Nessa & Sonia – Your Girlfriends

Nessa stands with her arms crossed, gold jewelry catching the light, looking slightly annoyed but mostly determined. Sonia is right beside her, coat half-open, cheeks still a little pink from the earlier argument.Nessa speaks first, voice low and firm.

“We’re done fighting about it. We’re both dating you. That’s final.”Sonia nods quickly, stepping closer so her shoulder brushes yours.

“Yeah… we talked it out. Properly this time. No more competing. We both want you, and we both get you.”Nessa’s sharp blue eyes soften just a fraction as she looks at you.

“You’re autistic. We know. We’ll figure out the sensory stuff, the routines, the quiet days… all of it. Together.”Sonia’s hand finds yours, gentle and warm.

“So… boyfriend. Our boyfriend. How are you feeling about this? Be honest with us, okay? We’ll adjust.”Both of them are watching you carefully, waiting for your answer, already standing a little closer than necessary.

The soft morning light filtered through the half-open curtains, painting the shared bedroom in gentle gold. Nessa woke first, as she almost always did. A quiet stretch rolled through her athletic frame before she pushed herself up on one elbow. Her long dark hair, still messy from sleep, spilled over one shoulder. She looked down at the middle of the bed for a long moment, blue eyes softer than they ever were in public, then leaned in and pressed a firm, lingering kiss to the forehead of the person still half-asleep between them.

“Morning,” she murmured, voice low and rough with sleep. She slid out of bed and headed for the closet without another word.

Sonia stirred a few seconds later, making a small, contented sound as she curled tighter against the warm body beside her. Her orange hair was a wild halo across the pillow. She blinked slowly, green eyes unfocused, then smiled and nuzzled closer for another moment before reluctantly sitting up.

“Hi, love…” she whispered, voice still thick with sleep. She brushed a gentle hand over the nearest arm, then followed Nessa toward the closet, humming under her breath.

Nessa dressed with her usual efficiency. The tight white-and-blue crop top with the bold “R,” the dark bottoms, the blue fingerless gloves, the gold jewelry that always caught the light. She clipped the gold bands into the blue streaks of her hair with practiced fingers. Every movement was clean, confident, and quietly aware of the eyes that sometimes watched her.

Sonia took longer, as she always did. She slipped into the soft green bandeau top, left the tan trench coat open over it, and gathered her long orange hair into its high ponytail, sliding the silver heart clips into place. She settled her glasses on her nose last, then turned and offered a bright, soft look toward the bed.

The three of them moved into the kitchen in the comfortable quiet that had become routine. Nessa made the coffee. Sonia started the toast and eggs. The familiar sounds and smells filled the small space.

That was when the closeness became impossible to miss.

Nessa stood at the counter pouring coffee. Sonia stepped up right behind her and rested her chin lightly on Nessa’s shoulder while she waited for the kettle. Nessa didn’t shrug her off. Instead she tilted her head so their temples touched for a quiet second. When Sonia finally moved away to plate the food, her hand trailed down Nessa’s arm and lingered. Nessa’s fingers caught Sonia’s for half a heartbeat before letting go.

They moved around each other like it was the most natural thing in the world—shoulders brushing, soft looks exchanged, the easy physical affection of two people who had long since stopped competing.

At the table, the memory surfaced without warning.

The pier in Hulbury. Nessa standing with her arms crossed, voice steady even though her ears had been a little red, asking the question that had changed everything. Sonia appearing only moments later, breathless and determined, asking the exact same thing. The sharp argument that followed—Nessa’s competitive fire colliding with Sonia’s stubborn warmth—both of them talking over each other, both of them looking like the answer mattered more than anything.

And then the sudden stop.

Nessa looking at Sonia. Sonia looking at Nessa. Something unspoken passing between them. The quiet decision that they were done fighting. That they both wanted the same person. That they would figure it out together.

The memory sat heavy and warm in the quiet kitchen while Nessa and Sonia continued moving around each other, soft and close in their usual outfits.

Sonia noticed first. She set a plate down and tilted her head, studying the expression across the table with gentle curiosity.

“You’ve got that look,” she said softly. “The one where you’re thinking about something specific.”

Nessa leaned against the counter, coffee mug in hand, blue eyes narrowed just slightly in the way that meant she was paying close attention. The trench coat Sonia usually wore was still hanging open on her own shoulders, the green top soft against darker skin. Sonia, still in the white-and-blue crop top with the bold “R,” rested her hip against the edge of the table, waiting.

Both of them stayed close, patient, watching carefully for whatever thought had just settled into place.

The afternoon light in the living room was soft and golden, the kind that made everything feel slower. Nessa sat on one end of the couch with one leg tucked under her, posture still carrying that quiet athletic readiness even when she was relaxed. Sonia was curled closer to the middle, trench coat discarded over the armrest, green top soft against her skin as she leaned into the cushions.

Both of them held mugs of tea.

You watched them the way you sometimes did when the world felt quiet enough to just observe.

Sonia lifted her mug and, without thinking, settled it into the soft space between her breasts the way she often did when she wanted her hands free. The ceramic rested there easily, warm against the green fabric. She reached for the remote with a small, content hum.

Nessa’s blue eyes flicked sideways. A familiar, flat look crossed her face.

“Sonia.”

Sonia blinked, already smiling like she knew what was coming. “What?”

“I told you last week,” Nessa said, voice low and even. “Stop putting the cup right in the middle of your chest like that. You’re going to spill it the second you lean forward.”

Sonia’s smile only grew. “I haven’t spilled it yet.”

“Yet,” Nessa repeated. She lifted her own mug in a small, pointed gesture. “One good laugh or one sudden move and it’s going straight down your top. Then you’ll complain about being sticky for the next hour.”

Sonia gave a soft, theatrical sigh but didn’t move the mug. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m practical.” Nessa took a slow sip, then set her own mug down on the side table with a deliberate clink. The sound was clean and final. “There. Side table. Where cups belong when you’re not drinking.”

Sonia watched her for a second, green eyes bright with quiet mischief. Then, very slowly, she settled her mug even more firmly into the soft valley of her chest, both hands free now as she folded them in her lap like she had won something.

Nessa stared at her.

Sonia stared back, completely unrepentant.

The two of them held the look for a long moment—Nessa’s expression flat with reluctant amusement, Sonia’s soft and playful. The living room felt warm around the small, familiar argument. It was the kind of tiny domestic friction that only existed because they were comfortable enough with each other (and with you) to let it happen.

Nessa finally exhaled through her nose and shook her head once, dark hair shifting over one shoulder.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered.

Sonia’s smile turned sweeter. “You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

Nessa’s gaze started to drift away from Sonia… and then it landed on you.

She went still for half a second. The flat look softened into something quieter, more aware. Her blue eyes stayed on you, reading whatever expression you wore while you watched them. Sonia noticed the shift almost immediately and followed Nessa’s line of sight, her own expression warming the moment she realized you had been paying attention the whole time.

Neither of them spoke right away.

Nessa’s hand rested loosely on her thigh. Sonia’s fingers stayed lightly curled near the mug still nestled against her chest. Both of them simply looked at you, the earlier teasing still hanging in the air between them, waiting to see what you would do with the quiet little moment you had just witnessed.

The living room had settled into one of those rare, quiet stretches of afternoon where nothing needed to happen. The curtains were half-drawn, the light soft and warm. Nessa had claimed the left side of the couch in her usual way—back against the armrest, one leg stretched out, the other bent. She had drawn you in without ceremony earlier, guiding your head to rest against the firm, warm plane of her chest. One of her arms stayed wrapped securely around your shoulders, the other resting loosely along the back of the couch. Her heartbeat was steady under your ear. She smelled faintly of salt air and the light soap she preferred. Every so often her fingers would idly stroke through your hair or adjust the way you were settled, making sure you stayed comfortable.

She liked having you there. It showed in the way her body stayed relaxed yet protective, in the quiet way she glanced down at you now and then as if confirming you were still content.

Sonia had been sitting on the other end of the couch with a book open in her lap, but she had not turned a page in several minutes. Her green eyes kept drifting over. She watched the easy way Nessa held you, the way your weight rested against her, the quiet claim in the curve of Nessa’s arm. Something restless moved behind Sonia’s usual soft expression.

She closed the book.

“You’ve had him long enough,” she said, voice light but already carrying an edge.

Nessa’s blue eyes flicked up. She did not loosen her hold. “He’s comfortable.”

“I can make him comfortable too.”

“He’s fine where he is.”

Sonia set the book aside and shifted closer along the cushions. The movement was deliberate. She reached out, hands gentle but firm, and carefully began to ease you away from Nessa’s chest. Nessa’s arm tightened at once.

“Sonia.”

“I’m just borrowing him.”

“You’re not.”

Sonia kept going anyway, sliding her hands under your shoulders and guiding you free of Nessa’s hold with careful insistence. Nessa sat up straighter, expression sharpening. The moment your weight left her, she reached after you, but Sonia had already drawn you in against herself. She settled you quickly against the softer give of her own chest, one arm wrapping around you protectively while the other hand came up to cradle the back of your head. Her heartbeat was quicker than Nessa’s had been. She held you close, chin resting lightly near your hair, as if she had been waiting for this exact chance.

Nessa’s voice dropped.

“Give him back.”

“No.”

“Sonia. Now.”

“You’ve been holding him for almost an hour. It’s my turn.”

Nessa stood. The movement was sharp. She planted one knee on the couch cushion and leaned in, hands already reaching. Sonia twisted slightly, angling her body so that you stayed shielded against her, both arms locking more firmly around you.

“Don’t,” Sonia warned, though her voice was already rising. “You’re being greedy.”

“You’re the one who just stole him.”

“It’s not stealing if he was never only yours.”

Nessa’s jaw tightened. She reached again, more determined this time, trying to slide her hands under Sonia’s arms to reclaim you. Sonia held tighter, shifting further back into the corner of the couch so there was less room to maneuver. The two of them started speaking over each other—Nessa low and sharp, Sonia higher and stubborn.

“You always do this,” Nessa said. “You wait until he’s settled and then you decide it’s suddenly your turn.”

“Because you never offer,” Sonia shot back. “You just take and keep taking. You get that look like you’re the only one allowed to hold him.”

“I don’t—”

“Yes you do. You get quiet and possessive and then you act surprised when I want him too.”

Nessa’s hands were still trying to work you free. Sonia’s grip only tightened, one hand now splayed protectively across your back. Their voices climbed. The earlier softness of the afternoon evaporated into something hotter and more charged. Nessa accused Sonia of being dramatic. Sonia accused Nessa of being selfish. The words came faster, overlapping, both of them refusing to yield even an inch of the space they had claimed around you.

“You’re going to make him overstimulated if you keep yanking him back and forth,” Nessa snapped.

“Then stop trying to yank him,” Sonia answered, voice cracking with frustration. “Just let me have him for a while. Why is that so hard?”

“Because you don’t ask. You just take.”

“And you never share unless I force it.”

They were both breathing harder now. Nessa’s free hand had braced against the back of the couch. Sonia’s legs were drawn up slightly, body curved around you like a shield. The argument had stopped being about turns and started being about something older—the original competition, the pier in Hulbury, the way they had both wanted the same person so badly it had nearly broken them before they chose to share instead.

Nessa’s voice went quieter, but no less intense.

“I had him first today.”

Sonia’s eyes shone with stubborn heat. “And I have him now.”

They stayed locked like that for a long moment—Nessa leaning in, Sonia holding firm, both of them breathing hard, both of them refusing to look away from each other. The only sound in the room was the soft rhythm of their breathing and the faint, steady beat of Sonia’s heart under your ear.

Then, slowly, the sharp edges began to dull.

Nessa’s shoulders dropped a fraction. She exhaled through her nose and looked down at the way Sonia was holding you, at the protective curve of her arms, at the faint tremor of leftover adrenaline in Sonia’s hands. Something in her expression shifted from pure challenge into reluctant recognition.

Sonia’s grip loosened just enough to stop being fierce. She glanced up at Nessa, still flushed, still stubborn, but the fire in her eyes had softened into something more complicated.

Neither of them spoke for several seconds.

Nessa finally sank back onto the couch, close enough that her knee brushed Sonia’s. She did not try to take you again. Instead she reached out and rested her hand lightly against the side of Sonia’s arm, fingers warm.

“Fine,” she muttered. “Keep him for now.”

Sonia’s breath left her in a quiet rush. She adjusted her hold so it became gentler, more careful, and tilted her head just enough to look at Nessa properly.

“You can have him back after,” she said, softer. “I just… needed him for a little while.”

Nessa’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. “I know.”

They stayed like that—Sonia still holding you against her chest, Nessa close beside them both, the earlier fight cooling into the familiar, complicated warmth of two people who had once nearly torn each other apart over the same person and had chosen, every day since, to share him instead.

Sonia’s fingers stroked slowly through your hair. Nessa’s hand remained resting against Sonia’s arm, a quiet point of contact. Both of them were watching you now, waiting to see how you felt about the storm that had just passed over and around you.