on her frame tonight. She lets Tahani in, takes her to the bathroom and stuffs a package of makeup removing towelettes in her hand (terribly cheap material, she worries for the fragile skin of Eleanor's cheeks having to endure this every night) and puts on something called "The Real House Wives of Atlanta" when Tahani composes herself. It's a horrid show, but Tahani doesn't mind it as long as Eleanor keeps pressing up against her side like that.

"Do you need to, like, talk about it or something?" Tahani turns but Eleanor isn't looking at her. She's twisting her hands (long, delicate fingers, they're painted the same sky blue Tahani had been wearing that first day) in her sleeves and staring resolutely at the T.V.

"Not really, thank you." The words feel stiff in her mouth, and Tahani shuffles just a bit closer to Eleanor to take the bite out. Eleanor, for her part, leans in even more, warm and soft and comforting.

"Oh thank God, because honestly I'm terrible at this."

"At what?"

Eleanor's smile isn't pleasant. "Being friends with people, I guess. Used to being on my own."

"You're not terrible at it, Eleanor," Tahani objects softly. On the spur if the moment, she reaches over, slipping her hand between Eleanor's worrying ones and laces their fingers. "You're not terrible at all."

Okay, maybe Eleanor isn't an asshole, after all.

She packs her bags, calls the chauffer, and buys a plane ticket, the first one she sees. It's to Austin, Texas.

Her parents don't realize she's gone until about a month later. Tahani declines the call. She can hardly see the phone through tears. She decides she needs some wine.

They forgot her fucking birthday. She'd called, specially, to invite them. They said they'd be there. They said they'd be there.

She really needs that wine.

"Is it too early in our friendship to ask favors?" Tahani blurts as soon as Eleanor opens her door. She shifts anxiously, feeling unsteady on her heels for the first time in years, and nearly pitches forward when Eleanor moves aside.

"Um, I guess it depends," Eleanor says uncertainly, laying a hand on her arm. "Is this in any way illegal, having to do with dead bodies, or could get me put on a watch list?"

"No, of course not!"

"Darn." She smiles up at Tahani, and not for the first time, Tahani catches herself tipping toward the blonde, pulled into orbit. She wonders how her lipstick tastes, if it's chalky like her own or chemically flavored. Oh, maybe that tasteful natural stuff some companies are rolling out.

Eleanor has been speaking. She looks bemused. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" Nice, Tahani.

"I asked what have you got for me, chief?"

"Oh. Oh! Yes! Well, you see, I've been trying to get back out there, see what's going on in the charity world, maybe help funding for some hospitals, cancer research, you know, and I was talking to this nice young doctor, Wilson, I believe, you'll love him, and he said that they might be able to set something up in a few months and so I-"

"Tahani, I love you, but you need to breathe." Eleanor laughs, and misses the way Tahani feels like she's been hit by a truck. "What's the endgame?"

"I'm putting on a charity function at John's Hopkins in the fall. Do you-would you like to come as my-with me?"

"Why Ms. Al-Jamil," Eleanor smiles slyly, "I thought you'd never ask."

She's sent to a boarding school when she's old enough (she doesn't want to go, she wants to stay, here with Mother, please, she's only eight). She tries her hardest, ignores the whispers and the stares she gets because she's rich and new and she cries at night. She ignores that she hasn't gotten a call from her parents by Christmas.

They forget her there. The Headmaster has to call, coughing awkwardly as his secretary offers Tahani a lukewarm mug of instant coffee. It's all they have. The pantries are empty-they weren't expecting to put up a student all winter.

Her father sounds put-upon and annoyed. He says she'll have to wait till morning; the private jet is being used at the moment, his other daughter has a dance recital in front of some very important political figures. He says Tahani will understand.

The night of the ball, Tahani cruises to a stop in the parking lot of Eleanor's apartment building and steadfastly refuses to wipe her clammy palms on her dress. (It's a nice, sophisticated black number, off the shoulder and long.)

"It's just a night out, Tahani. You're just friends. You do this with friends." She utters, ignoring the squeeze in her heart at the words. "You dolt, just go up and ring the bell."

She goes up. She does not ring the bell.

Instead, Tahani rocks back and forth on her heels, chewing her lip and worrying about lipstick stains on her teeth to distract herself from the fact that her heart is beating much too fast and she can't seem to raise her hand to the doorbell. Finally, lacking the grace and elegance she was raised to possess, Tahani bumps her elbow accidentally on the wall, and the bell goes off. Oh, hell.

The door swings open only seconds later, like Eleanor had been waiting nearby. It sends a flush of warmth into Tahani's stomach, but that's nothing compared to the heat in her face when she sees Eleanor.

She's beautiful. Her dress is much shorter than Tahani's, to her knees, and a dark forest green. It's also very, um, form-fitting. There's a large, beautiful necklace settled between her collarbones which are much too prominent in this dress, fragile and beautiful, and has Tahani mentioned that Eleanor looks quite beautiful tonight?

The green reminds Tahani of that Disney fairy again, for a moment, and her cheeks flame.

"Oh. Hello, Eleanor. How-" She cuts off, coughing lightly. Her throat is too tight all of a sudden. "How are you? Don't you look lovely tonight."

"Same goes for you, stud!" Eleanor's voice seems a bit too loud. "Look at that hot stuff." She gestures to Tahani's cleavage, grimaces and drops her hand. "Uh, sorry."

"Oh no, no, I mean, thank you."

Silence.

"Well!" Still too loud. "Should we get this party rolling, or what?"

Tahani sighs in relief. "Yes, please, I mean, of course, I mean, um…" Stupidly, she offers her arm.

Eleanor takes it and sighs in relief. Tahani absolutely does not pull her closer.

Tahani cannot take this anymore. Her own father, who not moments before berated her for raising over five million dollars, offered the same amount for a lunch date with his daughter who was not her. Like it was nothing. Like it was obvious. Like Tahani was nothing. He didn't even look at her.

She can't do this anymore. She'd done, tired, wrung out. She's tried everything, all her life. Nothing pleases them, not like Kamilah can. She's an afterthought to her own parents and God damn them, Tahani is better than that. She has to be. She has to be. She has to be something.

It's silent in the car after the auction. Her parents sit across from her in the limo, her sister beside her (she can't help herself, the flesh on the arm nearest Kamilah crawls). No one looks at her. She looks at no one. She doesn't want to see their faces.

Eleanor is a terrible dancer. In the span of three hours, she's stepped on the toes of no less than twelve doctors. She slinks back over to where Tahani has been watching (not giggling!) and slumps in her seat. Tahani determinedly does not look at the fantastic view of Eleanor's cleavage that gives her.

"Cheer up, Eleanor, it's not so bad!" She hands the other woman a flute of champagne. Eleanor gulps it down like a man dying of thirst. Tahani winces.

"It is too. All these hot, rich people are watching me make a fool out of myself. They probably think I'm some loser."

Tahani knows from experience that she needs to stop this train before it derails any further. Eleanor has this thing with inferiority (not that Tahani sees what she has to worry about-she's by far the most interesting person here).

"They aren't. No one thinks you're a loser." She's shaking but the champagne seems to have loosen her tongue. "I don't think you're a loser. I think you're the best person here."

Eleanor snorts inelegantly and side-eyes her. "How much have you had to drink, beautiful?"

"I'm serious." Tahani turns to her fully, on the edge of her seat. "You're the only real person here, you know? And you're beautiful too, Eleanor."

Eleanor blinks, stares, blushes. She adverts her eyes. Tahani feels a smile coming on. Adorable.

"Geez, charming, buy a girl dinner first."

"I did. I bought everyone here's dinner."

"Oh shut up," Eleanor's grinning now. "Well if I'm so great, why don't you put your money where your mouth is, skyscraper?"

Tahani thinks for only a moment before she's on her feet, a hand extended. "May I have this dance?"

Eleanor opens her mouth and closes it, doing her best impression of a fish. She takes Tahani's hand silently. With confidence and a giddiness that threatens to overwhelm, Tahani leads them both out onto the floor, clearing a path with a dazzling smile. The patrons stare a bit before going back to their food and conversation. No doubt word would get back to her family that their eldest was now interested in women by the end of the night.

But Tahani doesn't care about that or the stares as she swivels around to take Eleanor into her arms. She guides Eleanor's hand to her own shoulder, but Eleanor's other hand needs no help finding hers and lacing their fingers (not traditional, but what about this is?). She wraps her own arm securely around Eleanor's waist, hand spread high on the shorter woman's back. Can't be too indecent now. They begin to move slowly in a circle, Tahani's skirts brushing Eleanor's legs. She can feel the heat of her skin through the fabric. It makes Tahani's mouth go dry.

Oh dear.

Eleanor does step on her feet. Tahani doesn't react. At least she's not wearing terribly pointed heels.

Eleanor feels so small in her arms. She's got at least a foot of height on the blonde, and her heels aren't helping the situation, low as they are. But the awkward height difference is made up for when Eleanor tentatively rests her head on Tahani's shoulder. The weight is reassuring.

Tahani can see those fragile collarbones again. She feels those elegant fingers in between her own, lets the blonde hair tickle at her nose as she drops her head to press her cheek against Eleanor's scalp. She realizes she's marveling, but she can't seem to bring herself to care. Eleanor is something small and soft, (maybe with a hard shell, but Tahani knows better than to accept that from Eleanor) something comforting. She reminds Tahani, in that moment (and others, from then on) of that bird she'd seen in the garden that day with Mother. Tiny and average, but so beautiful amidst the extraordinary surroundings. Entirely different. She feels that same urge to protect the delicate woman in her arms that she felt for that bird. Like if she just kept Eleanor in her arms, everything would be okay.

When Eleanor raises her head, Tahani doesn't move back and they end up staring into each other's eyes. It's really too unfair that Eleanor has got disarming eyes in addition to her-everything else, really.

She kisses her before Eleanor can break the nebulous silence they'd fallen into. Her lipstick doesn't taste much of anything, actually, but Eleanor tastes of champagne and shrimp for some reason, and laughter, too, when she giggles into Tahani's mouth.

They break apart, and Tahani can't stop smiling.

Tahani and Kamilah stop talking. Or maybe they never really started, she can't honestly tell at some point. She tries but she can't recall an exact time Kamilah has ever spoken directly to her, when it's not to correct her on some political point or definition or other.

Tahani can't think of a time her sister has even looked her in the eye. For something so small, it amazes Tahani how dehumanized she feels by it.

But again, Kamilah never says anything insulting to her, never lashes out or yells or cries to their parents because of her. She's just better than that. (The silence is worse than screams, sometimes.)

She's better than Tahani. And they (and their parents) both know it.

She hasn't spoken to her parents in months. Even Eleanor, who Tahani knows understands what it's like to have more than a little disappointment in your own parents, is starting to ask her about calling them. On the one hand, it's heartwarming that Eleanor has changed so much that she cares deeply enough to bug her about this, but on the other hand, it's annoying.

"C'mon, skyscraper, it's just one ten minute conversation. Break the ice, let them know you're alive, rub your continued and thriving existence in their faces. Easy!"

"It's not that easy, Eleanor," she sighs over breakfast. "I've been out of the public eye for so long, it's just a matter of time when I call them before they ask me to hold one charity ball or another and I just- can't."

Eleanor shuffles over to her, wrapping her arms around Tahani's shoulders and dropping her chin on her head. Like this, with Tahani sitting and Eleanor standing, they're almost the same height. Tahani will not admit that she might abandon her ramrod sitting technique to sink into Eleanor's soft skin for a moment.

"Your birthday's still got you fucked up, huh?" Oh Eleanor, always the blunt approach.

"They didn't even show up." Tahani's voice is smaller than she thought it'd be. It really wasn't that big of a deal. "I'm sorry, I'm making a scene."

"Tahani, there's no one else here. Make a scene if you want to." Eleanor slides into the seat adjacent to hers, and Tahani's shoulders feel colder for her absence. "And BT-dubs, this ain't a scene, mister. A scene has to at least involve tears, screaming and/or items being thrown. This isn't even a tantrum. I, personally, would be having what is termed a meltdown if my parents were even half-good and still missed my humongous birthday bash that Beyoncé attended."

Tahani's cheeks heat and she ducks her head. "She only showed her face before going home, really."

"Um, sorry, all I heard was that you and Beyoncé were in the same room. Honestly, if I saw you two standing together, I think my heart might give out. Too much attractive in the same vicinity, know what I'm sayin?"

Tahani laughs, and neglects to call her parents for one more day.

The will is the last time Tahani sees her sister. Lead lines her stomach, and she can barely stop herself from checking her make-up repeatedly after reapplying it after the funeral. Waterproof eyeliner my ass, says the Eleanor in her head, and even with the pit swallowing her heart, with the fog in her brain and her silent, judgmental sister at her elbow, Tahani fights down a giggle.

She's trying not to react, really she is, but the familiar ache is still there when the lawyer reads out all that was left for Kamilah. It worsens when she glances at her sister and sees those lips twisted up into that satisfied smile. She can't resist one last jab.

"And what about their second favorite daughter?"

And then, the final blow-they spelled her name wrong. The name they picked, the name on her birth certificate, the name she's lived with for over two decades now. God damn them.

She knows what Eleanor would say. Eleanor would throw caution to the wind, would yell and scream and throw things. She'd make herself known in ways Tahani has never and will never be able to, she'd leave here experiencing at least some small bit of catharsis.

Tahani just puts her cardigan on inside out and makes a fool of herself.

Eleanor is quiet when Tahani gets back. She helps her out of her cardigan, doesn't comment on the fact it's on the wrong way round, and puts it in the closet. (It'd taken a long time after she'd moved in for Eleanor to realize the floor didn't count as available closet space.) When Tahani slouches onto the couch, Eleanor bustles into the kitchen. Tahani can hear her rummaging in the pantry, then running water, then setting something on the stove. She's thankful the blonde is taking her time. She doesn't think she can talk at the moment.

When she returns, Eleanor's got a steaming mug in hand. It's got a disgruntled looking cat on it with the words "This Is My Happy Face." It's Eleanor's.

"Tea," Eleanor says softly, prodding Tahani in the shoulder with her foot until she sits up. "Hopefully I didn't burn it this time."

"Th-" Tahani's voice comes out like gravel. She clears her throat. It's too tight. "Thank you."

"Hush, gorgeous," Eleanor says, slipping onto the couch beside her and reaching up to card her fingers through the hair pooling over Tahani's shoulder. "Just drink it. Give yourself some time. God knows you need it."

"I didn't talk to them after my birthday."

"I know."

"It's been almost a year."

"I know."

"I was angry at them when they died."

"I know."

Tahani bursts into tears. Years ago, Eleanor would have rushed out of the room screaming. Now she takes the mug and sets it on the coffee table before reeling Tahini in. She doesn't seem to mind the tears soaking into the skin of her neck, her hair. "Let it go, skyscraper. I got you."

"Why didn't they love me, El-El-" She hiccups, sobs. "I tr-tr-tried so h-h-h-hard."

"Hey," Eleanor takes her head in her hands and lifts Tahani's eyes to hers. "I know, okay? Parents can be pretty shitty. Yours were. Mine were. But it's not your fault. It's not your fault okay? You are smart, and caring and kind, and that's not to mention you've got a rockin' bod', and anyone who makes you feel any less than you deserve can catch these fists, got that? No one rags on my girl."

Tahani is surprised in a laugh. With her nose congested it sounds disgusting. Eleanor smiles and pulls her head back to her own chest. "So you take all the time you need, okay? 'Cuz I know you've been fighting this for a long-ass time. It's hard to give up on them. Maybe you never will. But you gotta know that you did nothing wrong, okay? You are enough. You were always and will always be enough. The way you were treated isn't on you. It's on them. You're the best thing, like, ever. Best thing that happened to me was you tackling me in a parking lot, okay?"

She goes on like that, holding Tahani on the uncomfortable, fashionable couch Tahani never should have convinced Eleanor to buy and letting her soak Eleanor with all the tears in her body.

After a long time, Tahani turns her head to look up at the blonde. "I think I got snot on your hoodie."

Eleanor smiles down at her. "It's cool, bro. A little bodily fluid ain't gonna send me running."

Tahani tightens her arms around Eleanor and sighs. "You're the best thing in my life too, you know."

"Yeah?"

Tahani hates the tentativeness that always lingers in Eleanor's voice. "Yes. I love you."

The (small, delicate, forever sky blue painted) fingers in her hair still, curl and uncurl, and move on. "Cool beans. I mean, uh- shit. I love you too, Tahani."

Tahani smiles. It doesn't feel so strange in her face anymore.