**** The next two Chapters is about Ariana and Eliza's moments****
The salt-tinged air whipped around them, carrying the rhythmic crash of waves and the distant cries of gulls. They were on a secluded stretch of beach, a blanket spread over the cool sand as the sun began its slow descent into the vast, glittering ocean. Eliza, her hair a wild tangle in the wind, was determined to outpace her own sorrow with the contents of a well-stocked cooler. She'd insisted on buying the drinks a debt, she'd declared with a wobbly smile, owed from the other night at the hotel. The memory of that chaotic evening hung between them, a shared, unspoken tension.
Ariana sat with her knees drawn up, watching. Her heightened senses, always a step above human perception, were flooded with input: the crisp scent of the sea, the mineral tang of wet sand, and, most potently, the sweet-bitter aroma of alcohol already seeping from Eliza's pores. She accepted the first cold beer with a nod, the second with a raised eyebrow. She sipped slowly, the taste of hops and salt amplified on her tongue, her gaze never leaving Eliza. She watched as Eliza's laughter grew louder, her gestures broader, her stories more elaborate. She saw the careful facade of the sharp-witted author begin to dissolve under the relentless press of alcohol, the raw edges of her heartbreak starting to show. Ariana simply waited, a silent sentinel against the backdrop of the endless sea, until the moment she sensed the delicate tipping point, but smelled the shift in her chemistry, the precise instant when the clever, guarded Eliza slipped away, leaving only a vulnerable, unguarded woman in her place.
It was only then, as Eliza slumped back onto the blanket with a sigh that was more defeat than contentment, staring at the darkening sky, that Ariana decided it was time to go. "Come on," she said, her voice soft but firm against the wind. "Let's get you somewhere less sandy."
The car ride was a blur of neon and shadow. In the passenger seat, Eliza had transitioned from mournful to mischievous, humming a off-key tune and tracing hearts on the fogged-up window. The confined space concentrated her scent tequila, salt, and a fading trace of expensive perfume.
"I want McDonald's," she announced, the words bursting forth as if it were the most brilliant idea in human history.
Ariana didn't even glance over. "You have got to be joking. You are currently composed of seventy percent tequila. The last thing you need is a grease bomb." Her nose wrinkled almost imperceptibly at the potent mix of scents she can't help but to smell it and her nose is sensitive.
Eliza's response was a masterclass in dramatic negotiation. She unleashed a torrent of pleas, her voice scaling impressive heights of whininess. "Pleeeeease, Ariana! My one true love! My beacon in this dark, cruel night! I am wasting away! My bones are crying out for nuggies! I will perish without them! It will be a tragedy! They will write ballads about my hunger!" She flopped against the window, pretending to fade away with a dramatic sigh.
Ariana fought back a laugh, losing the battle against a smile. The woman was utterly ridiculous. "You are impossible," she muttered, but the protest was weak. She signaled and turned into the brightly lit parking lot, groaning internally when she saw the "Drive-Thru Closed" sign. "Of course. We have to go in. Try not to touch anything. Or anyone."
Eliza practically bounded out of the car, her energy miraculously restored by the prospect of fast food. She weaved slightly, latching onto Ariana's arm for balance. "I shall be your guiding star!" she proclaimed, then immediately tripped over a curb. Ariana caught her with a long-suffering sigh, her senses momentarily overwhelmed by the cloud of alcohol and cheap perfume.
Inside, the fluorescent lights were unforgiving. The air was a thick soup of frying oil, disinfectant, and sugary syrup, an assault on Ariana's sensitive nose. As she tried to scan the menu for the least offensive option a fruit bag, perhaps, or just a bottle of water Eliza tugged on her sleeve with the insistence of a toddler.
"I want a Happy Meal," she declared, her voice echoing in the nearly empty restaurant.
Ariana finally looked at her, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised. "What are you, ten? You are a grown woman. A professional, I assume. Order a Big Mac like an adult."
Eliza's face crumpled into an epic pout. Her bottom lip trembled with Oscar-worthy sincerity. "But the TOY!" she wailed, pointing a dramatically shaky finger at the promotional display. "It is Chiikawa, Hachiware, and Usagi! Look at their little faces! They are counting on me! AND I WANT USAGI!" She began jumping up and down in place, attracting the bewildered stare of the cashier. "USAGI! USAGI! USAGI!"
Ariana pinched the bridge of her nose. Fine. We are doing this. She remembered Lyra's bizarre affinity for the same strange, bug-eyed creatures. What is the adorable thing about these bizarre little animals? she wondered, utterly mystified by their appeal.
"Fine!" she said, her voice a mix of exasperation and surrender. "But we are getting more than one. And you are eating some actual food, too, not just the toy." She approached the counter. "We will take four Happy Meals. Two with chicken nuggets, two with hamburgers. All with apple slices and milk." The cashier stared. "And," Ariana added with a sigh, "please ensure one of them contains the Usagi toy whatever that is."
Eliza cheered, clapping her hands together. "You are my hero! A goddess among mortals!"
They settled at a sticky table. Eliza immediately tore into the first box like it contained the secrets of the universe. Her eyes widened with glee as she pulled out the small, plastic Usagi figure. "HE'S PERFECT!" she shrieked, holding it up to the light. With the intense concentration of a heart surgeon, she carefully attached the keychain to the zipper of her expensive leather bag, patting it lovingly. "There you go, USAGII. You are home now."
Ariana watched, her initial intense annoyance gradually melting away, replaced by a strange, warm fondness. Seeing this sharp, often cynical woman reduced to a state of pure, unadulterated, childish joy was disarming and, against all odds, incredibly endearing.
The car ride to the penthouse was quieter. Eliza, full of cheap food and happiness, drifted off, her head lolling against the window. The city lights strobed across her face, smoothing out the usual lines of witty sarcasm. In sleep, she looked peaceful, almost vulnerable. Ariana's sharp hearing picked up the soft, rhythmic pattern of her breathing, a calming counterpoint to the city's noise.
Parking in the underground garage, Ariana turned to see Eliza still softly snoring. She leaned over, her movements gentle, to unbuckle the seatbelt. As her fingers brushed the clasp, Eliza's eyes fluttered open.
They were inches apart. The air in the car grew still, thick with a sudden, unexpected tension. The playful energy was gone, replaced by something more potent. For a heartbeat, they just stared, a silent question hanging between them.
Then, Eliza, with perfect comedic timing, ruined it. She let out a long, resonant, impressively loud burp right in Ariana's face.
A beat of stunned silence followed. The scent of processed cheese and soda hit Ariana's sensitive nose with the force of a physical blow.
Then Eliza giggled, a sound of pure, joyous, uninhibited glee. "Oops," she whispered, her eyes crinkling.
"Yuck!" Ariana recoiled, waving a hand in front of her face in genuine disgust. "You are a stinky, disgusting creature." But she was laughing now, too, the tension successfully and hilariously broken.
She helped a giggling Eliza out of the car and toward the elevator, shaking her head at the sheer, glorious absurdity of it all. I am a germaphobe. I have standards. I cannot believe I am letting this chaotic, nasty woman breathe on me, she thought, even as she kept a supportive arm around her, her senses now attuned to the unique, complicated scent that was purely Eliza beneath the fast food and alcohol.
Inside the pristine, minimalist penthouse, Ariana steered Eliza directly toward the bathroom. She assembled a sumptuous array of towels, designer bath oils, and a new, sealed toothbrush. "Wash," she commanded, pointing. "Everything. Twice. Scrub until you sparkle."
To her astonishment, Eliza gave a wobbly salute. "Aye, aye, Captain Clean!" and stumbled into the steam.
While the shower ran, Ariana turned down the silken sheets on the massive bed. She fluffed a pillow, then sighed, turning away. She certainly cannot be trusted in this bed alone. The couch it is, she mumbled, already feeling the phantom ache in her back. At least it is Italian leather. It is practically orthopedic.
Suddenly, a blood-curdling, all-too-familiar scream echoed from the bathroom. A profound sense of deja vu washed over Ariana. She sprinted to the doorway to find Eliza on the floor, once again, clutching her knee and wailing like a banshee.
"Are you biologically incapable of staying upright?" Ariana exclaimed, her voice a mix of genuine concern and utter disbelief.
She scooped Eliza up making a mental note for the second time about how easily she fit in her arms and deposited her gently on the bed. She fetched ice, wrapping it in a soft cloth, and returned to kneel beside her. As she gently pressed the compress to the new bruise, she mentally prepared for the next act. Do not tell me she is going to cry and tell me about her unrequited love again. I cannot handle the rerun.
She was one hundred percent correct.
The tears began anew. "She left meeeeee," Eliza sobbed, grabbing fistfuls of the duvet. "For the same broody, mysterious, probably-doesn't-even-own-a-colorful-sweater woman! What is so special about your librarian friend? Does she have a secret identity? Is she a superhero? A vampire? WHAT IS IT?" She shook Ariana's shoulder. "Why, why, why does everyone always pick her? You... you're the only one who... who even bought me a Happy Meal." The sobs intensified. "You didn't make fun of me! You just... did it! Why are you so nice to meeeee?"
In her head, Ariana sighed. Why is this hurricane of emotion directing her sorrows at me? But at least the target is clear. She sees me, not a Selene substitute. That is progress.
"You... you even got me the Usagi," Eliza hiccupped, holding up her bag to show the keychain. "No one gets me the Usagi. You're... you're nice." She looked up, her eyes red and searching, utterly vulnerable. "Why?" she asked again, her voice small and lost.
Ariana looked down at this beautiful, brilliant, utterly ridiculous mess of a woman. The usual sarcasm died on her lips. "Maybe because I find you fascinating," she said, her voice softer than intended.
Eliza's tears slowed. She blinked. "Fascinating? What's fascinating about me? I'm a drunk mess who falls down in bathrooms."
"Well," Ariana began, a small smile playing on her lips. "When you are drunk, you possess the unbridled joy of a golden retriever puppy. It is oddly charming. You are relentless. You do not give up, even on lost causes. You have a certain... chaotic charm that is incredibly alluring. And your mind... your writings... they are beautiful. The way you weave words together is actually mesmerizing."
Eliza's tears stopped completely. She stared, utterly gob smacked. "Wait. My writings? How do you know I'm an author? Are you... are you stalking me?" she asked, but her tone was filled with wonder, not fear.
Ariana offered a genuine, playful smirk. "I have my sources. And my English vocabulary, while extensive, fails me sometimes. So if 'stalker' is the word for someone who appreciates a talented writer and finds her personally captivating, then I suppose you can call me a stalker." It was a risk, laying her cards on the table so plainly.
A profound softness settled over Eliza's features, cutting through the alcohol-induced haze. "I never thought... I never thought someone like you would see someone like me that way," she whispered.
The air in the room became electric. The space between them on the bed vanished to mere inches. Eliza's face was flushed, her eyes wide and hopeful. The tension was now a live wire, humming with desire and possibility. Driven by a courage that came from somewhere deep and real, Eliza leaned forward, closing the final distance.
She kissed her.
It was not a drunken kiss. It was tentative, questioning, then deepened into something profound and overwhelming, filled with all the pent-up emotion of the night. Ariana, after a heartbeat of stunned surprise, melted into it. Her hands came up to cradle Eliza's face, her thumbs stroking her cheeks, all thoughts of germs and absurdity completely forgotten, lost in the warm, thrilling, and utterly unexpected rightness of the connection.