second
Leonora is a messy sleeper. If she sleeps, that is, because usually Clarissa finds her somewhere, just not in bed, doing anything but sleep. On bad days Leonora doesn’t even find her way to the bedroom. Sometimes she takes an hour or so on the couch, maybe even on her desk, or at the lab by the cauldrons. On bad days she has nightmares and doesn’t dare to close her eyes, afraid of everyone and everything. On bad days Clarissa sits on the floor with her far away from the bed because she can’t stand the soft fabric of the sheets on her skin and keeps the woman in her arms. On bad days she is haunted by memories that tore her soul into individual pieces.
On good days though she is in bed by nine and out like a light by ten, dead asleep until the sun rises again. Their limbs are tangled and Clarissa’s head rests on the redhead’s back, sometimes they’re curled up around each other, with barely any movement during the night. On good days Leonora gets eight hours and has nice dreams. Good ones.
With the beginning of her pregnancy all of this has just gotten more extreme. She’s overall exhausted by having to deal with the nausea and preparing to grow a baby, so not sleeping during the night guarantees that the young woman can be found asleep somewhere during the day — either in her or Clarissa’s office or sitting somewhere leaning against a wall in a quiet corridor. It doesn’t matter. She sleeps. She has to. And if she doesn’t her girlfriend is reaching out for her hand to guide her to bed, even if she’ll be up all night reading. The dean for good knows that the further the pregnancy progresses the more rest Leonora will need, so building a routine early on makes the most sense to her.
On terrible days she took potions to make her sleep, but due to possibly harmful ingredients to the baby they are off limits now and god, she is struggling already. Most of them are and the redhead sometimes wonders how she is supposed to get through the next eight months, especially with her bad leg.
“Whatcha thinking about?” a sleepy voice asks before slender fingers curl around her right arm, the one closest to Clarissa, and tug it closer to hug. “It’s too early for you to be up, Love.”
“It’s too early for you to be asking such questions” Leonora replies huskily and finds herself smiling as she turns to face the fairy godmother. Today feels like a good day, there isn’t any nausea present for the first time in weeks and her leg seems to be alright, too. Maybe they can go for a walk.
They curl up again. Clarissa rests her head on her partner’s shoulder and closes her eyes again, not wanting to drift off but trying to savor her this seemingly perfect moment as the sun peeks into their chambers and illuminates the dean for evil’s face, making her skin glow. It’s not unusual for Leonora to be up early, but this time she seems to be in a good mood as well and they have a whole day to themselves, a free Saturday in the early fall.
A hand brushes past her waist, fingers tuck themselves under the hem of the silken fabric that covers the woman from her shoulders down to her hips and they find their way over almost translucent skin to flatten over Lesso’s lower abdomen, pushing under the waistband of her wide, low rise pants to rest by her hip bone. The redhead’s lips part and she swallows a few words she had on her tongue already, but there is no need to say anything at the moment and she allows herself to enjoy this.
Clarissa shifts at some point and her hand moves as well. “You’re supposed to be gaining, not losing” she mumbles and stretches to press a gentle kiss on the side of Leonora’s neck. It’s all she can reach without having to move too much. “I saw a few students returning from the gardens with berries and I know you like them a whole lot, maybe we can check if there are some left for breakfast. What do you think about berries? Does Baby want them?”
“Do you want me to ask?” She has to chuckle. This is stupid and perfect at the same time. Never in her whole life did Leonora expect to have such conversations on a Saturday shortly after six in the morning and just a few months ago it would’ve made her gag just thinking about how sappy it was, but now— yeah. It’s surprisingly cute. She blames it on the hormones.
“Uh huh, please.”
“Alright, uhm—” She pauses. “Some fruit sounds manageable.”
That’s a win. A giant win, one that makes Dovey grin like she’s mad. But it’s not often that the redhead agrees to eat, especially not things that overwhelm her with flavor on bad days. Growing up and teaching at the school for evil meant an indistinguishable, gray slop day in day out that tasted of something, nobody knew what exactly it was, and only with the fall of the school master and the unification of the schools things had changed.
Of course Leonora could’ve had access to the meals that were served to Evers — especially after things between her and Clarissa had become more serious — but to her meals had never mattered that much anyway. She had learned that food wasn’t supposed to bring joy and only served the purpose of keeping her somewhat nourished, keeping her transport from falling apart. The mushy substance didn’t trigger a dopamine release and she skipped it often enough to suffer from malnutrition almost immediately, which meant that the sudden exposure to elaborate meals that included fresh vegetables, sometimes roasted to bring out flavor, spices and fruit pies had overwhelmed her to the point where she had refused to eat out of plain fear.
So yeah, berries are a huge thing. Maybe they’ll make pie in the afternoon, Clarissa isn’t sure yet. She runs the side of her thumb over Leonora’s lower abdomen again, the slight curve, before it’s time to pull away and get moving. It’s not a baby bump yet. It’s bloating and muscles and things shifting, but at the same time proof that this is happening, that they’re really doing this, that she is carrying their miracle and vowed to protect him or her.
They don’t need long to get dressed. Leonora wears her usual white shirt that’ll fit for another couple of months at least — that’s what she hopes — and rolls up the sleeve to stand a chance against the still hot sun. Her pants are wide, as always, and fit snugly around her waist, hugging her in the right places, making both staff and students turn their heads. She keeps one side of the blouse tucked in, the other hides— well, not much yet. But it makes her feel better. Clarissa looks like cotton candy, per usual, and they are so far from matching that it hurts, but to them it doesn’t matter. She’s just not a pants person, only when she’s taking shorts and pajamas from her partner, and Lesso hates dresses with a passion. And it works.
However, the dean for good has spoken to Leonora’s tailor already to let them know that dresses will become a necessity once she has reached a certain month and they had agreed to start working on them as soon as possible. She is happily paying extra for that.
Two months — eight weeks — is berries and a raspberry sized baby, and it’s a warm weekend they get to spend together, it’s pie and cuddles and a book by the fire, Leonora sleeping with one hand tucked under her chin and it’s Dovey spooning her from behind with fingertips ghosting over the bare curve because she just can’t stop and there is less nausea than before and god, hormones, so many of them, but so good and so worth it. She sleeps that night.