#beewens

Engel used to have these sleepovers with Noor all the time when they were younger, before Noor moved to Belgium for her mother’s job. They slept in this same bed, Engel’s bed, just a few inches apart, time and time again. They fell asleep to the sounds of each other’s breathing, the sounds of the summer showers against the window’s glass, the sounds of each other’s whispers trading secrets. They fell asleep as friends. They don’t fall asleep like that anymore.

It’s four years later now, and Noor is visiting for the summer to put some distance between herself and an ex. During these summer nights, Noor falls asleep first, the hazy glow of a streetlight behind her illuminating the peaks of her body, outlining her silhouette. The light’s warm, somewhere between yellow and orange, but for some reason, in this room, it glows pink. Engel lies awake, hovering in a state of reckoning, seeing these parts of Noor as if for the first time. She knows what Noor’s shoulder feels like against her cheek; she’s rested it there plenty of times, in all kinds of contexts—after shared confessions, when she needs comfort; during a late-night movie watch, when her eyelids start to grow heavy and she can’t quite hold her head up anymore—but never in a context like this. It would feel different, she thinks. She wants it to feel different. But she’s not sure she’ll ever be able to feel it in the way she longs to.

Noor stirs then, and Engel tenses, squeezing her eyes closed. A sharp flash of guilt and fear shoots through her abdomen and tightens her chest. Was Noor awake? Could she sense what Engel was thinking, or feel Engel’s gaze trained on all the pieces of her that she wanted to know differently—to know better? She couldn’t, Engel knows, but that doesn’t calm the rush of panic that cuts off her breath and sends her heart racing.

Noor tosses some more, shifting her weight so the mattress shifts beneath Engel, pulling her more towards the center. Engel stiffens to resist, and she only opens her eyes again once the slow, steady breathing she knows so well convinces her that Noor is still sound asleep. In all of that commotion, Noor had turned to face her, the distance between them cut in half. Engel could brush her nose against Noor’s, if only she let herself fall into the dip in the mattress that cocooned Noor’s body. This close, Engel had no choice but to take her in piece by piece. She couldn’t look at the whole of her even if she wanted to.

There are her eyelashes, fluttering slightly through a dream. Then, the two moles on her cheek, two points in a constellation Engel searches for every night. Her septum piercing, which Engel had only ever seen through Instagram photos before this summer—a reminder of the years they spent apart, of the lives they lived alone. It suited her more than Engel would let herself admit.

There’s also Noor’s pouted lips, stained pink from red lipstick, only a breath away from Engel’s own. They remind Engel of the days those lips were stained pink from popsicles long before the dark red lipstick became her signature. The taste of sugar and smiles and sneaking around. Scents of sunscreen and cherry syrup. Her racing heart and fits of giggles. She remembers one day from their last summer together, just a few days before they both heard the news. They had already eaten far too much sugar for their thirteen-year-old bodies to handle, but Noor had snuck a bag of Strawberry Laces—one of Engel’s favorite candies at the time—from her house and brought it with her to the park where they usually met. Engel couldn’t resist. They sat shoulder-to-shoulder in the grass, the bag of sweets between them, as Noor unraveled a long strand of the candy and dangled it above her mouth.

“Wait!” Engel exclaimed as she grabbed Noor’s wrist to stop her. “We should do that scene from Lady and the Tramp. Like with the spaghetti.” Her excitement was unabashed.

“Wha-?” Noor pinched her brows together in confusion as she lowered the hand holding the candy, Engel’s fingers still wrapped around her wrist.

“Haven’t you ever seen Lady and the Tramp?” Noor just shook her head. “But have you heard of the kiss? Like where they’re eating different ends of the same noodle without knowing, until their lips touch in the middle?”

Noor gave her a skeptical look. “I’ve never heard of that,” she said with a laugh. It sounded a bit mocking, and suddenly Engel felt very childish.

“Oh. Okay,” she said as she finally released Noor’s wrist. “I just thought it’d be funny.” She turned her face away from Noor then, hoping to hide the embarrassed flush that spread across her cheeks.

“Let’s try it anyway,” Noor encouraged, handing Engel one end of the long candy rope. “I’ll follow what you do.”

So thirteen-year-old Engel placed the end of the sweet between her lips and watched as Noor did the same. They locked eyes and giggled as they slurped their ends farther and farther into their mouths, chewing as they went. It was silly and awkward and Engel felt her cheeks flame, but what surprised her the most was the way her eyes dropped to Noor’s lips and wouldn’t look away, the way her stomach started to twist and flip in ways she hadn’t known it could. She wasn’t sure when to close her eyes as the length of candy between them shortened and shortened and shortened. It wasn’t until the very last second that she saw Noor’s flutter closed, but Engel couldn’t make hers do the same. Their lips touched only for the briefest of moments. Engel’s body warmed and Noor’s eyes shot open. They laughed it off as they laughed off most things, pretending it was nothing, pretending it was something they would have done with any of their friends. Engel didn’t know then that she wouldn’t have done that with just any friend. She didn’t know how to read her body yet. Or she didn’t want to.

They were just kids goofing around, Engel had told herself afterwards as she replayed the kiss over and over again. But then Noor was leaving and she barely said goodbye and they didn’t stay in touch, and Engel wondered if it had been more than an innocent thing, and she worried that she had shattered the thing she and Noor had always shared as soon as their lips brushed against each other’s. She didn’t realize their friendship could be so tenuous.

As Engel recalls that kiss now, she wishes she could try again. Not while Noor is asleep, though. Not like this. She wants to kiss her intentionally, and not as some innocent scene recreation. She wants it to mean something between them, and she wants Noor to kiss her back like she’s missed Engel as much as Engel’s missed her.

Suddenly, Noor’s hand slides between their faces, palm up. Her fingers are loose, relaxed, arm bent at the elbow. Engel knows she can’t, and she’s afraid of “what if,” but it’s calling her, taunting her. Noor’s hand is a Venus flytrap, daring her. She surprises even herself when she accepts. She places her hand gently against Noor’s, sliding it along until it fits perfectly snug, interlacing their fingers and folding hers around Noor’s hand.