Dee thinks they could maybe - someday - fall in love with Ed. He’s funny and quirky, and just possibly the most open minded guy they’ve ever met. His accent is nice too; though it’s not their favorite. They’ll never admit it, but Rachel’s rich twang beats Ed’s northern slur any day of the week.
They shouldn’t be thinking about Rachel while lying in bed with their boyfriend. It’s just hard to focus on Ed’s good points when he’s lying on his back - tape still stuck to his eyebrows - snoring his head off like a bear with sinus problems. Rachel doesn’t snore…
Dee’s drunk. They blame this on Amy. And the internet… Also copious amounts of gin might have played a small part in their current situation. The situation being that they’re lying in bed with their boyfriend, completely unable to stop thinking about their fake - internet - girlfriend. Fiancee?
They spent an hour playing truth or dare for that stupid live stream. Most of which consisted of strangers daring them and Rachel to make-out. It’s funny, when their English roommate first moved in Dee would have needed half a bottle of gin and a double-dare to even think about kissing her. Now, all they seem to do is think about kissing Rachel.
It’s no good. Dee isn’t going to fall asleep any time soon. Not with Hurricane Ed lying beside them, alternating between snoring and choking with seemingly every other breath. Dee rolls him on to his side - in the hope that he won’t end up swallowing his own tongue through the night - and then slips quietly out of bed. They’ll take the couch. Amy and Rachel disappeared off in to Rach’s room an hour ago, leaving Dee to manhandle their boyfriend in to bed, so the living room should be free.
Dee tries not to think about the stab of jealousy that hits them square in the gut when they think about Amy and Rachel sharing a bed. It wouldn’t be for the first time, and it’s clear as day that Ames has a thing for Rachel, but Dee still chews their lip at the thought of something happening between them. They shouldn’t care what goes on between the two girls. Rachel is their fake girlfriend (extra emphasis on fake). They have a very real - not to mention patient and understanding - boyfriend, who in all honesty would do just about anything for them. So why is it they can’t stop thinking about the taste of Rachel’s lips on theirs?
Kissing Rachel had once been a chore, but now it comes all too easily. It's like second nature. As natural to Dee as breathing. They blame Amy for it all. With her insistence that they set up a vlog and invite the world to witness their fake relationship. It was all very well and good faking a relationship to fool the Canadian government, but why in the hell did they need to broadcast it to the world wide web?
People from all corners of the globe seemed to obsess over them, and their apparently perfect relationship. ‘Perfect.’ Dee scoffs with a shake of their head. The situation between them and Rachel is anything but. Add in Ed and Amy’s fake partnership and things just become a thousand times more complicated.
The living room is mercifully quiet, just like Dee expected. It’s pitch black with the blinds closed over and they have to stumble their way across the familiar room in the dark. Expertly navigating around the coffee table, Dee reaches a hand out to steady themselves against the couch - and gets a handful of something soft and squishy, and warm. Definitely not the couch.
“Gerr-off…” A husky voice groans out. Rachel huffs in indignation, pulling at the blanket she’s got wrapped around herself before she rolls over to face the couch, turning her back on Dee. She’s curled up in a ball, too big to stretch out fully on the tiny couch.
“Rach, what the hell!”
God, the girl is everywhere they go! In Dee’s room. On their couch. In their head…
“Rachel! What are you doing out here? You’ve got your own bed!” Dee is tired and cranky - and still more than a little bit tipsy - they’re torn between yelling at Rachel and climbing on to the couch along with her. They go for the safer option, hissing at the semi-conscious girl until she sits up and acknowledges them.
“Yes, I do. And your bloody sister is sprawled across it.” She grumbles, rubbing sleepily at her eyes. The action shouldn’t look so adorable, but it does. Dee’s stomach twists itself in knots as they just stand there taking in the sight of a sleep-addled Rachel. Her hair is ruffled, like she’s been tossing restlessly all night, and her eyes are only half open. She yawns as she stretches out. “She kept kicking me in her sleep. And she stole all the duvet!” Dee has no idea what a ‘duvet’ is. It’s just another one of those British words that Rachel rattles off, leaving them clueless as to what she’s actually talking about half the time.
“Yeah. She does that.” Amy sleeps like the lovechild of a starfish and a boxing kangaroo; and Dee has the bruises to prove it. They rarely share a bed with their sister if they can help it.
“What are you doing out here anyway?” Rachel quizzes. “Shouldn’t you be tucked up with your boyfriend?” She spits the word out like an insult. It’s no secret that Rachel isn’t Ed’s biggest fan. Dee just can’t entirely work out why the Brit doesn’t like her fellow countryman. They have a few ideas, but in the cold - sober - light of morning they all sound ridiculous.
Like maybe she’s jealous.
“Foghorn-Ed is keeping me awake. And not in the good way.” Dee manages a wry smile, making a joke to try and take the edge off as they flop down on to the couch, pushing Rachel’s legs down.
“Oi!” She puts them right back up, draping them over Dee’s smaller frame. Dee’s hands come to rest on Rachel’s calves. The skin there is soft and smooth, and Dee can’t help it as their thumb starts moving, drawing intricate patterns on to Rachel’s bare flesh. She doesn’t seem to mind.
It’s times like these, when they’re both buzzed and there’s a rare moment of peaceful silence between them, that Dee can almost fool themselves in to pretending that this is real. “Mhhhmm…” Rachel sighs, her eyes closing back over as Dee continues their ministrations.
Dee’s eyes have adjusted to the dark enough to be able to see her properly. To make out her sculpted porcelain cheeks and soft - full - lips. They have Dee licking at their own; and not in an attempt at guessing at what flavor chap-stick Rachel is wearing (It’s blueberry - Dee tasted enough of it earlier).
Dee moves without thinking too much about it, climbing across Rachel until they’re straddling her slender hips. Rachel’s eyes don’t open. This is the game they play. She waits until Dee’s lips are hovering right above her own. She doesn’t need to open her eyes to know they’re there. Reaching up, fingers trailing through short cropped locks, Rachel pulls Dee in closer, crushing their lips together with a kind of desperation that matches Dee’s.
Her knee slips between Dee’s legs, and the friction is bittersweet. “Fuck…” Dee gaps, sighing in to Rachel’s mouth. The rules between them keeping changing. The lines blurring. Dee’s too far gone to know what’s real and what’s pretend; and too drunk to care. They should feel like shit for what they’re doing to Ed, not to mention Amy, but right now - in this moment - they don’t feel a thing.
Nothing else matters, except for kissing Rachel -and they do that like their life depends on it. It shouldn’t feel this good to make-out with a girl that they’re not entirely sure they even like. Except - if they’re being totally honest - that’s a lie. They like Rachel. They like her a whole lot.
Maybe too much for this all to end in anything but heartache.