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marleyswho · 24 days

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no woman, no cry (chapter two)

warnings. false awakening dreams. memories. bob marley face claim. tension. fluff. awkward relationships. unease. self-love. body dysmorphia. insecurity. another oc. alcohol. hand-holding. anxiety. disconnection. gentle touches. reoccurring dream

tags. @shurislover @s0lam33y @desswright29 @pocketsizedpanther @naftalyspaces @oceean @tishlvr @bbbbbbrilliantly @shurisnovia @kisskourt @blkgworlamplified @prettymrswright @sweetalittleselfish-honey @jordisblogg

notes. a little early release… i was going to post this tomorrow afternoon but my day became busy from start to finish, and i’m too excited to keep this from you until monday. and we’re jumping right into it ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The sound of rain resonates in the air as her vision comes slowly, blearily. She finds herself gazing towards a window in her slouched state, her eyes squinting slightly as she tries to make sense of what she sees. The window pane is stippled with raindrops, tinting the view of the outside world. Beyond the rain-covered glass, the landscape seems to move at a mild pace, a dreamlike blur of muted colors and softened edges.

Inside the car, the steady hum of the engine melts into the sound of tires moving across the wet road and the water it holds, creating a constant, soothing, undertone to the rain’s heavy drumming. But amidst these sounds, there’s one that stands out, a human sound.

The humming of a man’s voice.

The voice is rich, each note vibrating with years of experience and a comfort in its own steady rhythm. It’s the kind of hum that wraps itself around her, a sound that soothes her troubled soul, resonating with an almost paternal calm.

She lets her eyes droop closed again in their heavy state, allowing the auditory tapestry to wash over her, the humming voice drowning out both the soundscape of the moving car and the drumming of the rain, and it’s then that a flash hits her from behind her eyes.

She then comes to see the face of an elderly man, the features on his dark melanin skin creased with the passage of time, but his eyes kind and alive with a spark of youthful energy, and he stands before her, his presence commanding gentle respect. In his hands, he holds a Bible, its dark cover worn from years of use, and with a motion of tenderness, he extends the book towards her, his voice resonant with firm affection.

“Take care on the road, Genesis.” He says, his words simple but heavy with meaning, carrying the weight that is both of a warning and a blessing with the accent that’s woven into her.

Then the flash fades, almost as quick as it came, and with it, the humming slowly ceases, leaving only the sound of rain to fill the silence.

And she stirs, her eyes fluttering open slowly. For a moment, she lingers on the edge of consciousness, her mind a haze of both her dream-state and reality intertwining, threads of memory weaving through the fabrics of her awakening thoughts. The sound of the rain still resonates in her ears, a reminder of the world outside, yet a sound that still draws a bridge between now and the dream.

She lays there, the remnants of her dream clinging to her like a gentle mist, the elderly man and his parting words vivid in her mind’s eye. And she remembers, it’s an actual memory.

Her senses gradually sharpen, pulling her further from the realm of sleep, her ears becoming more acutely aware of the rain, how it falls softer now, compared to last night. And with a deep, steadying, breath, Genesis allows her awareness to expands the initial disorientation of her waking fading as she sets herself in the now. The hotel room’s still dimly lit from last night, and the air feels cool, a refreshing contrast to the warmth of her own body, bundled under the oversized hoodie and sweats.

Turning her head to the left, slowly, Genesis’ gaze finds Letitia lying asleep peacefully, breathing even and undisturbed. Her features are relaxed, the kind of deep, untroubled, sleep that comes from exhaustion or even just peace of a now unburdened mind. She forgot to cover her cornrows before they laid down, and Genesis knows she’ll have to redo them, but in the moment of the night, that was the last thing either of them were worried about.

Despite the calmness exuding from Letitia’s peaceful sleep, a residual unease from Genesis’ dream lingers. Her mind can’t help but start to race, trying to search for any reasoning to its significance in the moment, as well as her and Letitia’s current situation, cause quiet turmoil within her.

Genesis carefully begins to maneuver out of the bed. Every slow shift and lift of her limbs is calculated to avoid any uncontrolled movements or sudden shifts that might pull Letitia from her own sleep. Her feet touch the floor with a softness, barely making a sound, her weight shifting as she eases herself up and out of the embrace of the bedding.

The distance to the bathroom seems long given the moment, but her steps remain silent. It’s something she’s been good at since she was a child, being able to not make a sound like that. And as Genesis reaches the bathroom, she pauses momentarily at the entrance, hand resting lightly on the frame, looking back to Letitia for a moment, savoring the sight of her like this before she steps inside the space, flicking the lights on.

She rubs her eyes with her fingertips as she approaches the mirror, her reflection greeting her, gazing back. It’s a silent, expectant, tableau, half of it her own features, the other seemingly morphing into the image of her father. He has a striking resemblance to Bob Marley, but with darker melanin skin. His features are a ghostly overlay of her own, his eyes so like hers, carrying stories of joy and struggle, wisdom and warmth, echoing a past that is both cherished and painful.

The convergence is too poignant, too laden with unresolved feelings. She feels a tightening in her chest from the surge of emotions that she’s not ready to confront right now. With a sudden, jerking, movement, she looks away, her gaze dropping to the sink below. She turns on the faucet, cold water coming forth, cascading down with a clarity that seems at odds with the morning turmoil inside her.

Cupping her hands, Genesis collects the icy water, splashing it onto her face in an attempt to wash away the thoughts of her racing mind, to erase the bridge between memory and reality for even just a moment. The water’s chill is a shock, a tactile counterpoint to her inner turmoil, droplets careening down her skin, each one a tiny shock of awakening on its own. She repeats the action for a longer escape.

But after, she ceases her actions, the last of the water dripping from her skin as she reaches for a towel. With a deep, steadying, breath, she rubs the fabric on her face, absorbing whatever wetness is left. But as she lowers it, her gaze catches the reflection in the mirror.

There, in the dim lighting of the bathroom reflecting against the outside area, she finds Letitia, her presence silent as she leans against the doorframe. Her gaze is heavy, fixed on Genesis with an intensity that pierces through the distance between them.

Her eyes meet hers in the mirror, and Genesis feels how her heartbeat picks up in her chest. But she tries to push the feeling back, or tries to, for now. There’s things they have to do.

“You wanna keep the braids?” She asks, her voice steady, her emotional turmoil set aside, referring to Letitia’s styled cornrows.

Letitia’s eyebrows furrow slightly as she looks at her, eyes searching for something beneath the surface of her causal question. The memory of the previous night’s vulnerability, confessions of love and small acts of it shown raw, and a promise, just before her eyes closed, seemingly weaved them into a new dynamic, now hanging in the air between them. Letitia’s mind can’t help but race, juxtaposing the intensity and rawness of the emotional exposure of last night with the present, where Genesis appears to be glossing over it.

“Um… yeah- yes…” She manages a response finally, hesitant words stuttering off her lips as she tries to read her, trying to understand if this sudden shift from the night before is a defense mechanism, the one they spoke of, the one Genesis has always had trouble with. It’s a way for Genesis to protect herself.

She watches as Genesis steps forward, moving past her, out of the bathroom. Letitia’s eyebrows furrow a little more, turning and trailing behind her, watching as she reaches for the bag she had on her yesterday, pulling out a smaller, clear, bag. The contents of the bag—a variety of tools and small bottles filled with water and what has to be leave in conditioner, and hair oil—speaks to her years doing things as such.

Genesis then moves towards the bed, grabbing one of the pillows and places it on the floor, in front of the full-length mirror that’s situated by the end of the bed before positioning herself, sitting on the edge of the bed, feet at either side of the pillow. Turning her head slightly, she offers Letitia the smallest, most gentle, smile, and a nod, a silent ask for her to join.

Letitia moves to sit on the pillow between Genesis’ legs, carefully positioning herself, adjusting her body slightly to find the right angle of comfort and the closeness necessary for Genesis to work on her hair. The room, filled with the dim lighting and what’s now only a slight drizzle of rain echoing quietly in the space.

Genesis reaches for one of the small spray bottles, holding it a few inches away from Letitia’s hair, and pressing down, a fine mist of what begins to cascade down onto Letitia’s hair. The droplets are light and cool, refreshing and soothing as she sprays all around her head, making sure every inch is covered with enough water before she grabs the other small bottle, a leave-in conditioner that she sprays on as well before Letitia feels her stop, undoing the small tie in the back of the style. She sprays some of the conditioner into her hand before using it on the ends of the braids, Letitia’s ears picking up every sound.

She then moves her hands to begin the process of unbraiding each cornrow. With every row she unbraids, Genesis fingers move with a care that conveys not just her skill but also the respect for the hair she’s tending to. Letitia, for her part, sits calmly, her body relaxed, fully immersed in the tranquility of the moment. The intimacy of the act, coupled with the quiet of the room, creates a blissful bubble around them.

As Genesis finishes releasing the last of the braids, Letitia’s hair falling to her cheekbones, more curls than coils in the moment, Genesis takes out the tail-end comb, drawing it back with a smooth motion to create a new center part for the foundation of the new rows.

She then proceeds to start braiding in sections, mindful of the tension created by the braiding being tight, thinking of Letitia’s ever so present scalp sensitivity. Beginning at the scalp, tight enough to be secure, she weaves the strands, following the natural contours of Letitia’s head.

Letitia relaxes into it, the feeling soothing compared to how others do it. Genesis’ approach is meticulous, assuring that the tension across Letitia’s scalp is evenly distributed, preventing any unnecessary pulling that could lead to discomfort.

As Genesis continues her work, she suddenly feels a gentle pressure against her left calf, knowing it’s Letitia’s arm, wrapping around her in a gesture so natural. The contact’s unassuming, yet intimate, an expression of trust and connection that doesn’t need words to validate its sincerity. Genesis takes a quick glance up to the mirror, taken slightly aback by the gesture, catching Letitia’s reflection.

She finds her looking down at her phone, her posture relaxed, her left arm around Genesis’ calf seeming like an effortless extension of her being. It’s like a quiet testament to both the comfort, the familiarity, between them, and the natural intimacy that’s woven its way between them. There’s a casualness to Letitia’s actions, like it’s something she’s been doing forever. In a way it’s true, just not like this.

“I want you to come with me.” Letitia says suddenly, her voice soft yet clear, cutting through the silence.

Genesis pauses, her hands frozen in their movements at the unexpected request. Her eyebrows knit together, both confusion and surprise consuming her whole being.

A light chuckle leaves Letitia’s lips as she glances up from her phone, her eyes meeting Genesis’ in the mirror.

“I mean it.” She reaffirms her statement, her gaze steady, conveying the sincerity of her request and a brief moment of silence consumes the space between them, charged with unspoken emotions and thoughts, and Letitia begins to worry she’s overstepped as Genesis remains quiet. “I-I don’t want to make you feel like you have to if you’re not comfortable…��

Letitia’s request and her quick reassurance acknowledges the complexities of their individual personalities, a soothing blanket over Genesis’ initial anxiety.

“I… I don’t have anything to wear.”

“There’s an extra outfit.” Letitia admits, almost sheepishly. “It was, um…”

Genesis doesn’t need her to finish to know, causing her eyes to narrow slightly, something that Letitia quickly takes note of.

“It’s not like that, I promise you.”

Her tone is vulnerable slightly, and raw, settling into Genesis’ heart, her gaze softening when she can’t find any other intent behind her eyes.

“Hopeful wanderer…” Genesis finally says, trailing off, and Letitia’s eyebrows furrow in the slightest at her words, only Genesis understanding her words are symbolism for her ask.

But she nods and Letitia’s eyes light up a little, a smile turning her lips up brightly, almost giddy as she looks back down at her phone. Genesis’ eyes linger on the reflection for a second, a gentle smile turning her lips upward, feeling a flutter in her chest as she looks back down to her hair, her fingertips still working through Letitia’s hair.

When she finishes, starting to put her tools back in the small, clear, bag, and Letitia looks up, turning her head to either side, examining the refreshed look in the mirror. Genesis watches as Letitia’s eyes light up with a playful spark of vanity, gently running a hand softly over the braids, feeling the texture.

“Okay, okay, I see you…” She says teasingly, her voice deep, still a little raspy from sleep. “Look at my beautiful face!”

Genesis can’t help but roll her eyes at her playful manner, a slight smirk turning up her lips as she softly hits the side of her head, leaving Letitia to duck into herself slightly, only out of reflex, chuckling.

But the moment’s short lived, suddenly interrupted by a series of knocks on the door. Letitia stands from her place on the floor, and walks to the door, opening it to reveal Shiona, her main stylist for events, who steps into the room with a whirlwind of energy.

“I hope that rain holds off cause it was like the skies opened up last night.” Shiona begins, walking in with a bag, as well as a couple clothing pieces in covers, sighing as she places the dress on the hanger in the open closet space. “And have you seen Genesis? Your team called her in but she never checked into the hotel and we were starting to think she-“

Letitia’s lips part to speak but she pauses as Shiona’s gaze travels into the room, landing on Genesis, who’s awkwardly standing from her place on the edge of the bed, quietly observing. Catching sight of her had caused Shiona to pause mid-sentence, lips parting slightly in surprise.

She doesn’t say a word, but looking between both Genesis and Letitia, as if she’s trying to piece what she unexpectedly walked into all together.

And then her gaze locks on Genesis, her eyebrows remaining furrowed.

“When’d you get here?”

Genesis feels her chest tighten slightly at her question, the feeling only heightened by the older woman’s gaze.

Genesis feels the familiar tightness in her chest, the tone of Shiona’s voice heightening her discomfort. Her posture becomes guarded, yet her expressions remain stoic, hiding the inner turmoil. As her lips part to weave an explanation, or even deflect, Shiona continues.

“I mean, it’s not like you to not…”

Genesis knows where she was leading, the unfinished sentence hanging in the air, heavy with implication.

“We were all starting to think you weren’t going to show, again.” The words strike a chord, and though Genesis maintains her composure, her internal reaction is gnawing away at her insides.

Letitia, watching the exchange intently, noticed the subtle falter in Genesis. Her familiarity to Genesis’ body language and knowing how her mind works allows her to read the undercurrents of discomfort and defense that others most likely will miss. She’s gotten better at it, Letitia notices. Hiding reactions. Yet, she can still see the conflict, she can still see her.

“Anyways, you’ve still got your touch.” Shiona attempts to shift the conversation, yet somehow, even that feels dismissive and it causes Genesis to turn away slightly, sighing heavily as she rubs the back of her neck, a self-soothing gesture.

“Gens is going to be attending with me today, Shi.” Letitia’s voice is clear and calm, the statement simple yet loaded with unspoken context, unbeknownst to Shiona.

“Oh?” It’s immediate and audible as her gaze snaps back towards Genesis, who catches the tone of what seems like passive-aggressive surprise. She recognizes the implicit judgement easily. “Well, we need to get you in this outfit then.”

Her words, directed at Letitia, carry an attempt to normalize the situation, trying to just move past the moment. She gestures for Letitia to follow her into the bathroom to assist with the outfit change, grabbing one of the covered clothing items, leaving Genesis somewhat isolated in the room by herself as Shiona speaks about the pieces.

Genesis moves to the desk, finding the makeup kit that’s buried in her crossbody bag sitting on the desk chair. She begins to lay the tools and products onto the desk itself, the familiar routine coming back to her so easily.

Suddenly, room’s calm is abruptly shattered by the aggressive beats of rap music coming through the B

bluetooth speaker that sits on the counter of the sink. The sudden onslaught of sound feels like a physical intrusion, jarring Genesis out of her focused state. She grimaces, the music clashing harshly with her ears.

She pauses, rummaging through her bag, her fingers closing around her AirPods and she fits them into her ears quickly, a barrier she creates between herself and the intrusive noise. With a few quick taps on her phone, she pulls up her own playlist, the familiar sounds of the calming beat of the drums filling her ears.

The soothing beat cocoons Genesis, allowing her to take a deep, steadying, breath as she begins to gather her thoughts. She finds herself reflecting of the past, a tapestry of simpler times, even when Letitia was gaining more fame, now it all seems distant compared to the present’s, high-profile, high-pressure environment.

She’s an outsider to this world, one she’s not entirely comfortable with.

Everything’s changed.

But Genesis pushes it back for now, focusing her attention back to preparing what she needs to do Letitia’s makeup, but she makes a mental note to keep an eye on how Letitia moves.

She has a feeling.

Eventually, Genesis hears Shiona call out to her, her cue to overtake, and she gathers what she needs, only a small amount of things and heads towards the bathroom. The door’s ajar, and Genesis pushes it open carefully to find Letitia transformed as Shiona steps out, past Genesis as she steps in, effectively swapping places.

The leather outfit Letitia wears is an assemblage of artistry; a jacket with an oversized, boxy, cut drapes over her shoulders, its design creating a tapestry of dark, interwoven, panels. Beneath it, she wears a matching skirt, paired with a white turtleneck that shoes past the folded collar of the jacket, a balance of chic, ending high on her thighs, barely below the jacket, accenting the length of her long legs, now toned, slightly.

Looking at her through the mirror, Genesis feels her breath catch in her throat, taking in all of Letitia, yet she continues on naturally, as if it doesn’t affect her as much as it does.

“Shiona knows her stuff.” Genesis notes, her eyes analytical as she assesses Letitia’s appearance, considering how to complement it with the makeup like it’s an equation.

“Yeah… she does, doesn’t she?” Letitia replies, a small smile turning her lips upward, but Genesis notices the hesitation.

Her eyebrows furrow slightly, something Letitia doesn’t notice as Genesis sets the items down on the countertop, moving on to the task at hand.

“Think we’ll keep it natural, let the outfit do the talking.” Genesis murmurs, more to herself than Letitia as she starts with foundation, applying it to the brush.

But Letitia nods, head remaining straight ahead, trusting her, and the room’s silent despite the music, Genesis working around her face with the occasional sound of a brush or templet being set down.

Letitia glances at her face as she works in front of her, watching her movements while Genesis doesn’t need her eyes closed, noticing her AirPod in her ear.

“What’re you listening to?”

Genesis pauses in her movements, glancing to Letitia’s eyes and gently moving the brush to her other hand, taking one of her AirPods out and carefully bringing it to Letitia’s ear, setting it in.

As the music flows into her ear, the music on the outside seems to fade away, enveloped almost instantly into the song’s soulful embrace, listening, her body stilling as the chorus fills her senses.

“Is this love, is this love, is this love

Is this love that I’m feelin’?

Is this love, is this love, is this love

Is this love that I’m feelin?”

The lyrics resonate within her and she can’t help but glance back at Genesis, back to working, sucking in her bottom lip in a gesture of concentration, something she’s always done, something Letitia’s always found adorable. The intensity of her focus, combining with the tender lyrics, creates a poignant moment that feels suspended in time.

Before Letitia can reflect further, Genesis’ touch draws her back, fingertips gentle, yet firm, guiding Letitia’s chin down.

“Stay still for me.” She whispers, her voice a soft murmur that carries the words with tender command. And after a short pause, allowing instruction to sink in, she continues. “Close your eyes…”

Letitia obeys, the combination of Genesis’ touch and her voice sending a shiver cascading through her skin, feeling Genesis’ fingertips still against her skin as the brush presses against the area, creating an atmosphere that’s intimate as the lyrics continue in her ear.

The moment Genesis withdraws her fingers from Letitia’s skin, and the soft sound of the pallets closing, Letitia knows she’s finished without her even saying a word. Her eyes open slowly, meeting her reflection in the mirror, the subtlety of the makeup enchanting her features without overshadowing her natural allure. A smile, gentle and approving, appears on her lips as she takes the AirPod out of her ear, extending it back to Genesis.

“I like it.” Her voice is hushed, yet content, speaking of both the makeup and her music and in the mirror, Letitia catches a hint of a smile on Genesis’ lips.

“That’s good, it means you’re comfortable…” Genesis replies, her words trailing off as she turns to fully face Letitia, taking the AirPod from her open palm, eyes scanning over the outfit once more. “Are you?”

The question lingers in the air, Letitia’s response not coming as readily as expected, her hesitation’s a pause Genesis doesn’t miss. Letitia’s eyes flicker between her’s and the mirror with uncertainty, her vibrant confidence seemingly dimmed.

“I’m…” Letitia starts, her voice trailing off as she searches for the words, yet she’s unsure of what to say. She glances down at the clothes that adorn her, her eyes focusing on the lower layer.

Genesis watches her intently, eyes trailing with her, an understanding washing over her.

“You don’t like the skirt.” Genesis notes quietly.

“It’s… it’s not…” Letitia takes a small but heavy breath, her eyes finally looking back to Genesis. “It’s not me.”

“Then change it.” Her statement comes natural to her.

“It doesn’t always work like that. They have the contract, they send the clothes, that’s how things work here.”

Genesis stays silent, nodding her head as if she understands. In reality, she doesn’t.

This world is an enigma in ways to her. She’s been apart of it lightly, yet not enough to know the ins and outs, yet she has perspective.

London, with its own fashion week is different, Letitia thrives amidst the rich tapestry, feeling as if she can wear whatever she’s feeling that day, themed to the show attending. Milan, and even Paris, hold a similar charm, yet it’s a tad more sophisticated in ways.

Hollywood’s spectacle is unlike anything Genesis has seen, a much greater celebrity presence is usually seen in these events such as Milan and Paris, where as in London, it’s more attune to celebrities in the area, whereas these big brands such as Prada sign every big name they can.

It’s never made sense, and it probably never will.

“But I’m going to change before dinner.” Letitia states after the moment of silence passes between them.

Genesis, pulled from the depths of her thoughts, nods gently, not sure what she can really say in response, but the momentary quietude is broken by a knock at the door, a timely interruption that seems to cut the slight tension.

“Genesis, this is for you to put on.” She announces with an obliviousness to the undercurrents swirling in the room as she opens the door.

Genesis eyes look to Shiona, Letitia turning her head as well, watching as she steps in, unzipping the cover just enough to reveal the dress within, handing the hanger over to Genesis, and the sight of it makes Genesis’ heart drop.

“You can’t be serious…” Genesis murmurs, her eyes glancing to Letitia in disbelief.

But she only responds with a chuckle, a sheepish expression all over her face, an awkward acknowledgment of the predicament.

“I’ll just… let you get changed.” She says, backing towards the door, closing it as she steps out.

“Tish-“

“Love you too!” Letitia calls out from the other side, a teasing hint in her tone, ever so playful, leaving Genesis alone.

“Great.” Genesis mutters under her breath, a heavy sigh following, Genesis rubs the back of her neck, the usual soothing gesture a now testament to her irritation.

Reluctantly, she looks to the dress in her hand, it’s fabric now a symbol of the day’s impending challenge. It’s beautiful, she can’t lie, despite being so simple, but to Genesis it feels like a costume for something she never auditioned for.

Not to mention how she hates dresses most of the time.

Her fingers trace the soft material, and with a resigned breath, she begins to change, slipping out of the comfort of Letitia’s clothes into the dress that in a way, signifies more than just an outfit for the evening.

When she’s changed over, Genesis stands before the mirror, the dress cascading along her body. It’s a stark black, form-fitting, piece that flares subtly at the hem, creating a silhouette that’s classic. Yet, she runs her hands over the fabric, tracing the contours of her small chest and the flat plane of her abdomen and stomach, a familiar insecurity whispering to her. The dress, while elegant, feels like an amplifier to her deepest insecurities that she tries so hard to bury and her sigh’s heavy as she reaches for her phone.

With a few taps, she’s FaceTiming help, propping her phone up against the wall, set on the countertop of the sink, and on the third ring, his image shifts into view—walking through the bustling streets of London, his dreads tucked up in his knit beanie, his attire a shield against the London chill.

“Yo, Gen.” Julian greets with a smile, still not looking down as he continues walking, his British-Jamaican mix of an accent warm through her speaker.

Genesis steps back to reveal the full extent of her attire, the dress embracing her every line and curve, and at hearing the movement, Julian’s gaze dips to take in the view of his friend, and laughter bursts from his lips, a reaction as unfiltered as it is immediate.

Genesis’ eyebrows furrow with annoyance as she rubs the middle of her brow in a grimace as Julian tries to calm down from his laughter.

“Yuh dress up like on real uptown gyal now, eh?” There’s affection and teasing mixing into his sudden shift to his native patios.

“Don’t start with me. I look like a mess.”

Julian dips his head again, taking a closer look at the dress. “What if you cut the sides, by yuh ribs? Some flare to it-“

“I can’t cut the sides of no dress, this is Prada!” Genesis whisper yells at Julian.

“Okay, okay, quit shouting.” Julian teases, looking back up again. “Uh, what about, your lion ring, and your cross earring?”

Genesis face shows the realization as he says it, understanding why he mentioned those pieces.

“That… could work.”

It’s silent for a moment, and Genesis watches as Julian’s expression furrows in thought, eyes squinting as he mentally shifts through his stylist mind.

“Yuh have a wrap or something there?” He asks, his voice glitching slightly from the digital connection.

Genesis nods, recalling the one she carries in her crossbody.

“Wrap it ‘round your head, keep di locks down,” Julian instructs, the stylist within him surfacing. “Give yuh a look of elegance, but also make yuh stand out… in a good way, yuh feel?”

“Right…” Genesis’ voice trails off, nodding to herself. “Yeah, okay… I can do that.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Julian smiles a little, another moment of silence hitting them before he speaks again, this time his tone more playful. “So… you goin’ in heels with that?”

Genesis raises her eyebrows slightly in question, her voice laced with unsureness as to why he’s asking.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

But Julian just chuckles, the sound warm and teasing.

“I ain’t ever seen you in a dress, but you in heels too, I-“

“Bai, you-“ Genesis cuts him off, feigning annoyance. “Bye, Julian.”

She has to keep back the laugh that’s threatening the edges of her nonchalant expression, and she leans forward, ending the call, chuckling as she steps back, and gets herself into the heels, the ones Shiona left on the floor for her as well. It’s a sleek pair, delicate strapping wrapping around her ankles, elevating her five-four structure.

Genesis emerges from the bathroom without even sparing the mirror another glance, grabbing her phone, clutching onto it like a lifeline as she steps out and into the main part of the room.

In midst of a conversation with Shiona, Letitia catches sight of Genesis and cuts herself off mid-sentance. Her eyes widen slightly, tracking Genesis as she moves across the room.

She’s oblivious to the effect she has on Letitia, reaching her bag and shifting through it as she sets her phone down on the desk, seeking the black, patterned, head wrap and the couple pieces of jewelry, and upon finding the items, she walks to the full-length mirror, setting the jewelry down on top of the drawers, by where the television sits.

Letitia keeps her eyes set on her, the conversation with Shiona forgotten. She finds herself observing the smooth fabric of the dress that clings to Genesis’ slim form. And she watches how Genesis wraps the fabric a round her head, tying it in the front before knotting what’s left of the length of the fabric before wrapping it around the initial tie and tucking it into the middle of it, creating a wrap around her head, locks hanging low beautifully.

“Too much?” Genesis murmurs quietly, a hint of vulnerability there, feeling Letitia’s heavy and hot gaze on her without even really needing to see her reflection in the mirror.

“No, no, you look…” Letitia begins, trailing off as her usual charisma is lost by the image Genesis is presenting, words failing as she watches her affix an earring to her left ear, a small golden cross, a striking contrast from the dark colors all over.

Next, she grabs a ring, a thick band, that’s all Letitia notices in the moment as she slides it onto her right ring finger with care and she turns her head to look at Letitia, who feels her breath catch in her throat, she green eyes standing out so beautifully.

Leitita can’t help her eyes roaming over the entirety of Genesis’ form again. But meeting Genesis’ eyes once more, she collects herself against the emotions she’s feeling.

“You look beautiful.”

There’s a small smile appears on Genesis’ lips, a warmth filling in her chest at Letitia’s simple words, yet holding deeper meaning, and she feels good.

“I hate to break up whatever this is,” Shiona moves her hand bwtween them, breaking the attention affectively. “but if we want any chance of being on time, you need to get, now.”

With quiet urgency, they all gather their things and Letitia leads Genesis to the awaiting limousine, falling behind Shiona. As the two of them settle in, the door shutting behind, and the drive starts, Letitia pulls out her phone, taking both a video and a photo for her socials stories.

But Genesis looks around, quietly, taking in the details of the luxury vehicle—the subtle shine of the leather seats, the soft carpet heath their feet, and out of the corner of her eye, Genesis noticed a small pint of vodka nestled in an ice bucket. Its presence is an unspoken invitation to take the edge off. She picks it up, examining the label, her curiosity focusing more on its presence than any actual desire to indulge.

Letitia catches sight of her doing this, glancing up from her phone and watching, eyes tracking Genesis’ movements.

“You can have it if you want.”

Genesis shakes her head, a quick, definitive, gesture that speaks volumes, setting it back down with the same nonchalance in which she picked it up. Letitia can’t really hide the quiet surprise and intrigue that’s written all over her face, the small rejection being a divergence from the normal that she’s used to handling, her ex was known for indulging far too early and sometimes went too far.

Soon, the limousine eases to a stop and the door swings open to reveal a man in an all black suit, umbrella in hand, set to shield them from the drizzle that lays on the city in the early evening. Letitia exits first, naturally, and Genesis follows, moving to the edge of the car carefully. The cool air that’s tinged with rain greets her before she even sets foot outside.

She looks down to find Letitia offering a hand, like a lifeline, and Genesis takes it, a silent ‘thank you’ passing between them, and she feels the reassuring squeeze, a silent grounding.

As she begins to get out, Genesis tentatively glances up, the cacophony of the voices of the paparazzi and the sounds of the camera clicks are momentarily overwhelming, they always are for her. She quickly averts her eyes almost as soon as she looked up, refocusing on the task of stepping out this car in heels.

Once she safely does so, Letitia begins to turn towards the commotion, the entrance of the event, but she doesn’t let go of Genesis. Instead, their fingers entwine as they move down naturally, a gesture that speaks volumes in its quiet intimacy. Letitia leads with a smile that only wavers slightly under the weight of the public’s eye, and Genesis offering a small smile, but mostly avoiding looking in the lens of the camera.

Her gratitude for the entwining of their fingers is immense. It grounds her in the moment as her heart feels like it’s going to beat out her chest.

At the steps up, Letitia pauses, her hand still clasping Genesis’ as she steps onto the first riser, another woman taking her place, offering Genesis a nimble support to step up the steps, and halfway up, Genesis pauses, looking back, focusing on Letitia’s presence.

The moment of her getting into place is nearly marred when her heel catches, and Genesis feels her heart lurch, a grimace on her face, yet Letitia regains herself too quickly, as if the smallest slip didn’t even happen, her smile returning with only a flash of awkwardness as she poses briefly before the photographers before proceeding, taking Genesis’ hand again and leading her up herself.

She leads her through all the people, towards the main event, where they’re guided to their seats in the front row. Genesis can’t help but feel out of her element. She’s done a couple of these before, but not like this. It shows in a subconscious betrayal of her unease, her left knee bouncing as her legs are crossed over. But Letitia, perceptive as ever, lays a gentle hand upon her kneecap, squeezing with just enough pressure to have her feel calmer within seconds.

A silent promise.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

They had gone back to the sanctuary of the hotel room, just for a moment, after the show, they change out of the show attire, into items more comfortable, yet still aligning with the dinner’s upscale measures.

Letitia opts for an elegant, chic, ensemble, her outfit more to her personal flair, still all by Prada, loose suit pants, loafers, a white, rubbed, tank that’s tucked into the pants, and the same jacket from the earlier event, now left unzipped. But Genesis, on the other hand, finds herself in a struggle to assemble an outfit from her own clothing. She decides on a white, long-sleeve, shirt, it’s fabric soft and comforting against her skin, which she tucks it meticulously into some black, loose-fit, suit pants. Over the shirt lays a black, long-sleeve, button-down, left unzipped. The combination is understated yet sleek, paired with polished loafers that add the touch of formality she hopes is enough. She forego’s the head scarf this time, allowing her locks to remain flowing down, framing her thin face and sharp jawline.

Now in the back of the limousine once more, the quiet hum of the engine is a stark contrast to this evening’s fanfare. And once they arrive, it seems mirrored to just hours earlier, Letitia exiting the car first, under the shield of an umbrella, and Genesis follows, taking Letitia’s hand as she steps out into the light rain. The touch, like earlier, is grounding, silent reassurance admits chaos.

Her hand remains firm in Letitia’s grip on her, their fingers entwined as they walk up to the restaurant. Letitia offers a semi-polite smile and wave to the onlookers, a practiced gesture of acknowledgement and Genesis only follows her lead, feeling the firm grip guiding her through the unfamiliar terrain into the restaurant, following one of the worker’s lead.

Turning the corner eventually, there’s a long table surrounded by a constellation of celebrities from different fields, all sponsored under Prada, and Genesis takes it in as she sits down beside Letitia.

The dinner itself unfolds like a symphony, each person here seemingly contributing to the evening’s scene. Yet, for Genesis, it all fades into the background, her thoughts drifting to a quieter, more introspective, corner of her mind. The scene surrounding her, the causal exchanges of the people, holding fame and accolades, all seemingly foreign things to her despite spending years surrounded by it.

From her vantage point, Genesis takes in the tableau of celebrities surrounding her. She takes notice of the seemingly effortless way they carry themselves, designer fabrics draped over their forms, the sparkle of expensive jewelry catching the light with turns of their heads or movement of their hands. Laughter rings out, easy, a speaking of their comfort within this space and lifestyle, which is a severe contrast to her own.

She’s roused from these observations, by a feeling, pulling her back into the present moment, her gaze shifting down to the hand that gently encircles her forearm, the warm touch grounding her. Her eyes then trail over, finding Letitia’s eyes searching her own, concern making itself known with the furrowing of her brow.

“You okay?” Her voice is quiet against the sounds of conversation surrounding them.

Genesis is about to nod, to reassure her, when another voice carries over unlike the others.

“Genesis, what is it you do again?”

She leans forward slightly, eyes moving from Letitia’s to find Hunter Schafer sitting a couple seats past Letitia.

“I’m a hair and makeup artist.”

“Right, I remember now.” Hunter leans forward as Genesis did. “Anything exciting coming up for you with the boycott done?”

The question, meant to be light, feels heavy to Genesis, something she wasn’t expecting. But she still manages a stiff chuckle, a mask of professionalism over the slight discomfort.

“No,” she sakes her head simply, looking down slightly, swirling the wine a little. “not right now.”

Letitia, attune to Genesis’ tone, senses the subtle undercurrents, more so fatigue than what others may think of as shame, and she leans forward slightly, head still turned to her.

“After I get a second cap we can leave.” She says quietly.

Genesis responds not with words but with an action, pushing her untouched wineglass towards Letitia.

“I don’t drink.” She nods to her, words quiet.

The moment hangs between them, Letitia tentatively accepting the glass, her mind racing over if this has always been true, if she’d slipped and forgotten, or if this is new. All her memories make her remember her joining in at least one glass.

“Alright,” Letitia nods, gently. “we can leave on your cue.”

Genesis gives her a small smile, watching as she takes a sip before answering another question that fell from Hunter’s lips.

They leave not long after, Letitia taking her hand as they walk down the steps of the restaurant, flashes from cameras shining against the darkness of the night, only stopping and pulling her hand away when they get close to the car, signing an autograph for someone, and taking a picture, Genesis stopping and waiting for her. But just as she turns to step forward towards the car again, there’s this woman, one who had waited outside the belt, getting into her space, and Genesis can see discomfort wash clear over her face, yet still managing to muster the smallest smile, still trying to walk forward regardless.

She apologizes politely to the people surrounding for needing to leave so quick, the rain being a bother, and Genesis follows behind her, placing a hand on her back, both to let her know she’s behind her and to help ground her.

Letitia looks back at the motion for only a second, physically checking that Genesis is behind her before looking forward again, stepping into the limousine, and turning before she sits, a hand out for Genesis to take, helping her in before looking up, speaking to those who were helping them.

“Thank you, bye-bye.”

Within the car ride back to the hotel, the hum of the engine melds with the patting of the rain against the car as it moves through the rain coated streets, creating a lullaby that tugs at the fringes of Genesis’ consciousness. The fatigue of a long day, compounded by the jet lag that’s heavy on her, pulling her into darkness.

And what she finds, behind her eyes, is what she hears against the sounds melting into her sphere. The humming of a man’s voice. The voice rich, vibrating with experience and a calmness, wrapping around her warmly. The notes settling within her heart, speaking to her soul.

She recognizes it, she feels it calling to her.

In her sleep, unbeknownst to her, Genesis’ eyebrows furrow, the stirring of emotions clear on her face, not even stirring even at the sound of her name.

“Gens-“

Letitia, her attention shifting from the soft glow of her phone’s screen, catches herself as her eyes fall on the sight of her, realizing she had given into her evident exhaustion, discomfort clear on her face, her neck slightly craned in an uncomfortable position, her gaze softens. She gently and carefully guides Genesis’ head to rest on her shoulder, providing a pillow of support.

In that instant, deeper in her dreams, Genesis sees something different, an adult, face unseen, almost cut-off like in a movie scene, but there’s a child, eyes closed, head on their shoulder, asleep admits the falling rain. She recognizes it as a younger version of her, her child-like form.

Suddenly, she hears the elderly voice echo amongst the atmosphere, its timbre warmth and familiarity wrapping around her similar to the humming of the notes, still a distant background heard.

The same benediction.

And with a featherweight touch, Letitia places a kiss on Genesis’ head, a gesture as protective as it is affectionate, and Genesis hears the man’s words echo within.

“Take care on the road, Genesis.”

#letitia wright #letitia wright fanfic #letitia fanfic #shai’s oc #no woman no cry fic

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