Ivy tapped at her phone, scrolling through the takeout menu with one hand while the other rested on Hazel's thigh. They were still naked, still warm from the morning, the kitchen counter cool against Ivy's hip where she leaned.
"Spring rolls?" she asked.
"Obviously." Hazel's voice was soft, content. She hadn't moved from where she stood, her palm flat against the counter, her body turned toward Ivy like a flower following light. "And the pad see ew. Extra wide noodles."
Ivy placed the order, set the phone down, and let her hand find Hazel's. Their fingers interlaced. The kitchen smelled like coffee and sex and the faint latex ghost of the deflated balloon still on the dresser in the bedroom.
"We should sit down," Ivy said. "Before the delivery gets here."
Hazel laughed, that small raw sound Ivy had come to recognize as the one that meant she was still surprised any of this was real. "Right. Because sitting on the couch naked is fine, but standing in the kitchen naked while waiting for food is weird."
"It's about intention." Ivy tugged her gently toward the living room. "Sitting implies relaxation. Standing implies we're about to do something else, and I don't want to rush the spring rolls."
They settled onto the couch, Ivy at one end, Hazel tucked against her side, her head finding the hollow of Ivy's shoulder like it had always belonged there. The afternoon light slanted through the blinds, drawing stripes across Hazel's bare thigh. Ivy traced one with her fingertip, watching the skin dimple under her touch.
"Tell me something," Ivy said. "About before."
"Before when?"
"Before us. Before the balloons. Before I knew what I was looking at."
Hazel was quiet for a moment. Then she shifted, pulling her knees up, turning to face Ivy more fully. Her eyes were distant, searching memory.
"You remember my cousin's birthday party. The one at the community center, with the bouncy castle."
Ivy blinked. "The one where Marcos threw up on the cake?"
"That one." Hazel smiled, but it was soft, fragile. "I was nine. Maybe ten. There was a piñata, and party bags at the end. Mine had a punch balloon in it. Pale blue. Eighteen inches, I think. I know now, because I've been buying them long enough to recognize the size."
Ivy remembered. The bags had been white with rainbow polka dots, tied with curling ribbon. She'd gotten a yo-yo and a temporary tattoo of a dolphin. Hers had contained a similla balloon, a yellow one, but it burst during the party under the rough play of the children.
She leaned back against the couch cushions, her hand finding Ivy's thigh without looking, palm warm and still. Ivy listening, but she felt the weight of that hand like a question waiting to be asked.
"Ivy."
"Mm?"
"My parents had to go out the next day. They told me I couldn't have anyone over, and I was bored, and I found the balloon in my room."
"I didn't think anything of it at first," Hazel continued. "I blew it up, but I couldn't tie the knot, so I used the rubber band it came with. I just played with it. Batted it around my room. Held it against my face because the latex felt cool and smooth."
"I just... held it. Rubbed it against my arms. My legs. I liked the feeling. The resistance. The way it pushed back."
Her voice dropped, and she wasn't looking at Ivy anymore. She was looking at her own hands, turning them over in her lap.
She paused. Ivy waited.
"I ended up rubbing it against myself. Rubbed it over my pajamas at first. Then under them." Her voice dropped. "I didn't even know what I was doing. I just knew it felt good. Like my skin was waking up. I didn't even know what I was doing, really. But the sensation — it was like a spark. Like my whole body seized up. I didn't stop. I couldn't stop."
Ivy's hand had stilled on Hazel's thigh. She watched Hazel's face, the way her cheeks flushed, the way her breath had shortened.
Hazel said. "I used that balloon in every way I could think of. On my bed. On the floor. In the bathtub, before I filled it with water."
"In the bathtub?" Ivy asked.
Hazel nodded, a small embarrassed smile tugging at her mouth. "The air made it float on the surface. I could lie on top of it, let the water hold it in place. It was..." She trailed off, searching for the word. "Surprising."
Ivy's thumb traced a slow circle on Hazel's knee. "What else?"
Hazel's eyes met hers, testing, finding only curiosity. "My mom left me chores. Laundry. We had an old top-load washer, and I had to move the wet clothes to the dryer. But I figured out that if I climbed on top of the washing machine while it was running, the vibration..." She laughed, ducking her head. "I rode that balloon on top of the washing machine and came harder than anything I'd felt before."
Ivy felt heat curl in her stomach. The image was vivid — Hazel, young, discovering herself, alone in a house with a pale blue balloon and a washing machine and a body that was learning what it wanted.
"I lost count of how many times I came." Hazel's eyes were distant, remembering. "The balloon lasted three weeks. I used it until it got soo thin, and then I kept inflating it again. And again. Until it finally bursted with a sad poof."
"What did you do with it?"
"Put it in the box, it’s still in there somewhere." Hazel's voice cracked. "Cried about it. Didn't understand why."
Ivy squeezed her hand. "You were a kid. You were figuring out your body."
"I know." Hazel looked at her, those light hazel-green eyes bright. "But I also figured out something else that day. Something I didn't understand until later."
"What was it?"
Hazel's breath shuddered out of her. "I thought about you that day."
Ivy's heart stopped. "What?"
"That first day. Alone in my room, with the balloon between my legs, I thought about you. I whispered your name. I didn't know why, and I was ashamed, and I never told you. Because I didn't know what it meant, and I was too scared to ask."
Ivy's breath caught. She remembered that summer — the summer between fifth and sixth grade, when Hazel had been different somehow. Quieter. Quick to blush. She'd thought it was just adolescence. She'd had no idea.
Ivy couldn't speak. She reached out, her hand finding Hazel's cheek, her thumb brushing the freckles scattered across the bone.
"I thought about you too," Ivy said once she found the words. "That whole summer. I thought about your laugh. The way you tucked your hair behind your ear. The way you said my name.
Hazel's eyes went wet. "You never said."
"I coludn’t," Ivy continued. "I mean, I saw you. I saw you at that birthday party, laughing, with frosting on your chin. I saw you at school, in the hallway, in the library. I saw you every day, and I thought you were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. But I didn't see the signs. I didn't know what you were carrying."
"I didn't want you to see," Hazel whispered. "I was scared."
"I was scared too." Ivy lifted their joined hands, pressed a kiss to Hazel's knuckles. "I didn't know what it meant either to love so fiercely. Not then. Not for a long time. I thought if I told you, it would ruin everything. I'd lose you completely." Ivy's laugh was hollow. "Instead, I just... didn't have you at all. Not really. Not the way I wanted."
Hazel eyes were getting misty, a shaky smile adorning her face.
"I tried to get over you." Ivy's voice was rough. "I dated other women. I told myself it was a crush, that it would pass. That I could just... turn the page. Start a new chapter. But every time I was with someone else, I was thinking about you. Comparing them to you. Wishing it was you."
Hazel let out a shaky breath. "I also tried to date after that, just boys. Thought maybe I was supposed to. That what I felt that day was just — random. A fluke."
"Was it?"
"No." Hazel shook her head. "I'm bi. I like men and women. But that day — it wasn't about gender. It was about the balloon. And somehow, you were tangled up in it. I didn't understand how until I was older."
Ivy shifted closer, her knee pressing against Hazel's thigh. "And now?"
Hazel met her eyes. "Now I understand."
Whit longing in her voice, Ivy said. "I wanted you."
Hazel leaned forward, pressed her forehead to Ivy's. "You have me now."
Ivy closed her eyes. "Yeah. I do."
She looked at Ivy, her eyes bright, vulnerable. "I never told anyone any of that."
"Thank you," Ivy said. "For telling me."
They sat like that for a long moment, breathing together. Then Hazel pulled back, her expression shifting, a question forming.
"What do you want to try next?"
Ivy blinked. "With the balloons?"
"With everything." Hazel's voice was soft, but steady. "I've shown you what I like. What I need. But I want to know what you want. What you've been imagining."
Ivy opened her mouth to answer — and the doorbell rang.
Hazel's eyes went wide. "Shit." She scrambled off the couch, grabbing the throw blanket and wrapping it around herself. "Shit, shit, shit."
Ivy laughed, the sound surprised out of her. "I'll get it."
"You're naked!"
"I know." Ivy stood, stretching deliberately, enjoying the way Hazel's eyes tracked down her body. "But the delivery girl doesn't know that. She'll just see me at the door, take the food, and leave."
Hazel made a strangled sound. "Ivy."
Ivy was already walking to the door, her skin cool in the draft from the hallway. She pulled it open just wide enough to receive the bags, smiled at the young woman holding them, and said, "Thanks."
The delivery girl handed over the food without a second glance. Ivy closed the door with her hip, turned, and found Hazel standing in the living room archway, wrapped in the throw blanket, her face a mix of horror and laughter.
"You are insane," Hazel said.
"I'm hungry." Ivy carried the bags to the coffee table. "And I wanted to see the look on your face."
Hazel shook her head, but she was smiling. She let the blanket fall as she crossed to the couch, settling beside Ivy, reaching for the spring rolls.
"You were going to answer," Hazel said, dipping a spring roll in sauce. "Before the door. What do you want to try?"
Ivy unwrapped her chopsticks, considered the question. The truth was, she hadn't thought about it in terms of specific acts. She'd thought about Hazel. About the way Hazel's body moved when she was lost in sensation. About the sounds she made. About the look in her eyes afterward, soft and raw and trusting.
"I want to watch you," Ivy said. "I want to see what you do when you're alone. When you think no one is watching. I want to know every version of you."
Hazel's cheeks flushed. "That's..."
"Too much?"
"No." Hazel shook her head. "It's just — no one has ever wanted to see that. My ex, he saw it once and laughed. He never asked to see it again. He never asked to see me."
Ivy set down her chopsticks. She reached for Hazel's hand, laced their fingers together. "I want to see you. All of you. The parts you hide, the parts you're ashamed of, the parts you think are too strange. I want to know them. I want to be someone you don't have to hide from."
Hazel's eyes were wet. She blinked, and a tear slid down her cheek. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."
"You existed," Ivy said. "You were yourself. That was enough."
Hazel kissed her. It was soft at first, tentative, like she was still testing whether this was real. Then Ivy's hand found the back of her neck, pulled her closer, and the kiss deepened. Hazel tasted like salt and soy sauce and something sweet.
When they broke apart, Ivy's glasses were askew. She pushed them up, laughing.
"Eat your noodles," Hazel said, her voice thick. "Then I'll show you whatever you want to see."
Ivy picked up her chopsticks. "Deal."
They ate in comfortable silence, shoulders touching, feet tangled on the coffee table. The afternoon light shifted, the shadows growing longer. Outside, the city hummed its distant music. Inside, there was only this: two women, naked and unafraid, finally telling the truth.
When the containers were empty and the sauces were wiped clean with the last spring roll wrapper, Hazel stood. She held out her hand to Ivy, palm up, an invitation.
"Come with me."
Ivy took her hand. Let Hazel pull her to her feet. Let Hazel lead her through the archway, past the bedroom door, toward the living room where the afternoon light was soft and golden through the rain-streaked windows.
"I want to show you something," Hazel said. "Not with a balloon. Just — me."
She stopped in the middle of the room, turned to face Ivy. The light caught the curve of her shoulders, the softness of her belly, the scatter of freckles across her collarbones. She was beautiful in the way that real things are beautiful — imperfect and unguarded.
"What do you want to see?" Hazel asked.
Ivy stepped closer. Lifted her hand, touched Hazel's cheek. "I want to see what you look like when you let go. When you stop thinking about how you look, how you sound, whether you're doing it right. I want to see you, Hazel. The real you."
Hazel's breath hitched. She closed her eyes, and something in her face shifted — a softening, a surrender. When she opened them again, they were bright and wet and unguarded.
"Okay," she whispered. "Then watch. But, can you help me?"
Ivy didn’t wasted a second to answer. "What do you want me to do?"