mina

the dorm was quiet that afternoon, the kind of lazy quiet that settled in after a long day of schedules. giselle had kicked off her shoes by the door, flopping onto her bed with a sigh, her phone already in hand. you followed her in, borrowing her flannel like you always did because it was soft and oversized and smelled like her. something warm and faintly sweet.

you were in just a tank top and shorts underneath, the flannel hanging open as you climbed onto the bed beside her. the two of you lay there side by side, backs against the pillows, scrolling mindlessly. reels and tweets blurred past, occasional laughs slipping out when one of you showed the other something stupid.

giselle’s hair was loose, falling over her shoulder as she turned her head slightly to glance at you. “tired?” she asked, voice low and casual.

“a little,” you murmured, thumb pausing on your screen. then it hit you. the thing you’d shoved in your bag earlier that week. “oh wait, gigi. i almost forgot. i bought henna ink the other day. like, the cone stuff. wanna try it?”

she raised an eyebrow, not looking up from her phone right away. “henna? random, but sure. do whatever you want, baby.”

the nickname rolled off her tongue easy, like it always did between you two. it made your chest warm, but you played it cool, sitting up to grab the cone from your bag. “okay, lie still then. i’m starting with your hands.”

she hummed in agreement, extending one arm toward you without much fuss, still scrolling with the other. you uncapped the henna, the earthy scent filling the air as you started drawing delicate lines on the back of her hand, swirls and petals blooming out toward her fingers. she didn’t flinch, just let you work, her skin warm under your touch.

you moved up to her wrist, then her forearm, tracing intricate patterns that wrapped around like vines. giselle stayed relaxed, occasionally flexing her fingers when you asked her to. “looks good,” she said softly at one point, peeking at it.

“wait till it’s done,” you replied, focused. once the arms were finished. both hands and forearms covered in matching floral designs, you tapped her shoulder. “okay, turn over. i wanna do your back.”

she set her phone down for a second, rolling onto her stomach without protest. “shirt off?” she asked, already reaching back to tug it over her head. she tossed it aside, laying flat in just her bra and sweats, phone back in hand like nothing.

you swallowed, trying not to stare too hard at the smooth expanse of her back, the way her muscles shifted slightly as she got comfortable. she’s your best friend, chill. but god, she looked good like this. casual, trusting, letting you paint on her skin.

you started at her shoulder blades, drawing a larger design that spread down her spine: lotuses and leaves intertwining, delicate lines curving with her body. the henna flowed smooth, dark against her pale skin. every now and then you’d lean closer to steady your hand, your breath ghosting over her back. she didn’t say anything, just scrolled, but you caught the faint rise and fall of her breathing.

it took a while, your fingers cramping a bit by the end, but when you finished, you sat back. “done. turn around and look.”

giselle pushed up slowly, careful not to smudge, and twisted to see in the mirror across the room. her arms lifted, admiring the forearms first. intricate flowers wrapping around like bracelets.

then she turned her back to the mirror, craning her neck. the design trailed beautifully down her spine, elegant and bold.

“damn. this is fire,” she said, grinning at you over her shoulder. “your turn now. where do you want it?”

you thought for a second, then pointed to the upper part of your right breast, just above where your tank top dipped. “here. like a mandala or something pretty.”

her eyes flicked there, then back to your face, a small smirk playing on her lips. “alright. shirt off, then.”

you shrugged off her flannel first, then peeled your tank top over your head, leaving you in your bra and shorts. you lay back against the pillows, phone set aside. giselle sat up fully now, grabbing the henna cone, her freshly done arms flexing as she settled beside you.

she started carefully, the tip cool against your skin as she drew swirling patterns. petals radiating out, dots and lines forming a symmetric design that hugged the curve of your chest.

it felt intimate, her focus intense, breath steady. minutes passed, the room filled with just the soft scratch of the cone and your occasional shifts.

“hold on,” she said suddenly, pausing. “your bra’s in the way. it’s covering the edge. take it off.”

you whined, cheeks heating. “gigi, nooo. it’s cold in here.”

she chuckled low, that deep sound that always got to you. “come on, baby. just for a bit. i’ll keep you warm after.”

you pouted but reached back anyway, unhooking it and tossing it aside. now topless, arms crossing instinctively over your chest. “happy? i’m freezing.”

giselle’s eyes lingered for a beat longer than usual, dark and appreciative, before she handed you her flannel. “here, put this on. leave it open.”

you slipped it on, the fabric soft and warm from her body, hanging loose over your shoulders but open in the front. she nodded, satisfied, and gently pulled you closer. right into her lap, your legs straddling hers as you faced her.

“better,” she murmured, hands steady on your waist to hold you still. she resumed the design, now able to extend it fully across the upper swell, intricate mandala blooming perfectly.

you sat there in her lap, trying not to fidget too much, hyperaware of how close you were. her breath on your skin, the henna drying cool, her thighs firm under yours. she worked meticulously, tongue peeking out in concentration sometimes.

finally, she capped the cone and leaned back a little, hands still on your waist, admiring.

“perfect,” she said softly, eyes tracing the fresh design. her grip tightened slightly, thumbs pressing into your sides.

you noticed, heart picking up. “gigi…”

she looked up then, gaze heavy, leaning in slow. her lips met yours gentle at first. soft, testing, like she was savoring. but you melted into it immediately, hands finding her shoulders.

the kiss deepened quick, her tongue slipping past your lips, sensual and unhurried. one hand slid up your back, under the flannel, pulling you flush against her. you gasped into her mouth when you felt her. hard, pressing up against you through her sweats.

“gigi,” you whispered again, breathless as she kissed down your jaw.

“shh, baby,” she mumbled against your neck, nipping lightly. “you look so fucking good like this. just my clothes, henna on your pretty skin.”

her hands moved, pushing her sweats down just enough, freeing herself. you whimpered when she guided you, lifting your hips, shorts gone fast. she sank into you slow, filling you completely, your head falling back with a moan.

“that’s it,” she groaned, voice rough now. “ride me just like that.”

you started moving, bouncing slow on her lap, facing her. flannel slipping off one shoulder, nothing else on. her tattooed arm wrapped around your neck from behind, pulling you close as she thrust up to meet you. the fresh henna on her forearm flexed against your throat, not tight, just possessive.

“fuck, you’re so wet for me,” she whispered hot in your ear, lips brushing the shell. “my pretty baby, moaning like that. you feel so good around me.”

you whimpered louder, pace picking up, hands gripping her shoulders. “gigi… please…”

“i got you,” she cooed, sweet contrasting the dirty roll of her hips. “love how you take me. all mine, yeah? bouncing on my cock in my flannel, looking this fucked out.”

her other hand gripped your waist harder, guiding you faster, deeper. kisses messy now, swallowing your moans as she fucked up into you relentless. the room filled with the sounds. your whines, her low groans, skin meeting skin.

“so beautiful,” she mumbled between kisses, eyes dark on yours. “my henna on you, my marks. gonna make you come so hard, baby.”

"f-fuck gi-"you were close already, trembling, clinging to her as she wrapped that arm tighter around your neck, thumb stroking your pulse. “come for me,” she demanded softly, voice in your ear. “let me hear you.”

it hit you hard, crying out her name as you clenched around her, waves crashing. she followed right after, burying deep with a muffled groan against your lips, holding you tight through it.

you both stayed like that, breathing heavy, her still inside as she kissed you slow. lazy, affectionate now. her hands softened, rubbing your back under the flannel.

“damn,” she finally laughed quietly, forehead against yours. “henna session went better than expected.”

you huffed a weak laugh, nuzzling her neck. “shut up.”

• jimin notices the little things first. maybe you’re a bit quieter than usual, rubbing your lower abdomen without really thinking about it, or maybe you’re just more tired than normal. she doesn’t push; she waits, always observant, always considerate. she won’t ask loudly, she’ll just whisper, “are you okay?” when she sits beside you, her hand brushing yours lightly.

• she’ll make sure you have everything you might need without you asking. she keeps a small stash of pads and painkillers for emergencies, just like a little safety net. she’ll slide one over with a soft smile and a quiet, “i got you,” and that alone makes you feel less alone.

• she’s extremely intuitive about comfort. if you’re cold, she’ll grab a warm blanket and wrap it around your shoulders without saying a word. if you’re craving chocolate or something sweet, she’ll somehow know and quietly leave it on your desk or beside you on the couch, with maybe a little note that says, “for my favorite girl,”

• she’ll let you vent without judgment. if you feel like talking about cramps, bloating, mood swings, or just the unfairness of it all, she listens. really listens. her soft nods and gentle murmurs make you feel like your discomfort is valid, like she’s truly on your side.

• she’s also very tactile in her care—but never overbearing. she might lightly rub your back while you lie curled on the couch, or press her palm to your hand so you can feel her warmth. she’s subtle, quiet, and calming; the kind of presence that makes the pain seem a little more bearable.

• if you’re particularly moody or irritable, she doesn’t take it personally. she stays calm and soft, and if you snap, she might just squeeze your hand and smile gently, knowing you’re not really upset at her, just the period. she might even joke softly in that quiet, almost shy way she has, like, “i didn’t know chocolate could go missing that fast,” and somehow you end up laughing despite the cramps.

• jimin also knows when to give space. if you want to be alone, she’ll quietly set up the room for you: blankets, your favorite show or book, maybe some soft music. she’ll sit at the edge of the bed or couch, letting you know she’s there without crowding you. when you’re ready for cuddles, she’s the first to gently pull you close, letting you rest your head on her chest, breathing quietly together.

• at night, if the cramps are bad, she might make a warm compress for your stomach and lie beside you, hand lightly on your side. she talks softly, sometimes not even speaking—just humming quietly, letting her presence soothe you. she’ll stroke your hair or press gentle kisses on your temple, whispering, “i’m here, always.”

• even small gestures matter. she might refill your water glass without a word, tuck your hair behind your ear, or slip a little note in your bag reminding you to take care of yourself. it’s never over the top—just soft, careful love that makes you feel safe and cared for.

you hear the faint rustle of the chain-link fence as karina bursts from the schoolyard, her ponytail whipping like a banner in the wind. a giggle bubbles out of you before you even realize you’re laughing, the sound scattering across the pavement and drawing a surprised smile from the girl in the blue uniform behind her. the day has been long—your little hands still hold the faint, chalky scent of the alphabet blocks you’d been arranging for the teacher’s “show–and–tell.” your cheeks are flushed from the heat of the classroom and the endless recitation of “the lord is my shepherd,” a hymn your mother has hummed into your ear each morning before you stepped onto the school bus.

you’re five years old, and your world is a swirl of crayons, sandbox castles, and the soft lull of sunday mass that drifts through the kitchen after breakfast. the notion of a “tiring day at kindergarten” is as clear to you as the bright red swing set in the park, but the idea of a “best thing you can do” is even clearer: you run to the park with karina, the friend whose brown eyes always seem to be searching for the next adventure, no matter how dirty your uniform gets. after all, karina’s mother—mrs. yoo—always says, “a little mud is just a blessing from the earth; it tells us we’ve been playing in god’s garden.”

she catches up to you, breath huffing in little puffs, and taps you lightly on the shoulder. “tag! you’re it,” she announces, the word sounding like a tiny bell. you turn, half–laughing, half–groaning. tag for two people feels strange, almost absurd—how could a game that depends on a chase be anything but a circle? yet in the world of small minds, a single pursuer and a single pursued is enough to fill a whole afternoon with excitement.

you puff out your chest in protest. “no, i don’t wanna do it. i’m tired.” your words tumble out without much thought, a whiff of rebellion that feels like a secret pact between you and the sand.

karina’s grin widens, and she kneels down to the edge of the sandbox. she pulls a woven, hand-stitched backpack—one of those tiny “sophisticated” ones you see on the covers of picture books—out of which she extracts a handful of brightly colored toys. there are two dolls, each with glossy hair and tiny dresses that glimmer under the weak winter sun. “let’s play,” she whispers, as if she’s confiding a secret, “but santa only brought barbies. he forgot to bring a ken.”

your mind, still tangled in the simplicity of the game, finds a loophole. “that’s okay,” you say, the words slipping out before you can filter them, “i have a barbie too. she can have a girlfriend.”

your voice is innocent, a ripple of giggles spilling from your throat, but the word hangs in the air like a delicate snowflake, landing on a spot you don’t notice. karina freezes for a heartbeat, her small shoulders tensing. her hand, still resting on your back, tightens its grip ever so slightly, as if she’s trying to keep it from slipping away.

you don’t understand why the word “girlfriend” feels like a sudden chill, why her eyes, usually bright with mischief, now flicker with something else—maybe confusion, maybe a tiny spark of curiosity, maybe the echo of something she’s heard at home but isn’t quite sure how to handle.

the sandbox becomes your stage. you tumble into the soft, granular embrace, the sand cool against your cheek, and the two barbies tumble with you. karina sits beside you, her fingers gingerly moving the dolls into the tiny molded sand castle you’ve built. she places a small pink flower in the hair of the barbie on the left, then turns to the other one, arranging its tiny arms around the first.

“it’s a story,” she says, as if the two dolls could talk, “they’re best friends. they go on adventures together. like us.” she looks at you, her eyes searching, perhaps for an affirmation that the world you both are creating can include something that doesn’t fit neatly into the pictures on the sunday school flyers.

you nod, eyes wide, “yes, they’re friends.”

the words slip out with a solemn earnestness that surprises you even as it escapes. “friends forever.”

the bell of the school’s day chimes in the distance, a reminder that the world beyond the sandbox awaits with its own set of rules and rituals. you both stand, brushing the sand from your skirts. as you walk hand-in-hand toward the little wooden bridge that spans the miniature creek, you notice the bright crucifix hanging from karina’s neck, a simple wooden cross that sways gently as she moves. it’s a reminder that her family’s faith is woven into the fabric of her days, just as yours is through the prayers whispered by your mother each night before sleep.

you cross the bridge, and for a moment the world feels like a seamless continuum of playgrounds, crayons, and the gentle hum of church organs that will crescendo later in august, when the town’s old stone cathedral buzzes with the arrival of the first summer heat. the day stretches out in a golden haze, and you feel the simple perfection of being five years old—free of the heavy words that will later gnaw at the edges of innocence.

later that week, the school announces a “family day,” an event where parents and grandparents are invited to see the projects the children have worked on. you watch as karina’s mother, sister maria—a nun who has taken a temporary leave from the convent to care for her family—arrives with a gentle smile that seems to illuminate the whole room. she’s wearing a modest navy dress, her hair pulled back in a neat bun, and in her hands, a small wooden rosary that glints in the fluorescent light.

karina runs to her mother, hugging her tightly, her small body pressed against the soft fabric of the habit. “mama, look! we made a castle!” she exclaims, pointing at the sand sculpture you both built together in the sandbox that morning, now replicated in a small jar of sand for the school display.

your mother stands nearby, watching the scene with a warm smile, her hands clasped around the basket of freshly baked cookies. she doesn’t say much, but her eyes shine with the same tenderness that has guided you through countless bedtime prayers.

after the presentations, the children gather around a table laden with cupcakes, juice boxes, and a single chocolate cake, reserved for the teachers. you and karina sit together, your legs swinging over the edge of the chair, the same barbie dolls now perched on the table, their plastic limbs tangled in a playful knot.

“do you think santa will bring a ken someday?” karina asks, her voice soft, an echo of the earlier conversation that still lingers in the back of her mind.

you think for a moment, looking down at the doll with its painted pink dress, and answer, “maybe he’ll bring a spaceship. or a dragon. anything we want.” you smile, and she giggles, the sound bubbling like the creek you crossed earlier.

you notice a subtle change in her expression now; it’s as if she’s processing something deeper. she reaches for the rosary hanging from her neck and twirls the beads between her fingers, a small habit she’s picked up from watching her mother’s prayers. the beads click softly, a rhythm reminiscent of a heartbeat, or perhaps the steady cadence of a lullaby.

“do you think god wants us to have a boyfriend?” she whispers, voice barely audible over the chatter of other children. the question lands heavy in the space between the two of you, a whisper of curiosity wrapped in the innocence of a five–year–old’s mind.

you blink, surprised. “i don’t know,” you answer honestly, feeling the weight of your own uncertainty. “my mom says love is a special gift. she says we have to be kind and patient. maybe when we’re older.”

karina nods slowly, a small frown creasing her forehead as she ponders the idea. the rosary beads pause in her hand. “my mama says we pray for love, but she also says we should be good and follow jesus.” she looks up, eyes wide, as if searching for reassurance in the crowded room.

your mother walks over, kneeling to be level with the children. she places a gentle hand on karina’s shoulders, her voice soft and soothing. “love is a beautiful thing,” she says, “and it’s something we all learn about as we grow. for now, the most important love is the love we have for our families and our friends, and especially the love we have for god.”

she smiles at you, then at karina, her eyes crinkling at the edges, “and remember, when you play with your dolls, you are learning how to care for others, how to be gentle. that’s love in its simplest form.”

the words settle into the air, a gentle lull that seems to wrap around the two of you like a warm blanket. you glance at karina, who’s still holding the rosary in her small hand, her fingers lightly grazing the smooth wooden beads. a faint smile spreads across her face, as if a quiet understanding has taken root.

later, as the afternoon sun begins its descent, casting long shadows across the schoolyard, the teachers announce that it’s time to go home. parents gather their children, some waving goodbye while others shuffle quietly toward the parking lot. you say goodbye to karina with a hug that feels like a promise, a silent vow that the friendship you’ve built will survive the inevitable seasons of change.

“you’ll see me tomorrow?” karina asks, her voice a mixture of excitement and a hint of nervousness.

“of course,” you answer, feeling the certainty that comes from shared secrets and the simple, unadorned truth that at five years old, the world is a place where friendships are as solid as the sandcastle you built.

you walk home hand–in–hand with your mother, the sound of your shoes clicking against the pavement. the sky is a washed–out lavender, the air tinged with the scent of rain that promises to come soon. as you turn the corner onto your street, the church bells begin to toll, low and steady, their sound rolling through the neighborhood like something alive. karina flinches just a little at the first note, then relaxes into it, as if her body remembers before her mind does. bells mean pause. bells mean attention. bells mean god is close enough to hear.

she walks a step behind her mother, small fingers tangled into the edge of her sleeve. the pavement is still warm from the day, and the sky has softened into a pale lavender, the kind that only appears right before evening prayer. sister maria slows without saying anything, and karina knows what to do. she bows her head, just enough to feel obedient, just enough to feel safe.

the wooden cross at her neck rests warm against her skin. she presses her thumb to it, rubbing the smooth edge the way she always does when she’s unsure.

“dear god,” she thinks, carefully, like she’s stepping onto something fragile. “thank you for today.”

she doesn’t rush the prayer. she never does. prayers are not meant to be hurried; her mother has told her that many times. prayers are like stories. they unfold.

“thank you for school,” she continues. “thank you for the playground. thank you for the sandbox and the castle we made, even though it wasn’t very strong and the sides kept falling down.”

she almost smiles at that. the memory is still bright in her mind: sand slipping through her fingers, your laugh loud and unafraid, the way the world felt very big and very small at the same time.

“... thank you for my friend,” she adds, the words warming her chest.

the bells fade, but the feeling doesn’t. it stays with her all the way home, trailing behind her like a soft echo.

that night, after dinner and washing hands and listening to her mother hum while folding laundry, karina changes into her pajamas and pads quietly into her bedroom. the room smells like clean cotton and faint incense, a leftover from sunday morning. the hallway light spills in gently, turning the edges of everything gold.

she kneels beside her bed the way she’s been taught, knees pressing into the rug, hands folded tight enough that her fingers ache just a little. she likes the ache. it makes the prayer feel real, like effort matters.

she starts the way she always does, the right way, the safe way.

“our father, who art in heaven…”

her voice is small but steady, practiced from repetition. she knows this prayer by heart. she could say it even if she were half asleep. each word feels like stepping stone laid out before her, guiding her forward.

when she finishes, she stays kneeling. this part doesn’t belong to memorized words. this part belongs only to her.

she looks up at the small crucifix on the wall, then down at the rosary coiled neatly on her nightstand. she reaches for it, letting the beads slide between her fingers one by one. they click softly, a sound she’s heard all her life, a sound that reminds her of her mother’s voice murmuring prayers late at night.

“god,” she thinks again, quieter now, today something strange happened.

her shoulders tense slightly, as if she’s afraid the thought itself might be wrong.

“my friend said something i didn’t know what to do with.”

she pauses, beads stilling in her hand. her face feels warm, even alone in the dark.

“she said her doll could have a girlfriend.”

the word echoes in her mind, unfamiliar and oddly heavy. not sharp, not bad—just new. like a word she hasn’t learned how to hold yet.

“is that wrong?” she wonders, heart beating a little faster. “or is it just something i don’t understand yet?”

she thinks of sunday school flyers, of pictures where everything fits neatly: families smiling, hands folded, rules clear and kind and firm. she likes rules. rules make the world feel stable.

but she also thinks of the sandbox, of dolls pressed close together, of the way it didn’t feel wrong at all. just… natural. like play. like friendship.

“please don’t be mad,” she thinks, fingers tightening around the rosary. “i want to be good.”

being good matters to her more than almost anything. being good means her mother smiles with that quiet pride. being good means god sees her and is pleased.

“you say love is important,” she continues, remembering the words she’s heard so many times. “you say love is patient and kind.”

she swallows.

“i want to be patient. i want to be kind. i don’t want to hurt anyone.*

the beads move again, slow and deliberate.

“please help me love the right way,” she whispers inside herself. “and please don’t take my friend away.”

the thought surprises her with its weight. her chest tightens, and she curls forward slightly, hugging the prayer close to herself.

“please let us keep playing,” she adds. “please let us keep running and building castles and telling stories.”

she hesitates, then adds one more thought, barely brave enough to think it.

“even if i don’t know all the answers yet.”

silence settles around her, thick but gentle. the room doesn’t feel angry. it doesn’t feel cold. it just feels quiet, like waiting.

she finishes with a soft “amen,” barely louder than her breathing, and crawls into bed. the blanket is heavy in a comforting way, like being tucked in twice.

as she lies there, eyes open to the dark, her thoughts wander back to the day. to you. to the certainty in your voice when you said friends forever.

she presses the cross at her neck one last time, holding it like a promise.

friends, she thinks. that’s okay. friends are good.

sleep comes slowly, gently, carrying her prayer with it. the prayer doesn’t feel finished—not really. it feels like something that will return, again and again, growing as she grows.

but for now, wrapped in the quiet safety of her room, karina lets herself rest in the not-knowing.

and somewhere between the last thought and the first dream, she feels it: a small, steady warmth in her chest.

not certainty. not answers.

just love, waiting to be understood.

you are the girl who has been the only constant in karina’s life since they first scribbled crayon-drawn hearts on the back of a kindergarten notebook.

you watched her bow her head at mass, you heard the soft click of the silver cross she never takes off, you felt the weight of her prayers pressing against the very air she breathes. you have always known that karina’s faith is not a gentle flicker; it is a furnace, a certainty that has, over the years, become tighter than the black turtleneck she now pulls over her shoulders.

it is the night before graduation. the campus lights are already blinking their celebratory green, orange, purple—like fireflies that have been let loose in a storm. the pre–graduation party is the one event that no one in the senior class will skip. it is the night they will all slip out of their parents’ expectations, dance a little too wildly, and perhaps finally taste the freedom they have been denied by the sermons and the ever–watchful eyes of the school’s priest.

karina stands before the full-length mirror in her bedroom, the one with the cracked wooden frame that still smells faintly of the pine cleaner her mother used when she was a child. she tilts her head, eyes the bob cut, the light fringe that frames her face like a halo of midnight. she smooths the black turtleneck down—its wool still warm from the dryer—and pulls on the dark blue, high-waisted baggy jeans that hang low enough to hide her ankles. her black converse sneakers thud against the floor, a quiet percussion that seems too ordinary for a night that feels anything but.

she reaches for the silver cross that dangles from a thin chain around her neck, the one engraved with the latin phrase “nisi dominus aedificaverit, in vanum laborat qui operatur”—“unless the lord builds the house, they labor in vain who build it.” she clasps it, the metal cool against her skin, and whispers a quick prayer: “domine, concede mihi pacem, cum mundus mihi novum ostendet.” she inhaled deep, the scent of lavender and vanilla from the perfume she just sprayed over her pulse points. it is a scent she chose not because she wanted to attract anyone, but because it reminded her of the church pews on rainy sundays when the candles flickered.

the clock on the wall ticks three minutes to midnight. she glances at the door. the hallway beyond is dim, lit only by the soft glow of the nightlight where you always leave it on, the one that makes you think of the bedroom you shared years ago when you both were twelve and whispered secrets in the dark. she hears the faint sound of water dripping from the bathroom sink, a sound she has learned to associate with your presence, because whenever you need a moment alone, you retreat there, curling your hair into loose waves and pulling the tight dress from its hanger.

she turns, ready to call you, to check whether you have already left for the party. the door swings open, and there you are—your hair in soft, relaxed waves, a glossy sheen catching the faint light from the hallway bulb. you wear a short, tight dress of midnight blue, the fabric hugging your hips and then spilling out into a flirtatious, knee-high slit. the dress is daring, the kind of thing that makes people stare; it feels like an invitation you have never quite understood how to accept.

karina’s throat tightens. she knows her own reflection is stark—modest, purposeful, the embodiment of the standards her mother and the parish priest have placed upon her. she can see the way the dress accentuates the curve of your waist, the way the hem glints against the faintly illuminated floor. she feels a flush rise behind her ears, a heat that is not entirely from the perfume or the approaching night. the cross at her throat seems to burn hotter than usual, as if demanding atonement for a sin she has never committed but now feels the weight of.

she clears her throat—a sound more like a prayer than a conversation. “do you need anything? it’s… it’s cold tonight. i could—”

your hand slides over the belt of your dress, pulling it just enough to reveal a flash of skin under the fabric. you smile, a faint curve that suggests confidence, perhaps even a little amusement.

“no, thanks,” you say, voice low but steady. “i’ve got a jacket.” you lift the jacket from the back of the chair and slip it on, the denim material swishing against the dress. you glance at the mirror behind you, note the flicker of karina’s eyes, and, without a word, step toward the door.

karina watches you leave the room, every step a reminder of how far apart you are, yet how close she still feels. she feels the prayer she whispered just a moment ago—“domine, protege me”—receding into the small space behind her sternum. she feels the cross, that cold metal, digging into her chest like a reminder of duty. yet she cannot help herself from glancing again, just once more, at the curve of your shoulder, the way the light catches the delicate line of your jaw, the way the dress swallows the shadows beneath you.

her thoughts whirl like the incense in the church at easter, spiraling, chaotic, a mixture of reverence and curiosity. she thinks back to the first time she saw you in a dress at the school dance ten years ago. you had been the only one with a spark in your eyes. she remembers leaning over the altar, her hands clasped tightly, praying silently for a calm heart. then there was the summer after sophomore year, when you kissed the back of her hand in a moment of drunken bravado, when the world seemed to tilt, and a spark ignited—a spark she has spent the last five years trying to smother with rosaries and sermons.

she knows the path she has walked, the path laid out before her by her mother’s stern voice—“do not deviate, karina. the lord is our guide.” she knows that the world outside those stained-glass windows is a world that whispers temptations that make her heart pound in ways that hymns do not. she feels the weight of the cross, the weight of the prayer she has just said, the weight of the secret she has kept hidden.

she bends slightly, the fabric of her sweater rustling, and follows you out of the room, her steps measured, her breath steady. the hallway is dark, a thin seam of shadows stretching from the bedroom to the front door, where the cool night air awaits. she reaches the door, pushes it open, and pauses for a heartbeat, watching the streetlights flicker like distant candles, the faint sounds of music drifting from the party venue—a building that promises a night of release.

you stand just outside, your back turned. the dress catches a gust of wind, the hem dancing like a wave. you hear the faint click of your heels on the pavement. karina steps forward, her hand sliding instinctively to the cross in her pocket, as if drawing strength. the moment stretches.

“you look… beautiful,” she finally breathes, the words slipping out as a prayer and a confession rolled into one. the word feels foreign in her mouth, unpracticed, like a hymn she has never sung before.

you turn, eyes meeting hers, a flicker of surprise, then something softer: understanding. it is a look she has seen in the mirrors of the church, in the faces of those who have doubted, yet there is also the glint of something more... a willingness.

“it’s a nice night,” you say, your voice carrying a hint of something warm, a smile curling at the edge of your lips. “are you going to the party?”

she hesitates, glancing at the cross, then at the night sky, where a crescent moon hangs like a silver pendant. “yes. i… i have to.” her voice is steady, but inside, a storm brews—faith, fear, desire. she wants to say no, wants to stay here in the quiet, wants to hold onto the safety of the night that surrounds her. yet the promise of the party, the expectations of her classmates, and the unspoken pressure from everyone who knows her to “be there” pulls her along.

she steps into the street, the cool air brushing her cheeks, the scent of rain drifting from a nearby gutter. the streetlights throw halos around the passing cars. as she walks, she feels the rhythm of her heart matching the distant thrum of music that floats from the venue—a beat that is both familiar and foreign.

the party is a massive loft, draped in lanterns and streamers, a sea of young faces laughing, their voices blending into a chorus of youthful exuberance. the smell of cheap perfume, of pizza, of alcohol, of sweat mixes into an intoxicating perfume of its own. the decorations are bright, the lights flickering like a modern altar. karina arrives, her turtleneck now a contrast against the bright atmosphere, her jeans baggy yet fitting as if they were made for this very moment. the cross hangs low, almost hidden against her shirt, a secret talisman.

she scans the room, searching for familiar faces. she sees old friends, people she shared notebooks with, the boy who kissed her hand in the cafeteria, the girl who whispered secrets in a stairwell. she hears fragments of conversation: “did you see the dean’s speech?” “i can’t believe we’re finally graduating.” her mind wanders to the moment she saw you, wearing that dress, the way your figure seemed to command the room even from a distance.

she navigates through the crowd, the music thudding like a second heartbeat. as she steps onto the small balcony that overlooks the city’s skyline, she feels the wind brush against her cheek, the city lights like a tapestry of stars. she almost instinctively raises her hand, feeling the cool metal of the cross, as if it were a tether pulling her back to the things she knows, the promises she has made to herself and to the man in the pulpit.

she takes a deep breath, letting the city air fill her lungs. suddenly, a hand touches her shoulder.

“relax,” giselle’s voice cuts in, familiar and teasing, threading through karina’s thoughts like a lifeline. “it’s just me.”

karina exhales, the breath leaving her faster than she expects, and turns. giselle stands there with that crooked smile she’s had since they were fifteen, drink in hand, hair slightly frizzy from sweat and humidity, eyes sharp and observant in a way that always makes karina feel gently, terrifyingly exposed.

giselle’s gaze slides past her almost immediately.

straight to you.

to the way you’re leaning against the railing, elbows resting there like you belong to the night, the city lights catching in your hair, outlining you in gold and shadow. giselle’s eyebrows lift. she blinks once, twice.

then she laughs.

not loud—just enough.

“wow,” she says. “you two look like a gay couple.”

karina’s throat closes. the word lands like a dropped glass.

“giselle,” karina says, scandalized, instinctively clutching at the cross beneath her fingers. “don’t—don’t say that.”

“why not?” giselle shrugs, entirely too pleased with herself. “i mean, look at you.” she gestures vaguely between the two of you. “the yearning alone could power the city.”

“there is no yearning,” karina insists, heat flooding her face. “we’re just standing.”

“you’re standing like it’s a confession booth,” giselle replies. “and she’s standing like temptation.”

“giselle!”

“i’m being poetic.”

before karina can sputter out another protest, a familiar laugh slips in from the side—warm, bright, unmistakable.

“she kind of is,” ningning says.

karina turns, startled, as ningning steps into view, effortlessly close to giselle, her arm sliding around giselle’s waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. ningning’s smile is wide, teasing, but not unkind. she looks comfortable here—comfortable with the noise, the lights, the way her hand rests openly on her girlfriend.

ningning follows giselle’s line of sight, eyes landing on you.

then back to karina.

“oh,” she says. “yeah. i get it now.”

karina groans softly. “not you too.”

ningning laughs. “i mean, kari, you look like you’re one slow song away from a crisis of faith.”

giselle snickers. “i told you.”

karina presses her lips together, willing her heart to slow. “you’re both exaggerating.”

“we’re observing,” giselle corrects, leaning back against the railing beside her. “there’s a difference.”

karina looks away again, out at the city, as if the distance might help. “people assume things they shouldn’t.”

ningning tilts her head. “sometimes people notice things you’re trying very hard not to.”

that lands too close to the truth. karina swallows.

“it doesn’t mean anything,” she says quietly.

giselle’s voice softens. “kari, no one’s saying it has to.”

karina laughs under her breath, brittle. “everything means something.”

ningning squeezes giselle’s waist, then looks at karina with a gentler smile. “hey. you’re not in trouble. you’re just… alive. tonight, at least.”

karina’s fingers tighten around the chain at her neck. “that’s not always allowed.”

giselle watches her for a long moment, eyes serious now. “maybe not everywhere.” then she straightens suddenly, brightness snapping back into place. “which is exactly why you’re not allowed to hide on the balcony all night.”

karina frowns. “what?”

ningning grins. “dance floor.”

“absolutely not,” karina says immediately, even as giselle’s hand closes around her wrist. “i don’t dance.”

“you stand still and overthink,” ningning says cheerfully, already turning toward the music. “same thing. just louder.”

the bass swells as giselle tugs her forward, gentle but firm. karina stumbles a little, heart hammering harder with every step away from the railing, away from the relative quiet, away from you.

“giselle,” she pleads, half–laughing, half–panicked. “please.”

giselle glances back, eyes softening. “kari. it’s graduation night. no one’s watching you the way you think they are.”

the crowd thickens as they move inward. shoulders brush past. laughter bursts too close to her ear. lights flash—purple, blue, white—each pulse echoing in her chest. the music vibrates through the floor and straight up her spine.

ningning walks ahead of them, still holding giselle’s hand, spinning once just because she can. “see?” she calls back. “no thunder. no divine smiting.”

karina huffs, breathless. “you’re terrible.”

“we know,” giselle says fondly.

they reach the center of the dance floor, the noise swallowing everything else, the air warm and electric. bodies move around them in careless rhythm, hands raised, heads thrown back, joy loud and unapologetic.

karina stands there, frozen, cross warm against her skin, heart pounding so hard it feels like everyone must hear it.

giselle doesn’t let go of her hand.

“just stay,” she says, close enough that karina can hear her over the music. “you don’t have to do anything else.”

and for the first time all night, karina doesn’t step back.

but karina is still trying to steady her breathing when it happens.

a presence—sudden, unbalanced, unmistakably you.

arms slip around her from behind, not careful, not measured, just seeking. fingers curl into the thick wool of her turtleneck like they’ve memorized the texture, like they know she won’t pull away. your weight settles against her back, warm and uncoordinated, swaying slightly with the bass vibrating through the floor.

then your scent reaches her—lavender and vanilla, now tangled with something sharper, sweeter. alcohol. night air. freedom.

“kari,” you mumble, voice low and soft, words brushing the side of her neck. “i’ve been looking for you.”

karina goes utterly still.

her spine straightens, breath catching halfway in. for one terrifying second, she doesn’t move at all—like if she does, this might become real in a way she’s not ready for.

“oh,” ningning says, delighted. “there she is.”

giselle turns slowly, eyes widening just a little before her mouth curves into something dangerously amused. “wow,” she says. “she really said ‘found my person’ and committed.”

karina swallows hard. “you’re—” she stops herself, lowers her voice instinctively. “you’re drunk.”

you hum against her shoulder, arms tightening. “just a little.”

“how little?” karina asks immediately, concern overriding everything else. her hand lifts without permission, hovering before settling gently over your forearm, steadying you.

you shift, forehead pressing briefly between her shoulder blades. “enough that the lights look like stars.”

karina’s chest aches at that. she straightens subtly, grounding herself, feet planted wider so you don’t stumble. her free hand comes back to brace your hip—not possessive, not improper, just protective, like she’s holding something fragile.

karina’s chest aches. she straightens just slightly, trying to support your weight without shrugging you off. “you should’ve told me where you were.”

“i was dancing,” you say simply, like that explains everything. “then i lost minjeong. then i got tired. then i missed you. then i found you.”

giselle makes a small, dramatic choking sound. “i’m sick.”

ningning laughs. “no, let her finish.”

giselle raises an eyebrow, delighted. “she chose wisely.”

karina shoots her a look. “giselle.”

“what? she’s literally glued to you.”

karina ignores them, eyes scanning the room automatically—the crowd, the exits, the way bodies move too close sometimes. “did you drink water?” she asks. “did you eat anything?”

you shake your head, cheek brushing her shoulder. “don’t wanna move.”

“of course you don’t,” giselle mutters. “you’ve latched.”

your arms tighten at that word, fingers slipping under the hem of karina’s jacket, cold against her skin as you search for warmth. karina flinches—not away, just startled.

“hey,” she whispers instantly, covering your hand with hers, thumb rubbing small circles without thinking. “you’re cold.”

you smile against her shoulder. “you’re warm.”

that does something dangerous to her.

karina closes her eyes for half a second, steadying herself, then opens them again, jaw set. “okay,” she says quietly. “you’re staying with me.”

you nod immediately, trusting, pliant. “okay.”

ningning watches with open fondness. “kari,” she says, amused, “you look like you’re about to fight god himself if someone bumps into her.”

karina exhales through her nose. “i’m just making sure she’s safe.”

you shift again, swaying with the music, clinging a little tighter like the floor isn’t quite trustworthy. karina adjusts instantly, one arm fully around you now, holding you upright, hand firm at your side.

“safe,” you echo softly. “with you.”

giselle whistles under her breath. “this is unreal.”

karina shoots her a warning look. “giselle.”

“i’m just observing,” giselle replies. “intently.”

the lights flash brighter, the music surging, bodies jumping and spinning around them—but karina barely registers any of it. all she feels is you: your breathing against her back, the way your fingers curl into her clothes like she’s something solid in a spinning world.

she keeps her stance steady, shielding you without even realizing it, shoulders squared, eyes alert. every instinct she has is screaming protect, protect, protect.

you nuzzle closer, cheek resting against her shoulder, utterly unbothered by the chaos. “don’t leave,” you murmur.

karina’s throat tightens. “i’m not,” she says instantly. “i’m right here.”

the cross at her chest is warm now—not burning, not heavy. just there.

and despite the noise, despite the lights, despite the way her heart is racing far too fast—

karina doesn’t let go.

the walk home feels longer than it should.

not because the streets stretch endlessly, but because you keep losing the argument with gravity. karina has one arm firmly around your back, the other hooked under your arm, adjusting her pace to yours, murmuring your name every time your steps falter. each time you stumble, her grip tightens instinctively, protective, precise—like she’s afraid the ground itself might hurt you.

you’re warm against her side. too warm. too close.

she keeps her eyes forward, jaw set, counting her breaths like a prayer.

by the time they reach her house, her shoulders ache—not from the effort, but from how tightly she’s been holding herself together.

the front door opens quietly. the hinges give a soft, familiar sigh. karina guides you inside and closes it behind you with her foot, the click of the lock echoing in the stillness. the house is asleep—dark, orderly, smelling faintly of clean fabric and incense that never quite leaves the walls.

“shh,” she whispers automatically.

you lean into her again, heavy and trusting.

“okay,” she murmurs, voice low, steadying herself more than you. “we’re home.”

the hallway feels narrow. intimate. every step down it pulls her deeper into a space she associates with safety, routine, restraint. having you here—like this—feels like bringing a storm inside a chapel.

she nearly carries you into her room.

the door closes softly behind you. the lamp on her nightstand casts a warm, contained light, illuminating the familiar order: neatly folded clothes, books stacked just so, the crucifix above her bed catching a dull glint. she notices it immediately. she always does.

she sits you on the edge of the mattress, hands lingering at your arms just long enough to be sure you won’t tip over.

you look up at her, unfocused but smiling, eyes heavy. “you’re… very gentle,” you say, like it’s a secret you’ve just discovered.

karina’s throat tightens. “you’re very drunk.”

you laugh quietly. “still me, though.”

she turns away for a moment, presses her fingers into her palm. focus. just help her. that’s all this is.

“we need to get you comfortable,” she says, carefully neutral. “pajamas.”

you nod without hesitation. “okay.”

that trust lands heavier than anything else tonight.

she kneels to remove your shoes, untying them with deliberate care, placing them neatly by the door like muscle memory insists. when she stands again, she hesitates—just a second too long—before reaching for your jacket.

“tell me if you feel sick,” she says quietly. “or dizzy.”

“i will,” you promise. “you’re right here.”

her hands still.

she helps you slip out of the jacket first, eyes firmly fixed on the wall, movements careful, respectful. when your balance wavers, she catches you immediately, palm flat against your back, grounding you.

you’re close enough now that she can feel your breathing. uneven. warm.

“kari,” you murmur, almost sleepy.

“yes?”

“you’re shaking.”

she hadn’t noticed. she stills herself by sheer force of will. “i’m fine.”

when it’s time to change your clothes, the air in the room shifts.

she swallows. hard.

“i—” she clears her throat. “i’m going to help you, but i’m not… i’m not looking.”

you hum, amused and gentle. “okay.”

she turns her head away fully this time, cheeks burning, heart pounding so loudly she’s certain it must be audible. she hands you the pajama top, guiding your arms by touch alone, fingers brushing skin she knows she shouldn’t think about, shouldn’t register beyond function.

her mind is a battlefield—this is care. this is kindness. this is not desire. the words feel thin against the heat crawling up her spine.

when you sway, she reacts instantly, both hands steadying you before she can stop herself. the contact is brief, necessary—but it lingers in her awareness far longer than it should.

she whispers a prayer under her breath without meaning to. not even for forgiveness. just for strength.

once you’re dressed, she finally allows herself to look.

you’re calmer now, eyelids heavy, movements slow and soft. the tension in her chest loosens just a fraction. she guides you onto the bed, pulls the blanket up around you with careful hands, making sure you’re warm.

she smooths your hair back once—just once—then pulls her hand away like she’s touched fire.

“water in the morning,” she says softly. “i’ll leave it here.”

you nod, already drifting. “thank you, kari.”

she turns off the lamp. the room falls into shadow, the crucifix barely visible now, watching.

karina stands there for a long moment, heart racing, guilt and tenderness twisting together until she can’t tell them apart.

she steps back quietly, leaving the door cracked open, light spilling in from the hallway like a thin line of mercy.

and as she walks away, she presses her fingers to the cross at her chest—steadying herself, praying for sleep, praying for distance, praying for a calm heart she knows will not come easily tonight.

the kitchen light hums when karina flicks it on, a thin, electric sound that feels far too loud in the stillness of the house.

she freezes for a second, hand still hovering near the switch, listening—really listening. the walls don’t answer her. no footsteps from the hallway. no movement from her room. just the steady ticking of the clock above the fridge and the distant, almost imaginary sound of a car passing somewhere outside.

you’re asleep.

the knowledge settles in her chest slowly, like something fragile being set down at last. relief comes first. then something sharper, more complicated, curling around it.

she exhales and moves.

the kitchen is small and familiar, every object exactly where it’s always been. she reaches for the kettle, the cupboard creaking softly as she pulls it free. she winces instinctively, glancing toward the hallway, but nothing happens. the house stays quiet, obedient.

good.

she fills the kettle at the sink, watching the water rush and swirl, her thoughts doing the same thing—circling, colliding, refusing to settle. she sets it on the stove, turns the knob, the click echoing in the room.

coffee. not tea, even though tea is what she should drink at this hour. coffee because she needs something bitter, something grounding. something that asks nothing of her but to be made correctly.

she takes her mug from the shelf—the plain white one with the tiny chip on the rim she’s had since she was sixteen. she wraps her fingers around it automatically, like muscle memory knows what she needs before she does.

while the water heats, she leans back against the counter.

her shoulders finally slump.

images come uninvited, vivid and relentless. you swaying against her in the crowd. your arms around her waist, loose and trusting. the way you’d sighed her name into her shoulder like it was a prayer.

karina squeezes her eyes shut.

“stop,” she whispers to no one.

the kettle snaps off suddenly, the sound sharp enough to make her flinch. she straightens immediately, heart jumping, then exhales again—slow, controlled.

she pours the water over the coffee grounds, watching the dark bloom spread, steam rising in soft curls that remind her uncomfortably of incense. the smell fills the kitchen—rich, bitter, familiar—and for a moment it almost works. for a moment, she’s just a girl in her kitchen making coffee too late at night.

she lifts the mug, both hands wrapped around it, letting the heat seep into her palms.

her phone buzzes on the counter.

the sound slices straight through her.

karina stiffens, eyes snapping to it like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t. she doesn’t touch it right away. she takes a careful sip of coffee first—too hot. the burn is welcome.

the phone buzzes again.

she knows who it is.

“of course,” she murmurs under her breath.

she sets the mug down and picks up the phone, unlocking it with her thumb.

giselle: sooooo 👀

karina closes her eyes for half a second.

karina: it’s late. why are you awake.

the reply comes instantly.

giselle: because i just witnessed something that will live in my brain forever.

karina exhales slowly, shoulders tightening again. she leans her hip against the counter, grounding herself.

karina: if this is about earlier—

giselle: oh it is absolutely about earlier.

another buzz.

giselle: quick check: your best friend is alive, safe, and currently passed out in your bed, right?

karina’s fingers tighten around the phone.

karina: she drank too much. i wasn’t going to let her be alone.

giselle: wow. very heroic. very “i will carry you across the battlefield.”

karina winces.

karina: don’t joke.

there’s a pause. longer than before. karina stares at the kitchen window, at the faint reflection of herself—hair slightly undone, eyes too bright, cross resting heavy against her collarbone like it’s watching her.

the phone buzzes again.

giselle: okay. teasing aside.

giselle: you okay?

the question hits harder than she expects.

karina swallows, throat tight.

karina: i don’t know.

three dots appear. disappear. appear again.

giselle: yeah. that makes sense.

karina takes another sip of coffee, slower this time. it tastes stronger now.

karina: she fell asleep right away.

karina: i helped her change.

karina: she trusted me like it was nothing.

her chest tightens as she sends it.

giselle: kari.

giselle: that’s not a bad thing.

karina: it feels dangerous.

there’s silence on the other end. real silence. karina almost wishes giselle would go back to joking—anything but this careful pause.

giselle: can i say something without you shutting down?

karina hesitates.

karina: try.

giselle: the way she clung to you tonight? that wasn’t just alcohol.

karina’s pulse spikes. she grips the edge of the counter with her free hand.

karina: please don’t.

giselle: i’m not accusing. i’m OBSERVING.

giselle: she feels safe with you. deeply safe.

karina’s gaze drifts down the dark hallway without meaning to. for a second, she imagines you stirring, calling her name.

karina: she’s my best friend.

giselle: yeah. and you look at her like she’s more than that.

karina closes her eyes, breath shaky.

karina: it can’t be.

giselle: says who?

karina: me.

karina: my family.

karina: everything i’ve ever been taught.

she presses her fingers into the cross at her chest unconsciously.

karina: every time i let myself feel anything, it feels like i’m doing something wrong.

the reply takes longer this time.

giselle: kari… feeling isn’t a sin.

karina lets out a quiet, broken laugh.

karina: tell that to my upbringing.

giselle: okay, fair.

then:

giselle: but tonight? you didn’t cross any lines. you took care of someone you love.

karina’s breath catches.

karina: you keep saying that word.

giselle: because it’s the right one.

she stares down into her coffee, the surface trembling slightly from her grip.

giselle: now. i am going to tease you.

karina almost smiles despite herself.

karina: i knew it.

giselle: your babe was literally attached to you. like. emotionally and physically velcroed.

karina groans softly, forehead dropping to the cabinet door for a second.

karina: don’t call her that.

giselle: sorry…

giselle: your drunk miracle.

karina: giselle.

giselle: KARINA you were ready to fight god and everyone on that dance floor…

karina: she could’ve gotten hurt.

giselle: i know. that’s the point.

giselle: you didn’t even think. you just protected.

karina’s grip tightens on the phone.

karina: i don’t want this to be something.

giselle: i think it already is. you just don’t have a name for it yet.

karina finishes her coffee slowly, the bitterness grounding her as the house hums quietly around her.

finally, she types a reply:

karina: she’s asleep. she’s safe. that’s all that matters tonight.

there’s a pause.

giselle: okay.

giselle: we’ll leave it there.

then:

giselle: text me tomorrow. and kari?

karina: yeah.

giselle: whatever you’re afraid of… it doesn’t make you bad.

karina locks the phone and sets it face-down on the counter. her hands tremble slightly now that there’s nothing to hold.

she turns off the kitchen light and stands there in the dark for a moment, listening to the quiet again.

then she looks down the hallway.

toward her room. toward you.

she presses her fingers to the cross at her chest, breathing in slowly, steadying herself.

“just get through the night,” she whispers.

and softly—carefully—she walks back down the hall, and the hallway feels longer on the way back.

karina walks slowly, barefoot now, each step careful against the wooden floor like the house itself might notice her hesitation. the light from the kitchen no longer follows her; instead, there’s only the dim glow spilling from beneath her bedroom door, thin and patient.

she pauses with her hand on the knob.

just check on her, she tells herself. just make sure she’s okay.

the door opens quietly.

her room is exactly as she left it—lamp low, curtains barely moving with the night air, the crucifix above the bed half-lost to shadow. and there you are, curled on your side beneath the blanket, breathing slow and even, hair fanned messily across the pillow like you’ve always belonged there.

karina’s chest tightens.

she steps inside and closes the door behind her, softer than before. the click sounds final somehow.

she stands there for a long moment, just watching you. the way your brow smooths in sleep. the way one hand is tucked near your face, fingers relaxed, no longer clinging—yet something in her aches at the absence of your grip.

she moves closer, sits carefully on the edge of the bed.

“you okay?” she whispers, even though she knows you won’t answer.

you shift slightly, a quiet sound leaving you, not words—just comfort. karina exhales.

she reaches out without thinking and pulls the blanket up a little higher around your shoulders, tucking it in like she’s done a hundred times before during sleepovers when you were younger. the familiarity of it hurts more than anything else tonight.

she should leave.

she knows she should.

but when she straightens, when she tries to pull away, you move again—this time more clearly. you roll just enough to face her, eyes still closed, and your hand drifts across the bed until it brushes her sleeve.

your fingers curl weakly, catching the fabric.

karina freezes.

“don’t go,” you murmur, barely audible, words slurred with sleep more than alcohol now.

her heart stutters violently.

she swallows. “i’m right here,” she whispers, before she can stop herself.

she hesitates only a second longer—then carefully, reverently, she lies down beside you.

not close at first. there’s space between you, deliberate and measured. she keeps her hands folded over her stomach, shoulders tense, staring up at the ceiling like it might judge her for this too.

the mattress dips. the sheets rustle softly.

you shift again, drawn by warmth, by instinct, until your back presses lightly against her side.

that’s all it takes.

karina’s breath catches, shallow and controlled. she doesn’t move away—but she doesn’t pull you closer either. she simply lets it happen, like allowing rain to fall when you’ve already been caught in it.

your head tilts slightly toward her shoulder. your breathing evens out again, deeper now.

karina turns her head just enough to look at you.

up close, you look younger. softer. unguarded in a way the world rarely allows. the sight makes something ache low and constant in her chest.

she closes her eyes.

this is fine, she tells herself. this is just comfort. this is just staying.

slowly—so slowly she could stop at any moment—she lifts one arm and rests it above your head on the pillow, not touching you, just there. a boundary. a promise.

after a minute, your fingers find her sleeve again, but she doesn’t pull away.

the cross at her chest is warm now, no longer heavy. the house is quiet. the night holds.

karina stares into the dark, heart awake even as your breathing pulls her toward stillness.

“just tonight,” she whispers, to god or herself or no one at all.

and she stays.

“so, my dear best friend (y/n)...” she said, her words slightly slurred because of nervousness but still dripping with flirtatious intent. “i’ve been thinking... we’ve known each other for so long, and i feel like there’s something missing in our friendship. don’t you think we should explore this... tension between us?”

she leaned in closer, her breath hot and tinged with anticipation on your face. her lips were parted slightly, and her eyes were half–lidded and hazy with desire. the sexual energy between you two was palpable, crackling like electricity in the air.

“oh, my (y/n), you’re so innocent.” she cooed, trailing a finger down your cheek and along your jawline. “being catholic doesn’t mean i can’t have fun and experiment a little, does it? besides, i thought you liked being a naughty girl with me sometimes…”

she leaned down, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered. “i want to show you some new games we can play together, (y/n). i promise, i’ll be gentle... at first. unless you don’t want me to be.”

karina nuzzled your neck and shoulder with her face, breathing in your scent. her hand slid up under your shirt, her fingers splaying across your stomach. she was being bold, but also sensing your hesitation, not wanting to push too hard too fast.

she giggled softly, her finger tracing little circles on your hip. “oh baby… you’re so cute when you're drunk. it’s adorable how you try to act all innocent and pure. but i know there’s a naughty girl hiding inside you, just waiting to come out and play with me~”

karina leaned in closer, her lips hovering just inches from yours. her hand slid further up your thigh, her fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “don’t you want to have some fun with your best friend, (y/n)? i promise i’ll make you feel really, really good... in more ways than one.”

she punctuated her words with a wink, her meaning crystal clear. the sexual tension between you two was thick in the air, and you could feel your heart racing in anticipation. karina was being so bold and forward, but there was also a playfulness to her advances that made it hard to resist.

karina leaned in closer, her lips hovering just a hair's breadth away from yours. she gazed deeply into your eyes, her own dark orbs smoldering with intense desire and hunger. slowly, deliberately, she closed the remaining distance between you, pressing her soft, plump lips against yours in a tender, sensual kiss.

her hand slid up to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing gently over your lower lip as the kiss deepened. karina’s tongue flicked out, tracing the seam of your lips before slipping inside to dance and twine with your own. she explored your mouth thoroughly, savoring your unique flavor with a soft moan.

karina’s other hand slid around your waist, pulling your body flush against her own. you could feel every curve and contour of her lithe, toned figure pressed against you, her ample breasts cushioned against your own. she held you close, her fingers splaying across your lower back as she deepened the kiss even further.

karina’s lips moved against yours with skill and passion, her kisses growing more urgent and demanding with each passing second. she nipped and sucked at your bottom lip before trailing her mouth down to your jaw, placing hot, open–mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin. her tongue licked a path up to your ear before she nipped at your earlobe, sending shivers of pleasure racing down your spine.

she grasped your hips tightly, pulling you onto her lap so you straddled her. her hands slid up your back, fingers digging into your flesh as she held you close. she crashed her lips against yours in a fierce, passionate kiss. her tongue pushed past your lips, stroking and caressing every inch of your mouth. she tasted like mint bubblegum and strawberry lipgloss, a dangerous but alluring flavor.

“mmmh fuck, (y/n).” she groaned against your lips. “you taste even better than i imagined. i want to devour every inch of you, baby girl.”

her hands slid down to grope your ass, squeezing and kneading the globes. she rocked her hips up against yours, grinding her clothed sex against your core. you could feel the heat of her arousal even through the fabric of her panties and jeans.

“feel how bad i want you, (y/n).” she panted, nipping at your neck. “i’m going to make you feel so fucking good, sweetheart. i’m going to worship this sexy body of yours until you’re screaming my name.”

she captured your lips again, kissing you deeply and filthily. her tongue dominated yours, claiming your mouth as her own. one hand slid up your shirt to palm your breast, fingers finding your nipple and pinching the hardened nub. the other hand fisted in your hair, holding you in place as she plundered your mouth.

karina’s hands roamed your body greedily, mapping out every dip and curve. she slid your shirt up and over your head, tossing it carelessly to the side. her eyes darkened with lust as she took in the sight of you, clad only in your bra and skirt. she leaned down, placing hot, open–mouthed kisses along your collarbone before dipping lower to press her lips against the swell of your breasts.

her fingers deftly unhooked your bra, freeing your breasts from their confines. she took a moment to admire them, her tongue darting out to circle one hardened nipple before drawing it into her mouth and suckling greedily. her other hand continued to knead and squeeze the neglected breast, rolling and pinching the sensitive flesh.

karina’s thigh pressed urgently against your core, rubbing against your aching sex through the damp fabric of your panties. she could feel your arousal, your desire for her, and it spurred her on. She wanted to make you feel pleasure beyond anything you had ever experienced before.

she slid her hand beneath the waistband of your shorts, her fingers finding your slick, swollen folds. she stroked your clit with unerring accuracy, her touch sending jolts of electricity through your body. at the same time, she continued to lavish attention on your breasts, suckling and licking and biting until you were writhing with need against her.

“karina, please,” you gasped, your voice high and breathless with desire. ‘i need... i need…–”

she silenced you with another searing kiss, her tongue plundering your mouth as her fingers plunged deep inside your dripping channel. she pumped them in and out, curling and stroking your g–spot with each thrust. her thumb rubbed tight circles around your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

karina’s fingers pumped faster, stroking your g–spot with skillful precision as her thumb rubbed tight, rapid circles around your throbbing clit. she could feel your velvet walls fluttering and clenching around the invading digits, growing tighter and tighter as your pleasure mounted.

“that’s it, baby girl.” she purred, her voice a low, seductive growl in your ear. “cum for me, (y/n). i want to feel this pretty little pussy spasm around my fingers as you scream my name. give in to it, sweetheart. let go and let the pleasure take you.”

she captured your lips in a filthy, open–mouthed kiss, swallowing your moans and cries of ecstasy. her tongue dominated yours, stroking and caressing every inch of your mouth as she pushed you closer to your peak.

karina’s other hand slid down to grip your ass, squeezing the globe hard as she ground her hips up against yours. she could feel her own arousal, her dripping sex aching and throbbing with the need for release. but she was determined to make you cum first, to give you the pleasure she knew you craved.

“come on, (y/n).” she urged, her voice rough and ragged with lust. “cum all over my fingers like the naughty girl you are. show me how much you want me, baby. let me feel you lose control.”

she plunged her fingers deep, stroking your g–spot with unrelenting pressure as her thumb rubbed your clit with frantic intensity. she could feel your body tensing, your muscles drawing tight as your orgasm approached.

“fuck, (y/n).” she groaned, her breath hot against your neck. “i can feel you getting close. don’t hold back, sweetheart. give in to the pleasure and let it consume you. cum. for. me.”

with a final, hard thrust of her fingers and a sharp pinch to your clit, she sent you hurtling over the edge. your pussy clenched and spasmed around her invading digits, your juices flooding out to coat her hand as you came with a scream of her name.

karina moaned in triumph as she felt your pussy clamp down on her fingers, your release gushing out to soak her hand. she continued to stroke your clit and pump her fingers, drawing out your orgasm for as long as possible until you collapsed against her, spent and panting.

“yes,, baby, just like that.” she purred, nuzzling your neck and pressing soft kisses to your sweat–dampened skin. “you’re so fucking sexy when you cum, baby. i love watching you lose control like that.”

she slowly withdrew her fingers from your sensitive pussy, bringing them up to her mouth and licking your essence from the digits. she let out a low moan, savoring your unique flavor. “mmmh, you taste divine, sweetheart. i could get addicted to the taste of your pussy.”

karina wrapped her arms around you, holding you close as you both caught your breath. she stroked your hair, your back, your ass, just enjoying the feeling of your naked body pressed against her own. she knew that this was only the beginning, that she would be exploring every inch of your sexy curves and making you scream her name again and again before the night was through.

karina laid back on the bed, a wicked grin spreading across her face as she watched you straddle her head. she loved the feeling of your soft, plush thighs bracketing her head, your skirt riding up to expose more of your smooth skin. her hands slid up to grip your hips, squeezing the globes of your ass as she urged you to sit down harder on her face.

“mmmh, fuck yes, (y/n).” she purred, her voice muffled by your pussy pressing against her mouth. “grind that pretty little cunt on my face. i want to feel every inch of your sexy body against me.”

she leaned up, her tongue flicking out to lick a long, slow stripe up your slit. She savored your unique flavor, moaning in appreciation at the taste of your arousal. her hands kneaded and massaged your ass, pulling you down to press your pussy harder against her eager mouth.

karina’s tongue circled your clit, flicking and stroking the sensitive nub as she held you in place. she sucked your clit into her mouth, rolling the flesh between her lips as she flicked her tongue over it rapidly. at the same time, she plunged her tongue deep into your channel, fucking your pussy with the slick muscle as she ate you out with single–minded intensity.

she could feel your juices flowing, coating her chin and dripping down onto her heaving tits. but she didn’t care. all she cared about was making you feel good, making you scream and moan and writhe above her as she pleasured your aching cunt.

“oh fuck, karina.” you gasped, your head thrown back in ecstasy as you ground your hips against her face. “your tongue feels so good, baby. don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

she just moaned in response, the vibrations of her voice sending delicious shivers through your core. she gripped your hips tighter, holding you in place as she redoubled her efforts, determined to make you cum on her face over and over again.

she could feel your thighs trembling around her head, your muscles tensing and fluttering as your pleasure mounted. karina doubled her efforts, fucking her tongue in and out of your dripping cunt as she sucked hard on your clit. she wanted to taste your cum, to feel it flooding her mouth and chin as you lost yourself to the ecstasy she was giving you.

“fuck, i can feel you getting close, (y/n).” she mumbled against your pussy, her words vibrating deliciously against your sensitive flesh. “cum for me baby, cum all over my face. i want to feel your pussy spasm and clench as you scream my name.”

she pushed two fingers up into your tight channel, pumping them in time with the thrusts of her tongue. her other hand slid up your body to your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between her fingers. she tugged on the hardened peak, sending jolts of pleasure–pain straight to your core.

karina could feel your pussy starting to convulse around her invading fingers, your walls fluttering and clenching as your orgasm approached. she redoubled her efforts, sucking your clit hard and pumping her fingers faster, determined to push you over the edge.

“that’s it, (y/n).” she encouraged, her voice muffled but urgent against your cunt. “let go, baby. cum all over my face. i want to feel your pussy spasm and gush as you scream my name. give it to me, sweetheart. give me your cum.”

with a final, hard suck to your clit and a sharp thrust of her fingers, she sent you hurtling into ecstasy. your pussy clamped down on her digits, your walls rippling and grasping as your orgasm crashed over you. karina moaned in triumph as she felt your juices flooding her mouth, your essence coating her chin and dripping down onto her heaving tits.

“fuck yes, (y/n).” she cried out, her voice ragged and hoarse from the force of her own arousal. “cum for me, baby. cum hard and don’t stop until you’re completely satisfied. i want to taste every last drop of your sweet nectar.”

she continued to lap and suck at your spasming cunt, her fingers pumping slowly as she worked you through your intense climax. she could feel your body trembling and shaking above her, your thighs quaking around her head as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you.

finally, as your orgasm began to subside, karina slowed her movements, her tongue giving your sensitive flesh gentle licks and kisses as she helped you come down from your high. she held you close, her hands stroking your thighs and ass soothingly as she savored the taste of your release on her lips and chin.

“mmmh, you taste amazing, (y/n).” she purred, her voice low and satisfied. “i could get addicted to the flavor of your cum, baby. i love making you feel this good.”

she slowly slid her fingers out of your still–twitching pussy, bringing them up to her mouth to lick your essence from the digits. she let out a low moan of appreciation, her eyes fluttering closed as she savored your taste.

karina held you close as you both caught your breath, you naked body pressing against hers, you two together as you basked in the afterglow of your intense lovemaking. she stroked your hair, your back, your ass, just enjoying the feeling of your soft, warm skin against her own. she placed tender kisses along your shoulder and neck, her touch now gentle and almost reverent as she cared for you.

“you did so well, baby.” she murmured, her voice soft and full of praise. “i’m so proud of you for letting go and giving in to the pleasure. you’re a natural at this, (y/n). and you taste absolutely divine... i could get addicted to the flavor of your pussy.”

she rolled you both over, shifting you to rest your head on the pillows as she draped herself over you, her tits cushioned against your own. she gazed down at you, her dark eyes soft and warm with affection as she tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“i love making you feel good, sweetheart.” she said, her thumb brushing over your cheekbone tenderly. “seeing you lose control like that, feeling your pussy spasm and gush around my fingers... it’s the sexiest thing i’ve ever seen. i’m so glad i could give you that much pleasure, (y/n).”

karina’s hand slid down to rest on your stomach, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin as she held you close. she could feel the rise and fall of your chest as your breathing slowly returned to normal, and she matched her own breaths to yours. she wanted you to feel safe, cherished, and utterly satisfied in her arms.

“rest now, baby.” she cooed softly, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “you’ve earned it. i’ll be right here holding you, making sure you’re okay. just relax and let yourself enjoy the afterglow, sweetheart. i’ve got you.”