Lacy Euphoria

His Favorite Girl/Part Two: Becoming Real to Him

Originally published on AO3.

🔞 Adults 18+. MDNI. Fictional fanwork using names fictitiously for entertainment. Not real, endorsed, affiliated, or a claim of real events. All romantic and sexual content is between consenting adults. Please consume fiction with media literacy intact.

The apartment felt different the morning after you sent the message, although nothing had actually changed. The same dishes sat drying beside the sink. The same basket of laundry waited near the couch. Wynter’s shoes were still kicked beneath the coffee table despite the basket by the front door she’d sworn she was going to start using. Morning light stretched across the living room floor while you moved through the ordinary pieces of your life, but the knot that had lived beneath your ribs for weeks was gone. You’d told her everything. She was still here. More than that, she’d asked to meet him.

Your phone vibrated against the kitchen island while you were folding a dish towel, and you stopped with the fabric still caught between your hands. Wynter looked up from the refrigerator, where she’d been staring inside for several seconds without taking anything out, and her eyes moved from your face to the phone before an amused smile appeared. “Well?” she asked, closing the refrigerator with her hip. “You gonna answer it, or are we pretending you haven’t been waiting for that sound all morning?” You denied it automatically, but the single word, “Baby,” accompanied by the look she gave you was enough to make you laugh and abandon the towel on the counter. “Okay, maybe a little,” you admitted as you reached for the phone.

Mingi’s name waited on the screen, followed by a message that made your smile appear immediately. I’d love to. Before you could answer, another notification appeared beneath it. Tell Wynter thank you. You read the second message twice, lingering over her name long enough that Wynter had crossed half the kitchen by the time you looked up. You handed her the phone without saying anything and watched her eyes move across the screen before returning to the second message. “He used my name,” she observed, and when you told her you’d noticed too, she handed the phone back with a thoughtful expression. “I like that.” You did too. There was something about it that felt important. He hadn’t reduced her to the girlfriend standing somewhere outside whatever existed between the two of you. He’d used her name because Wynter was becoming real to him too.

You started typing, but another message appeared before you finished. Can I ask you something? Your thumb stopped above the screen while Wynter leaned closer to read over your shoulder. “Well, that doesn’t sound ominous at all,” she said, earning a laugh and a warning from you not to start before the next message came through. Would you let me host instead? I’d like to cook for both of you.

You read it twice, and judging by the silence beside you, Wynter did too. The invitation she’d extended had somehow turned around and come back toward her, and when you finally asked what she thought, she stepped away from your shoulder and leaned against the island, folding her arms while she considered it. “I think Mingi has something to prove.” The words made you look at her carefully, but before you could mistake what she meant, she shook her head. “Not in a bad way. Actually, the opposite.” Her fingers tapped lightly against her arm while she searched for the thought. “If I’m supposed to trust him with someone I love, maybe he wants me to see him where he’s comfortable. His home. His food. His life.” Her expression softened before she added, “Not the version of himself he gives everybody else.”

You looked down at the message again because that sounded exactly like him. “He wants you to know him,” you said, and Wynter nodded as though she’d arrived at the same conclusion. When you asked if she was really okay with that, a smile pulled at her mouth. “I asked to meet the man, didn’t I?”

A laugh escaped you as you started typing again, asking if Mingi was sure and reminding him that neither of you wanted to impose. His answer came quickly. You’re not imposing. A second message followed before you could respond. Your invitation meant a lot to me. Let me return it. Wynter reached for the coffee she’d forgotten on the counter and took a sip before grimacing at how cold it had become. “Okay, that’s smooth,” she admitted as she carried the mug toward the microwave. When you asked if she really thought so, she pointed the mug toward you. “I said smooth. Don’t get excited. I’m still evaluating.” You laughed and threatened to tell him exactly that, which earned an immediate, “Absolutely not,” as she opened the microwave.

Instead, you asked what the two of you should bring. His reply took longer this time, but when it arrived, he suggested dessert before following it with another question. Unless Wynter has a favorite. You turned the phone toward her, and Wynter stared at the screen before looking at you as though he’d personally inconvenienced her. “Why is this man asking me questions already?” You reminded her that hosting her was apparently serious business, but that only made her point out that he hadn’t even met her yet. “Which is probably why he’s asking,” you said as she opened a cabinet and pulled out another mug while thinking.

“Cheesecake,” she finally decided, and when you asked if that was actually her favorite, she shrugged. “Today it is.” You reminded her that wasn’t how favorites worked, but she dismissed the technicality with a wave of her hand. “It is when somebody else is cooking dinner.” You laughed hard enough that she started laughing too, and something about hearing the sound fill the kitchen made you stop for half a second.

This was what you’d been afraid of losing. Not simply Wynter. This. The ridiculous conversations. Her cold coffee sitting forgotten beside the microwave. The way she could make you laugh when you were trying to be serious. The ease of standing together in a kitchen without wondering what truth might accidentally fall out.

Wynter noticed the change in your expression before you could hide it. She set the mug down and walked around the island, stopping directly in front of you as she asked what had happened. You tried to dismiss it as nothing, but the eyebrow she lifted made the lie useless before it had fully left your mouth. “I just realized how good this feels,” you admitted. Her expression softened as she asked what you meant, and this time you didn’t hide behind anything. “Not hiding.”

The words left you more quietly than you’d intended. Wynter didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she reached for the phone in your hand and placed it facedown on the counter before turning back toward you. Her fingers curled around your wrist and drew you closer until your hips met hers. “Yeah,” she said, her voice softer now. “It does.”

You wrapped your arms around her waist, and for a few seconds neither of you did anything except stand there while weeks of tension seemed to loosen at once. You weren’t waiting for another argument. She wasn’t waiting to discover another omission. Your phone wasn’t something you had to turn over before she entered the room anymore, and his name didn’t have to change the temperature between you.

Wynter lifted her face toward yours and studied you for a moment before telling you that you looked happy. When you admitted that you were, she smiled wider. “Like stupid happy.” You laughed and told her not to ruin it, but she insisted she was merely making an observation before closing the distance between you.

Her kiss started gently, familiar enough that your body recognized it before your mind had time to prepare for what came next. Your hands settled against her back while hers moved around your waist and disappeared past the hem of your shorts, not teasing yet, not rushing, just reminding you that she knew every place your body tried to hide its answers. When the kiss deepened, the laughter disappeared into something warmer, lower, something that made your thighs part before either of you said a word. You had not realized how much you had missed touching her without sadness tucked beneath it. There had been affection through all of this. Love too. But even the good moments had carried questions neither of you wanted to ask. This did not. This was her mouth on yours, her hand finding you wet, her breath catching because your body had answered her so quickly.

When Wynter drew back just enough to look at you, her fingers stayed where they were, slow and cruel as they circled your slick clit with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how to make you forget the shape of your own argument. “There you are,” she said, smiling like she had found something that belonged to her. You tried to ask where exactly you had gone, but the question broke in the middle when she touched you harder. Wynter’s smile sharpened. “Somewhere exhausting, and his name is Mingi.” Your laugh barely had time to escape before she kissed you again, and this time neither of you pretended the kiss was only affectionate. Weeks of restraint, fear, anger, reconciliation, and finally relief gathered between your bodies and turned filthy in her hands. Your fingers tightened in the back of her shirt while she worked you with patient, intimate precision, kissing you through every little sound she pulled out of you like she had missed hearing them more than she wanted to admit.

When she finally pulled away, the look she gave you made heat rise under your skin. Her hand was still down your shorts, fingers slick, smile too pleased for someone who had nearly made your knees give out in the middle of the room. “So,” she said, amusement curling around the word as she kept you close, “I’m guessing you’re a little excited about dinner.” You tried to look offended as you asked if that was seriously what she had gotten from the moment, but Wynter only pressed two fingers against you and watched your face betray you. “Among other things.” Saying her name like a warning accomplished nothing. If anything, it made her worse. She laughed against your mouth, kissed you again, and kept stroking until your hips started following her hand without permission. The phone vibrated somewhere behind you, but neither of you looked toward it. For once, the rest of the world could wait its turn.

The world stopped mattering in the simplest, most immediate way after that. Not because everything outside the apartment had disappeared, but because both of you had finally set it down. Wynter looked at you with the same expression she had been wearing all morning, half amusement and half disbelief that this was actually happening, before pointing out that you were smiling again. You told her you could not help it, and she called that dangerous before her hands found your waist with the same ease they always had, as though they belonged there without question. Then she pulled you closer, turned you until your back met the counter, and kissed you like she had no interest in being reasonable anymore.

You leaned into her without thinking, your forehead brushing briefly against hers as the last remnants of anxiety dissolved under her mouth, her hands, the firm line of her body keeping you exactly where she wanted you. Wynter told you that you were glowing, and when you denied it, she smiled. “You are. It’s annoying.” You were still smiling when she kissed you again, not rushed but no longer hesitant either. There was no searching in it, no uncertainty to work through. Just familiarity returning to its natural place, like breathing after holding it too long. Her hand slipped lower again, and your breath left you in a quiet, helpless sound when she touched you. Wynter’s eyes darkened. “That’s the sound,” she said softly. “I missed that.”

Your hands slid along her back, grounding yourself in the warmth of her and the fact that she was here, steady and no longer slipping away behind anything unspoken. Wynter exhaled against your mouth, relief turning into hunger as she kissed you deeper, her fingers moving with a slow confidence that made your body soften and tighten at the same time. When she pulled back just enough to see you, her expression had softened completely, but her hand had not. “Okay,” she said, making you raise an eyebrow and ask what exactly was okay now. She brushed her thumb lightly along your jaw with her free hand before smiling. “I get it now.”

You narrowed your eyes, though it was hard to look suspicious while your hips were moving into her touch. “Get what?” Her smile turned wicked before she admitted, “Why you couldn’t stop thinking about him.” You groaned her name immediately, but there was no real protest behind it, only the embarrassing little tremor she had caused by saying his name while touching you like this. That only encouraged her. “What? I’m just observing.” You called her impossible, and she leaned closer with a satisfied smile, her mouth brushing yours as her fingers made you grip her harder. “And yet you still like me.” You tried to answer, but she chose that exact moment to curl her fingers just right, and the only thing that came out of you was her name, broken enough to make her smile like she had won something. “That’s what I thought,” she said, kissing you through it. “You’re still mine too.”

You kissed her instead of answering, slower this time, letting the humor settle between you without breaking the moment. Her hands tightened slightly at your waist while yours stayed steady against her back, neither of you needing to chase anything anymore. When you finally separated, she rested her forehead against yours again and admitted quietly that the two of you were really doing this. You told her you were, and when she asked whether you were okay, the answer came without hesitation. “I’m more than okay.”

That seemed to settle something inside her too. Wynter nodded once before letting out a small laugh and admitting that was good because she’d been about five minutes away from eating the cheesecake out of stress. You laughed, and she kissed you again simply because she could, because there was no longer anything standing between you that needed to be solved first. Outside, the day continued without either of you. Inside, there was only warmth, ease, and the undeniable fact that you had chosen each other again without fear sitting between you.

By the time you returned to the kitchen, the afternoon had slipped farther away than either of you realized. Wynter walked ahead of you, adjusting her clothes as she went before picking up the abandoned coffee mug and staring at it with disgust. “This is definitely dead now,” she announced, and you leaned against the island, still smiling as you informed her that the coffee had died an honorable death. She glanced at you over her shoulder with a satisfied little smile. “Worth it.” You couldn’t argue with that.

Your phone had several notifications waiting, but only one mattered. You picked it up and found Mingi’s message beneath the others asking whether Saturday at seven worked. Wynter came back to your side while you read it, and when you repeated the day and time, she nodded. “Works for me.” You typed your answer, confirming Saturday at seven before remembering the earlier conversation and adding that apparently the two of you were bringing cheesecake. Wynter bumped your shoulder at the word apparently, and you only grinned.

His response came a few moments later. Perfect. Another message followed telling you he was looking forward to meeting Wynter, and she read that one over your shoulder, quieter now. Then one more appeared. And having you here. Your smile betrayed you immediately, earning a long-suffering, “Oh, Lord,” from Wynter as she stepped away with her mug. You asked what you’d done, but she shook her head. “That face.” When you demanded to know what face she meant, she turned on the faucet and glanced back at you, entirely too pleased with herself. “His favorite girl face.”

You stared after her. “My what?” Wynter laughed while rinsing the mug and told you that you’d heard her perfectly well. You tried not to smile. You failed. She pointed at your face as though she’d just won an argument. “Exactly.”

Saturday arrived faster than you expected, and by six thirty the bedroom looked like you’d been preparing for something far more complicated than dinner. Two discarded outfits lay across the bed while Wynter stood in front of the mirror fastening an earring. You hovered near the closet, still reconsidering the outfit you’d finally chosen until she caught your reflection and told you to stop. When you pointed out that you hadn’t said anything, she turned from the mirror with a knowing look. “You didn’t have to.”

Her eyes traveled over your outfit before she smiled and told you that you looked beautiful. You asked if she was sure, and Wynter crossed the room toward you, amusement returning to her face. “I’m starting to understand why he’s nervous.” You rolled your eyes, but the compliment settled warmly anyway as she adjusted the front of your clothes and smoothed her hands over your shoulders.

For a moment, she simply looked at you before asking if you were nervous. You admitted that you were a little, and when she confessed that she was too, the answer surprised you enough that she laughed. “What? You thought I was made of steel?” You told her sometimes you did, and she accepted that with a quiet, “Fair,” before reaching for your hand.

This was happening. Not the version you’d imagined during sleepless nights when everything felt impossible. Something better. You weren’t bringing Wynter to confront him, and you weren’t bringing him home to seek approval. Two people who loved you were finally choosing to know each other because neither wanted their love for you to require pretending the other didn’t exist.

The cheesecake waited in its box near the front door with your keys beside it. Wynter picked up the dessert while you reached for the keys, but before either of you opened the door, she caught your wrist and stopped you. The humor faded from her expression as she looked at you for a moment. “Whatever happens tonight, we’re okay.”

The certainty in her voice settled the last restless thing inside you, and you nodded as you repeated the words back to her. “We’re okay.” Wynter kissed you once, brief and familiar, before stepping away and lifting the cheesecake box with both hands. “Good. Now take me to meet your boyfriend before I eat his dessert in the car.”

You laughed as you opened the door and followed her into the hallway.

For months, loving Mingi had meant finding places where nobody could see. Tonight, you were going straight to his front door.

And this time, you weren’t arriving alone.