same time tomorrow (part ii) - with art!

About this short story: demisexual wheelchair user female lead, non-binary lead, nsfw scene, nsfw art by A.LoveUnlaced

Over the 27 years of Bella’s life so far, she’s learned a few key things about attraction as it relates to her specifically.

First: Anyone who thinks that wheelchair users are undesirable because they’re in a wheelchair isn’t worth your fucking time.

Second: You don’t have to kiss, hug, or otherwise touch someone just because you think it’s expected of the situation. If you feel uncomfortable—or even a little repulsed—by the notion, don’t do it.

Third: Give the sweet, funny, keenly observant barista a chance.

Bella’s especially happy about this third thing as Haze walks alongside her chair after their seventh bar trivia night together. The air outside is chilly, but Bella’s wrapped in her favorite purple coat, Haze is in an olive puffer jacket that makes them look offensively attractive, and the journey back to Bella’s apartment is only a couple of blocks.

The first time Haze joined Bella and her friends for trivia night, Haze walked Bella home too. It was a fun evening—it turned out Haze was genuinely terrible at trivia, and Bella spent the whole night laughing her ass off—but Bella kept getting the feeling that she was supposed to do something she didn’t want to, like hold Haze’s hand or give them a kiss goodnight. And her discomfort with doing those things wasn’t because she didn’t like Haze. She liked Haze a lot. She thought they were smart and funny and thoughtful, and the kind of hot where the person had no idea how hot they were (the best kind, in Bella’s opinion).

“So,” Bella said once they reached her lobby. She fiddled with her hair and forced herself to meet Haze’s eyes. “I want to tell you this because I really like you: I’m demisexual. So, I’m not into being physically intimate unless I feel really close to someone.”

Haze, sweet, perfect Haze, immediately replied,  “Bella, you never have to explain yourself.”

“No, I want to, because I don’t want you to get the wrong idea based on, like, societal expectations or whatever,” Bella said, waving a hand. “The fact that I’m not gonna kiss you tonight is completely a me thing and not a you thing. I hope you understand.”

“I do.” Haze nodded, tucking their hands into the pockets of their jeans. “Thank you for telling me. I’d never want to pressure you into doing anything you didn’t want to. Like, ever.”

Bella’s chest felt warm. “Thanks for being so cool about it.”

And Haze really was cool about it. They didn’t start pulling away or talking to Bella any less. In fact, smiling and blushing over Haze’s dorky flirting at Joe’s Joe became an everyday occurrence for Bella. By the time her second trivia night with Haze rolled around, Bella felt comfortable enough to let her shoulder press against Haze’s as they sat next to each other at the table, playfully bickering over whose answer was right. (They were both wrong.)

At the third trivia night, Bella put a hand on Haze’s shoulder as she laughed and left it there; she didn’t miss the shy, pleased smile that crept over Haze’s face even as they continued joking with Bella’s friends.

Bella and Haze started doing more things together outside of trivia nights and morning coffee orders. Haze made Bella dinner before one of their night classes, and Bella joined Haze at the library with a book while they studied. 

When Haze walked into the bar for their fifth trivia night, Bella’s stomach filled with butterflies. There wasn’t anything different about Haze—they were still endearingly awkward, ridiculously good-looking, and absolute trash at trivia. 

But Bella was different. As soon as Haze took their usual seat beside her, Bella’s hand was seeking theirs. Haze nearly jumped out of their seat at the contact, and then quickly stammered out an apology. Bella just laughed and whispered, “Very subtle, Haze. I don’t think anyone noticed.” Haze glared at her without any heat and squeezed her hand tighter, and Bella really couldn’t complain.

When their team got an answer right (an extremely rare occurrence), Bella looped her arm around Haze’s, and Haze tugged her close. At the end of the night, Bella asked Haze if they would walk her home again. Once they got to the lobby, Haze crouched down to tuck a curl behind Bella’s ear, and Bella cupped their face and kissed them for the first time.

It felt exactly right; the right time with the right person. Haze’s lips were soft and pliant under Bella’s, and when they broke apart, Bella whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Haze asked.

“For waiting.”

Haze’s expression softened. “I don’t think you realize this, Bells, but you’re beyond worth waiting for.”

And so. It’s two weeks later now—two weeks during which they’ve spent every spare moment kissing—and Bella’s ready for more. She wants Haze like she hasn’t wanted anyone in years. She tries to show it in the sure curve of her fingers around Haze’s at trivia night, in the kiss she drops to the back of Haze’s ear, in the lingering looks she gives Haze throughout the evening. Haze isn’t oblivious; at first, they quirk their eyebrow in question but then they’re biting back grins or laughing softly into their beer, clearly thrilled by this development.

And then they’re taking Bella home.

Once the front door is shut behind Haze, Bella reaches for them impatiently. Haze smiles, shucks their coat and helps Bella out of hers, then drops to their knees and runs a thumb along one of Bella’s cheekbones.

“What do you need?” Haze asks. 

“Do you wanna check out my bed?” Bella asks in the most ridiculous line ever used. And she’s nervous—of course she’s fucking nervous—but it’s a good nervous. It’s anticipation and lust and hope all fizzing up inside of her. 

Haze gestures towards the hallway with a smile. “Lead the way.”