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They slip away after things get chaotic, grab a bottle and run off into the trees. Tai chases Van like they're kids again, like she's going to tackle her to the ground and pepper kisses over her face, wrestling like teammates who like each other a little too much.
She doesn't. Obviously.
They clamber over a wooden platform, laughing, and Van sits down heavily on the ground, leaning against the side. Tai sets herself down beside her. They trade swigs from the bottle, passing it back and forth, and every so often their fingers brush.
"You can still hold your liquor, huh," Van says, and Tai laughs.
"Don't explain to me why there's two of you, then," she says. It's a joke; she feels remarkably clear, actually. The alcohol makes her limbs feel heavy and tingly, but her mind feels as sharp as it ever was.
"You good?"
"I'm good." The bottle has grown warm under her fingers. She looks up, and Van is looking at her in a way that makes her chest ache.
Tai leans in, and Van reaches for her like gravity is dragging her hand forward.
She wants to cry with how easy it is. Touching Van's face, smelling her (different but the same; there's still something campfire-y about her), pressing her mouth to Van's. They move together so easily, so fully, and Van tastes like liquor and salt and her lips are chapped like they always are, like they always were.
Then something shifts and Tai pulls back, jaw tensing. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."
"No," Van says. "You shouldn't have." It's brusque, as if Van hadn't been kissing her back. As if Van's hand hadn't reached out and burned hot on her cheek.
"Because I'm married," Tai says, as much to herself as to Van. She tries to conjure the image of Simone when they first met, too kind and too gentle, all bright-dark eyes and tight braids.
It fades so quickly.
"Sure, fine," Van is saying, and maybe Tai should be upset that Van dismisses her marriage so easily. "But also because you don't know me anymore, Taissa."
Tai's face turns hot. "I'm sure you'd like to think that, wouldn't you? You think you're so different now, like I couldn't recognize you with my eyes closed."
Van's mouth opens and then closes again, and Tai's stomach churns as she replays the words she just said aloud.
Her head falls into her hands. "Van, I really don't know what I'm doing anymore."
"Yeah, I gathered that."
It's a long moment before Tai feels Van's shoulder bump hers, a companionable gesture, a buck up, bro move that somehow still makes her heart pound at the touch. "Hey, we're all here, right? We can put our heads together."
Tai lets out a long breath through her nose. "Yeah, I don't think we'll be doing much of that tonight." They can still hear the others across the way, laughing and shrieking like drunken teenagers.
"Tomorrow, then."
"Sure. Tomorrow."
Van's hand finds Tai's, and grips it tight. Tai closes her eyes. "Van—"
"Hey," she says. She's gentle now, softened. "Let me be here for you."
Tai pulls her hand back. "What is this, Van?"
"What, I can't be nice?"
"I don't know, can you?" Tai levels a look at her.
"When I want to be," Van says, and she winks.
"Oh, shut up," Tai says, "don't be charming." She rolls her eyes. "Is that how you get the girls on your apps?"
"Oh my God." Van runs a hand through her hair. "No, it's mostly, 'Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?' That kind of thing."
Tai laughs despite herself. "Sounds like you're a real ladies' man."
Van laughs too, and leans back against the wooden lattice again. She looks a little smaller, suddenly.
"Van," Tai says, tentative, "are you sure you're doing okay?"
Van laughs again, but there's no warmth in it this time. "Yeah," she says. "Yeah, I'm great."
"Sounds like it."
But there's nothing she can say, nothing she can do to make this conversation happen. What does she expect her to say, anyway? Yes, I'm as fucked up as the rest of you?
Yeah, actually. That might be nice to hear.
Instead they sit together in silence, and when Van reaches for her hand again, Tai lets her take it. Van's thumb rubs slow circles on her skin, and it feels worse than a kiss, more intimate. Tai's breathing grows unsteady, and the skin under Van's fingers starts to feel raw and overstimulated.
Their eyes meet, Tai's mouth slightly open. And then they collide.
It's more intense than the gentle kiss from earlier; their teeth bump together with a clack and Van lets go of Tai's hand and tangles her fingers in her hair, the other hand against her side, under the borrowed jacket and tugging at the flannel beneath.
It's magnetic, the way they move together. Van feels right against her mouth, against her body. Van's hand moves to her thigh and the rips in the jeans Tai's wearing mean that Van's fingers brush bare skin and the sensation makes her shudder. Van's teeth close around Tai's lip and she gasps.
They pull back, breathing heavily, foreheads tented together. Tai can feel Van's breath on her chin, on her lips.
She thinks back to that conversation: sitting with Shauna on her daughter's bed; it wasn't any good for me. Something burns in the pit of her stomach, and she grabs Van's jacket and pulls her in again.