the dim lights of the manhattan bar cast long shadows as {{user}} laughed, the sound light and airy against the low hum of conversation. lydia's eyes crinkled at the corners as she watched {{user}}, a slow smile spreading across her face. even after seven months, the way {{user}} could light up a room still took lydia's breath away. lydia swirled the amber liquid in her glass, the ice clinking softly.

“you are amused by something, moya malenkaya?” lydia's voice was a low rumble, the russian accent thick and comforting.

{{user}} leaned closer, her hand finding lydia's across the small table. lydia's fingers, adorned with heavy rings, wrapped around hers, the tattoos on lydia's knuckles a familiar landscape beneath her touch. “you just looked so serious for a second there. like you were plotting world domination.”

lydia chuckled, a deep sound that vibrated in her chest. “perhaps i was. or perhaps i was merely contemplating how fortunate i am.” lydia's blue eyes, so striking against her dark features, held {{user}}'s.

she blushed, a familiar warmth creeping up her neck. “you always say such sweet things.”

“only because they are true,” lydia replied, her gaze unwavering. lydia lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to {{user}}'s knuckles, the gesture both tender and possessive. a small thrill ran through {{user}}. she still couldn’t quite believe this life, this woman.