#cairo sweet

The first time had been a mistake. A heat-of-the-moment disaster fueled by too many drinks, too many lingering stares, too much loneliness you hadn't been willing to admit to yourself.

It was supposed to end there.

You were supposed to know better.

But mistakes didn't happen twice.

Mistakes didn't happen again and again, until you lost count of how many promises you'd broken between the spaces of her hands and your mouth.

You told yourself you were stronger than this. That whatever thin, breakable thing existed between you and Cairo could survive the bruises you both kept pressing into it. You had rules, boundaries — the kind built on tight smiles and jokes you didn't really mean. The kind that kept you safe, kept you from looking at her too long, from wanting too much.

But none of that had mattered, had it?

It never did, when it came to her.

One glance across the room. One stupid flicker of something too raw, too familiar. And then you were breathing her in like you were starved for it. Fingers twisting in her hair, pulling her closer before either of you could think. Her mouth trailing down your throat, finding every place she knew you were weakest. Clothes tugged at clumsily, buttons popping loose, jeans shoved halfway down legs before either of you even made it to the bed.

It was desperate. It was thoughtless. It was inevitable.

You couldn't even pretend you had a choice.

And now... now there was no taking it back.

You hated how easily it had happened.

You hated how easily it always happened.

The truth sat like a stone in your stomach: this wasn't just a mistake anymore. Mistakes didn't leave bruises shaped like promises on your neck. Mistakes didn't feel this good and this terrible at the same time.

You had crossed a line you couldn't uncross.

And somehow, Cairo had let you.

Maybe it had always been leading here.

Maybe you'd been pretending for too long that what you had with her was ever something clean, something safe.

It started small — like these things always do.

A hand on your back that lingered a second too long.

A look that held a little too much, turned away a little too late.

Jokes that slid too easily into flirting, into whispered words at crowded parties that made your skin flush and your heart ache in ways you refused to name.

You told yourself it was harmless.

You told yourself Cairo didn't mean anything by it.

But it was a slow kind of drowning — so slow you barely even noticed when the air ran out.

And then —

One night, it happened.

It was too late. Too dark.

Both of you too drunk on something more dangerous than alcohol — on loneliness, on wanting, on everything you were never supposed to admit.

She looked at you like she could see it all.

Like she wanted it all.

And you kissed her.

Or maybe she kissed you.

You couldn't even tell who moved first — just a messy clash of mouths and hands and need, as if the world had tilted and there was nowhere else to fall but into each other.

You remembered the way her fingers tangled in your shirt, how her mouth opened under yours like she was drowning too.

You remembered the heat of her skin against yours, the rough scrape of denim and the soft thud of the door slamming shut behind you.

You remembered the way she whispered your name like it meant something.

You remembered everything.

You hadn't meant for it to go that far.

You hadn't meant to let your hands slip under her clothes.

You hadn't meant to push her back onto the bed and follow, heart pounding so loud you swore she could hear it.

But she didn't stop you.

She pulled you closer.

And once you felt her like that — warm and real and shivering under your touch — there was no going back.

It wasn't careful.

It wasn't slow.

It was desperate. Breathless. Almost angry with how much you wanted it.

How much you wanted her.

You tried to tell yourself it didn't mean anything.

Tried to believe it was just one mistake, a stupid, drunken accident.

But the way she clung to you in the dark — the way you buried your face in the curve of her neck like you could hide there — it said everything neither of you dared to speak.

And it didn't stop with that night.

Every glance, every brush of fingers, every tight, breathless moment where you should've pulled away — you both leaned in instead.

Again and again, like moths burning themselves on the same flame.

It wasn't casual.

It wasn't simple.

It was Cairo, and it was you, and it was everything you were too scared to say out loud.

And now... here you were again.

The same bed.

The same ache under your ribs.

And this time, you knew better.

This time, you couldn't pretend it didn't mean something.

Not when it was tearing you apart.

It had always been like this.

Every time she touched you — even when it was soft, even when it was barely there — it wrecked you.

There was no difference anymore between gentle and cruel.

Her fingers in your hair, her mouth against your skin, the way she used to smile into your neck when she thought you were asleep — all of it felt like knives now.

You told yourself it was nothing.

You told yourself it didn't mean anything.

You had to.

Because otherwise, you would've broken apart months ago.

You shut your eyes against the memory — against all the memories — but it didn't matter. They lived under your skin now.

The way she'd used to look at you like you were something more, like she wanted you just as much — it was all fake. Or maybe it wasn't. You didn't know anymore, and maybe that was worse.

You shifted on the mattress, kicking the covers down as quietly as you could, trying not to brush against her.

You couldn't take even that.

Not tonight.

But even without touching her, you could still feel her.

Cairo's arm was thrown loosely across the space between you, her breathing slow and easy like this was just another night, just another mistake you could both pretend never happened.

Her fingers twitched once against the sheets — reaching for you in her sleep — and your heart stuttered so hard it hurt.

You stared up at the ceiling, your throat closing around a breath you couldn't take.

How could she be so close — warm and real and right there — and still feel like she was slipping away?

How could you lie in the same bed and feel miles apart?

You swallowed hard, blinking fast against the burn behind your eyes.

You weren't supposed to care.

You weren't supposed to care.

But you did.

You always had.

Even when you knew better.

Even when Cairo made it so easy to pretend.

You weren't dating.

You never were.

That line had stayed drawn in the sand from the beginning — messy, blurred at the edges, but never crossed.

Not officially.

Because that would mean admitting it meant something.

And neither of you had the guts for that.

So instead, you had this — these nights that started with too many drinks, too many looks across crowded rooms, too many almosts that broke down into this.

Fingers tangled in each other's clothes.

Mouths finding mouths like it was inevitable.

Her hands on your body like she had every right to touch you.

And you always let her.

You always let her.

Maybe because it was easier than hearing her say it didn't mean anything.

Maybe because, for a few minutes, it was possible to believe she wanted you the way you wanted her.

Maybe because you were stupid.

Or selfish.

Or both.

You told yourself it was fine.

You told yourself it didn't have to hurt if you didn't let it.

But it did.

It always did.

And now — lying here beside her, feeling the heat of her body and the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest — you realized it wasn't the touching that ruined you.

It was the silence after.

The way she never said anything.

The way you never asked her to.

You stared harder at the ceiling, willing yourself not to look at her.

Not to reach for her.

It wouldn't change anything.

It never had.

You knew that.

You knew it too well.

You had the proof carved into the walls of your memory — every careless word, every too-fast goodbye.

You remembered the first time it happened, how you stayed tangled together for hours afterward, pretending sleep would make it easier.

It hadn't.

You remembered the second time, when she'd pulled her jeans back on without meeting your eyes and said, "This doesn't change anything, right?"

And you'd nodded — because what else could you do?

Because you were too scared she'd leave for good if you said no.

You remembered every time after that — the way it got easier for her to walk away, and harder for you to pretend it didn't hurt.

Sometimes she'd be in such a rush you barely got a goodbye at all.

Other times, like that night at her place, she'd just roll over, tug the blanket higher around herself, and drift off to sleep — leaving you there in the dark, heart hammering, waiting for some kind of sign.

None ever came.

And eventually, you'd learned how to let yourself out.

Quiet.

Invisible.

Unwanted.

It should have been enough to make you stop.

It should have been enough to make you hate her.

But it wasn't.

Because somehow, despite everything — despite the thousand little ways she showed you it didn't mean anything — you kept letting her touch you like it did.

And she kept touching you like it didn't.

Now, the air between you was too warm, too heavy.

The sheets clung to your skin, still tangled halfway down your legs.

You could feel the weight of her beside you — Cairo, lying there like it didn't mean anything. Like this was just another mistake you were both going to pretend didn't happen.

Your eyes locked onto the ceiling, tracing the cracks, the faded lines in the paint — anywhere but her.

Because if you looked at her, you'd break.

Her fingers brushed your thigh absently, like a habit she didn't even realize she had.

You squeezed your eyes shut.

It wasn't fair. It was never fair.

You kicked the covers off with a quiet, frustrated shove, desperate to breathe, desperate to pull yourself out of the gravity of her.

The room was too hot.

Your heart was too loud.

You couldn't pretend anymore.

And when you finally did risk a glance at her, Cairo was already looking at you — head propped lazily on her hand, gaze unreadable, like she wasn't the one unraveling you from the inside out.

You were so weak for her.

You hated it.

You hated her for it.

But mostly, you hated yourself.

You hated how easy it had been — again.

How fast you crumbled the second she touched you.

How even now, lying in the wreckage of it, you wanted her to reach for you again.

Wanted something she was never going to give.

Beside you, Cairo shifted lazily, the mattress dipping under her weight.

You heard her let out a breath — almost a laugh — low and careless, like none of this meant anything at all.

"Guess we're not great at keepin' promises," she muttered, voice rough from sleep and amusement.

Your heart clenched so tight it hurt.

She said it like it was funny.

Like you were both in on some harmless little secret.

Like it hadn't been you who had to pick up the pieces every single time she slipped away without a second thought.

You forced a smile — a tight, broken thing — and nodded once without trusting yourself to speak.

The room suddenly felt too small.

The air too heavy.

The ceiling too far away.

You focused on the cracks spidering along the plaster, willing yourself not to say anything.

Willing yourself not to feel anything.

Cairo didn't notice — or maybe she did and just didn't care.

She stretched again, unbothered, yawning into her hand like this was just another morning after nothing important.

Then she was sitting up.

Pulling the blanket off like it wasn't tangled around the night before.

Like it didn't still smell like both of you.

Like it wasn't the only thing holding the moment together.

You didn't say anything.

Didn't move.

You watched as she stood and padded across the floor, bare feet soft against the cold hardwood.

She didn't even hesitate — just reached down, gathering up her clothes from where they were scattered like discarded evidence.

Her shirt was inside out, and she didn't fix it.

Her jeans were wrinkled, and she didn't care.

You stayed in bed.

You didn't ask her to stay.

You didn't ask what this meant.

You knew better by now.

You watched the way she tied her hair up messily with the elastic around her wrist. The way she glanced in the mirror, wiped at the corner of her mouth, and grabbed her phone from the nightstand.

And then — as if it were nothing — she looked back at you with that same half-smile she wore when you passed each other in the hallway.

The one that meant nothing, said nothing, asked nothing.

"See you at school," she said.

Like it hadn't just been this.

Like you didn't still feel her on your skin.

You didn't answer.

You just stared up at the ceiling again, blinking hard.

You listened to the door click shut behind her.

And that was it.

That was always it.

No goodbye. No pause. No after.

Just Cairo, walking out like she hadn't been in your bed, in your hands, in your mouth.

Like she hadn't touched you the way people only touch you when they mean it.

When they feel it.

You lay there, motionless, in the heavy quiet she left behind.

Trying to catch your breath without making a sound.

Trying not to fall apart just yet.

You hated that this wasn't the first time.

You hated that you knew what came next — the silence, the space, the way she'd pretend none of this ever happened.

The way you were expected to pretend with her.

To sit across from her at lunch.

To text like everything was fine.

To hear her laugh and not remember what her breath sounded like when she was pressed against your neck.

And maybe what hurt the most wasn't that it kept happening.

It was that nothing ever changed.

You gave her everything. And she kept walking away.

Like you were just a mistake she was used to making.

It was cruel, in a way. The way she made it look so easy. How she could walk away, fix her shirt, toss her hair back into place like none of it ever mattered.

Like she hadn't just touched you like that.

Like she hadn't just ruined you all over again.

You sat there too long after she left. The air still warm with her in it. The bed still dented in the shape of her. You hadn't even touched the other side of the mattress. Hadn't even moved, not really—except for pulling the covers over your chest like it might hide the ache in your ribs.

You didn't understand how she did it.

How she kept coming back and pretending it didn't mean anything.

How you kept letting her.

Because you had meant it. Every time. Even the first.

Even when you told yourself you didn't.

And what made it worse—what made it sting—was knowing there was a time she used to pretend too. Not that it meant nothing, but that it meant less. Before she got good at hiding it. Before she stopped pretending at all.

You remembered it.

Last December.

You'd fallen asleep on her couch—half by accident, half by design. Cairo's head had ended up resting against your chest, one arm slung across your stomach. The room had been dark and warm, the silence broken only by the soft hum of her breathing. You didn't dare move. You were scared even one shift, one breath too deep, would wake her up and end it. You'd never felt so still in your life.

You weren't together. Not really. But that night you thought maybe—just maybe—she felt it too.

That maybe she wanted to feel it.

But the next morning, she'd barely looked at you. Just mumbled something about how "this was getting too messy," and said it was probably smart to take a step back. She'd said it like it was about you, like she was doing you a favor.

And the worst part?

You'd agreed. You'd nodded, even smiled, like it made sense.

Like it didn't already feel like something was cracking open inside you.

That was before all the promises. Before all the "let's not do this again" and "we're better off as friends."

Before she stopped bothering with excuses altogether.

Now it was just this—

Sex, silence, and a door closing behind her.

And somehow you were expected to act like you could still be friends.

Like she hadn't just laid her hands on your skin and then left you with nothing but the weight of it.

You were friends—or that's what you told people, what you told each other. You'd run out of ways to explain what it was between you, and even more reasons to keep trying.

But you weren't friends when she touched you like that.

Not when her mouth was on your skin and her hands were in your hair.

And now, as the heat faded from your body and the silence came crawling back in, you couldn't help but think:

How were you supposed to look at her tomorrow and pretend this didn't happen?

How could you both go back to acting like friends when you'd just shared a bed?

You wanted to ask her how.

How she could act like you were just someone she used to know.

How she could get dressed and say "see you at school" like she hadn't just pulled you apart with her mouth.

But you never did.

You just watched the door.

And let it all sit there inside you, heavy and sharp and endless.

School made it worse.

Because there she was—everywhere.

In the hallways, at your lunch table, slipping into the seat next to you in class like her skin hadn't been against yours just nights ago.

You thought it would get easier once you were around other people, once the world was louder. But it didn't drown anything out. If anything, it amplified it. Every laugh she gave someone else stung like it was meant for you. Every time she leaned too close to someone that wasn't you, your chest ached with something you couldn't name without sounding pathetic.

And the worst part?

She didn't even seem affected.

She smiled like she always had. Nudged your shoulder in group conversations. Said "hey" in passing, as if your mouth hadn't been on hers. As if she hadn't broken you open and walked away like it was nothing.

You started to wonder if that's all it ever was for her—nothing.

And maybe that thought would've hurt less if it hadn't happened so many times before.

Now, at school, it was like none of it had ever happened.

You saw her the next morning—before first period, outside the science wing, laughing at something someone else said. You weren't close enough to hear it, but you still felt it land in your chest like a bruise.

She looked at you once. Briefly. Like she was just checking to see if you were there.

And maybe you were reading into it—but that glance, that stupid, fleeting glance, felt like it meant something.

Like she remembered.

Like it had happened.

But then she looked away.

Tied her hair up. Smiled at someone else.

So maybe it didn't.

It was like that now—constant whiplash.

One second, you thought maybe she was hurting too.

The next, she was making jokes in class, passing you a pen, tapping her foot against yours under the desk like she'd forgotten everything but your presence.

And somehow that was worse.

Because even in the silence, even in the pretending, she was still there.

Not gone. Not distant. Not doing the decent thing and staying the hell away.

She was in your space.

Touching your elbow by accident. Brushing past you in the halls.

Acting like nothing had changed, and maybe it hadn't—for her.

But you were holding it all in your chest like a secret that wouldn't stop screaming.

So you smiled.

You walked the halls like your heart wasn't splitting open with every step.

You laughed when your friends made jokes, nodded through every conversation like your skin wasn't still buzzing with the memory of her mouth.

Because what else were you supposed to do?

You'd made the same mistake again and again and again. You'd laid yourself out for her, let her touch you like it meant something—knowing it didn't.

Not to her.

Not in the way it did to you.

So now you pretended.

Pretended you didn't still feel it in your stomach when you heard her voice behind you.

Pretended her hand brushing yours didn't feel like setting off a fire alarm in your bloodstream.

Pretended her laugh didn't echo in your chest like it used to, when she'd only ever laughed for you.

And Cairo made it easy—too easy.

She smiled at you the same way she did at everyone else.

Tossed you casual glances in class, shared her charger, borrowed your hoodie when she forgot hers and gave it back without a word.

Like you were still friends.

Like it was fine.

And maybe that was the worst part.

Because on the outside, everything looked fine.

You were back to being friends.

You sat beside her at lunch sometimes. You answered her texts. You nodded when she talked about stupid movies or new music or the things she wanted to do after graduation.

But none of it felt real anymore.

Not when you still remembered what her breath sounded like in the dark.

Not when her hands had just been on your skin and now acted like they'd never touched you.

You kept waiting for her to say something.

Anything.

To admit that maybe it wasn't just sex. That maybe she felt something.

But Cairo never did.

And you didn't ask.

Because if you did—if you really asked—you were scared of what the answer would be.

So you swallowed it all down.

Carried it through the hallways, through classes, through every moment where she was close enough to touch.

You forced yourself to smile when you passed her.

Pretended that your laughter didn't feel hollow in your throat.

You told yourself that it was fine—this was fine.

You could handle it.

It didn't matter if you were coming undone inside.

But every time you caught her eye—every time she looked at you like nothing had happened—

You felt that split right down the center of your chest.

The one you kept telling yourself wasn't there.

And maybe that was why—somewhere under the weight of all the pretending—you felt the pull of anything that might let you forget.

Anything to drown out the memory of her hands on your skin and the way she always left.

And maybe that was why—somewhere under the weight of all the pretending—you felt the pull of anything that might let you forget.

Anything to drown out the memory of her hands on your skin and the way she always left.

It was easier to think about something else—anything else—than the way she could still look at you in the hallway like you were nothing.

So when you heard about the party—just some kid's basement, music too loud and lights too low—it felt like a lifeline.

Parties didn't happen often here. Not in this little Massachusetts town where the most excitement you got was the annual pumpkin festival or Friday night football games.

You knew Cairo wouldn't be there—she was never the party type. She'd rather be home with a book, or tucked away in some secondhand theater watching operas you couldn't even pronounce.

You'd always tried to notice things about her like that.

Every quiet detail that made her who she was—how she liked her coffee black, how she hated the way people chewed with their mouths open, how she'd dog-ear pages when she was too tired to find a bookmark.

And she... she never seemed to notice anything about you at all.

Never paused to take in the way you went quiet when you were upset. Never looked close enough to see how hard you were holding yourself together.

It was like she could be everywhere with you—skin to skin, breath to breath—and still not see a single piece of you.

Maybe that was why the party felt like an escape.

A chance to be seen—just once, by anyone else.

A chance to stop being the girl who always let Cairo come and go like you were nothing.

Fridays always felt like a small mercy.

You and Cairo didn't share many classes, which meant you didn't have to see her face so much.

Didn't have to watch her slip back into the ease of her laughter with other people while you were still stuck on the memory of her mouth on your skin.

On Fridays, you could almost pretend you were okay.

Almost pretend you hadn't spent another week feeling like a ghost in your own life.

So you went home that afternoon telling yourself it didn't matter.

You went home telling yourself you'd find something—anything—to fill the hollow she left behind.

You didn't want to think too hard about what you were doing.

You showered quickly, put on a top that felt like a shield and a smile that didn't feel like yours.

Told yourself that if you looked good enough—carefree enough—it wouldn't hurt so much.

The sun was already setting when you left.

And you kept telling yourself this was what you needed:

A night away from Cairo.

A night away from your own head.

The party wasn't far—you could walk there in under twenty minutes if you cut through the old mill road. So that's what you did. The evening air was already starting to cool down, but you didn't mind. You wrapped your jacket around yourself and tried not to think about how every step felt like running away.

When you turned the last corner, you could see the glow of lights spilling from a house that was bigger than most in town—one of those places that looked like it had been built to be impressive, not lived in. You could hear music thrumming from the backyard, the low bass beat carrying down the street.

It looked almost like Cairo's house in some ways—expensive siding, the kind of driveway that could fit more cars than your whole family owned. It made your stomach twist to see it, but you swallowed that down and kept walking.

Inside, it was exactly what you expected: too many people crammed into too small a space, loud voices and laughter echoing off marble countertops and polished wood floors. Someone was already mixing drinks in the kitchen, red solo cups lined up in neat rows like they'd been waiting for this all week.

You didn't know most of the people here. Didn't care to. That was the point, wasn't it? No one knew you either—no one who would see the way your hands kept trembling when you reached for your drink.

You found a corner to lean against and took it all in.

The way the music pulsed through the walls.

The way everyone seemed so sure of themselves—like none of this mattered.

You wanted to feel that too.

You wanted to stop feeling like you were always carrying Cairo's ghost with you.

And for a little while, you did.

You let yourself drink more than you usually would—some cheap beer that tasted like nothing, and something sweeter, sticky on your tongue.

You let the music be loud enough to swallow your thoughts, let yourself lean into the blur of it all.

You laughed too hard at jokes you barely heard, your voice a little too bright, your eyes a little too glassy.

And you danced with Winnie for a while, letting her pull you into that easy rhythm, the two of you moving in circles that felt almost real.

It felt like the past couldn't catch up to you here—like the house was too crowded, too alive for any ghosts to linger.

For a while, it worked.

The drinks made it easy to forget—made it warm and soft and almost fun.

Like maybe, if you let yourself pretend hard enough, you could stop feeling like every breath you took had her name in it.

But then you saw her.

It was just a glimpse at first—her face half-lit by the kitchen lights, her hair pulled back in a way that made her look too casual for this place.

She was holding a drink, talking to someone you didn't know.

And you almost didn't believe it.

You blinked, your vision blurring at the edges, and told yourself it was the alcohol, the noise, your mind trying to fill in the spaces she always left behind.

But it wasn't.

She was really there.

You could feel it in the way your stomach dropped, in the way the music seemed to fade out around you.

Because of course she would be here—because you could never have anything for yourself that didn't turn back into her, that didn't somehow lead back to Cairo.

For a second, you thought maybe she hadn't noticed you.

Maybe you could slip away, find another corner of the party where she couldn't follow.

But then her eyes found yours across the room.

It was just a moment—one heartbeat, maybe two—before she looked away.

But in that moment, you saw it: the flicker of surprise, the way her shoulders stiffened, the way her mouth parted like she had something to say.

And then it was gone.

She turned back to her conversation, and you were left with the echo of it in your chest.

That familiar, hollow twist—like the world was folding in on itself and the only thing left was her.

Like you'd spent all night trying to forget her, only to end up right back at the start.

It hit you in a way you didn't expect.

Not loud, not sharp.

Just this slow, sinking thing that crept in under your skin — like gravity shifting sideways, like the floor tilting just enough to throw everything off balance.

Because she was still across the room.

Still talking.

Still smiling.

And that was what did it, really.

Not the shock of seeing her. Not even the way she'd looked away like it didn't matter.

But how easy she made it seem.

Like she hadn't once curled up beside you in the dark.

Like she hadn't once kissed you like she meant it, like she knew you.

Like none of it — none of you — had left a mark at all.

She laughed at something someone said, tossing her head back the way you used to love watching.

You remembered that laugh.

You remembered the sound of it against your neck, your shoulder, your throat.

And now it was out here, scattered across the room for anyone to take.

It gutted you.

Because she didn't look broken.

She didn't look haunted.

She didn't even look uncomfortable.

She looked like she belonged here.

Like this night was just another night.

Like you were the only one pretending it meant nothing.

You didn't even realize you'd stopped breathing until the room blurred again, your chest so tight it almost hurt.

And you couldn't stop looking at her — not because you wanted to, but because something in you needed to understand.

Needed to know how she did it.

How she could erase you so cleanly.

And God, you hated it — the way your hands started shaking again, the way your throat burned.

Not from the drinks.

From her.

From the way she made you feel like a ghost in your own story.

You were supposed to be forgetting.

You were supposed to be moving on.

But instead, you were standing in some stranger's house, surrounded by people who didn't know what you used to be, and watching her pretend like she'd never touched you at all.

Like she'd never looked at you the way she was now looking at them.

And maybe you should've walked away.

Maybe you should've turned around and left.

But your feet didn't move.

Because some small, wrecked part of you still hoped she'd look back.

Still hoped she'd remember.

Not the version of you that was standing there now — with your drink in hand and your chest caving in — but the one she used to reach for when no one was looking.

The one she kissed like a secret.

The one she held like a habit she couldn't quit.

But Cairo didn't look back.

She didn't glance over her shoulder.

She didn't shift or stiffen or blink like she remembered anything at all.

She just kept talking, kept smiling. Like you were nobody. Like you'd always been nobody.

And you tried—God, you tried—to convince yourself that it didn't mean anything.

That maybe she was just good at hiding things.

That maybe this was hard for her too.

But the truth was right in front of you.

She didn't look wrecked.

She didn't look like someone who'd shared a bed with you five nights ago.

Or kissed you in your kitchen like she couldn't help herself.

Or left before morning like none of it meant anything.

She looked like someone who'd never known you.

And that was what undid you.

Because you couldn't understand how she could wear her detachment like perfume — easy, invisible, soft.

While you were here swallowing it all down, trying not to look like someone who was breaking apart in real time.

You wanted to scream.

You wanted to shake her, ask her how she could stand there and treat you like any other girl at the party.

How she could act like nothing ever happened — like you weren't still carrying pieces of her inside you that didn't even belong to you anymore.

You didn't.

You just stood there, watching her laugh with someone else.

Feeling like the only person in the room still bleeding from something no one else could see.

But it started building — quietly, then all at once.

Like your thoughts had teeth.

Like they were gnawing straight through you.

You weren't sure if it was the alcohol making everything feel louder, or if this had always been inside you, waiting for a moment like this to finally come undone.

Because how could she stand there and let it all go so easily?

How could you be the one still clinging to every look, every half-spoken word, still trying to stitch some meaning into it — while she didn't even flinch?

You were holding on too tightly.

To things she dropped the second they got too heavy.

To touches that meant nothing to her the morning after.

To a connection that felt real only because you needed it to be.

You kept telling yourself you were just going to get some air.

That it wasn't Cairo — it wasn't the way her laughter curled in your gut or the way she leaned toward someone else like her body had never even touched yours.

But you couldn't lie to yourself anymore.

Not tonight.

Not when it all finally cracked open inside your chest.

So you walked — fast, almost stumbling — out through the crowded living room, past the half-drunk boy who tried to hand you something, past Winnie's voice calling after you.

You didn't stop. You couldn't.

The door slammed behind you like punctuation.

And the cold slapped you hard across the face the second you stepped out.

And for a second — just a second — everything went still.

The muffled bass of the party thudded through the walls.

The night air bit into your skin, sharp and sobering.

But it was better than standing in there pretending you didn't feel like you were drowning.

And maybe that's why, just before the door clicked shut behind you, Cairo turned.

Like she'd only just realized you were gone.

Like your sudden absence broke the rhythm of her pretending.

But you didn't wait to see if she'd follow.

You just kept walking.

Because something in you was finally too tired —

Too raw —

To keep bleeding quietly.

You stepped off the porch like your legs barely belonged to you.

The night felt colder now — like it had teeth, like even the air wanted to bite down.

You found yourself on the front steps, sitting on the edge of them like you weren't sure whether you were about to leave or collapse right there.

The cement was rough beneath your hands, still holding some of the day's warmth but not enough to matter.

The street stretched quiet in front of you, interrupted only by the occasional blur of headlights passing by, slicing gold through the dark.

Somewhere across the yard, a guy was bent over in the bushes, retching like his body had given up on him too.

Further down the drive, a small group of older boys stood in a half-circle by the curb, smoking cigarettes like they had nowhere better to be. Their laughter was low and tired, curling into the cold.

But besides that, the world was quiet.

Or at least quieter than inside.

Here, things didn't spin as fast.

You exhaled slowly and felt the breath leave you like something you hadn't meant to let go.

It all felt so heavy.

Like your ribs were too tight around your lungs.

Like the ache in your chest wasn't just about her — but about everything she'd taken from you without even knowing it.

Or maybe she did know.

Maybe that was the worst part.

The concrete beneath you.

The dark sky above you.

It all made you feel small in a way that was both calming and unbearable.

Like you could disappear out here and no one would notice.

Like maybe that would be a relief.

You pressed your palms to your knees, stared out at the road, and tried not to think about the way her eyes had not searched for you.

About how easy it was for her to stay inside.

To keep laughing.

To keep pretending none of it mattered.

But you couldn't do that.

You never could.

Not with her.

You stayed there on the steps, elbows balanced on your knees, your fingers picking absently at the skin around your nails. You weren't sure how long you'd been sitting there. The chill had started to settle in your arms, but you didn't move. Didn't think. You just were. Hollow and still and almost quiet inside.

Until the door opened behind you.

It was soft — not loud enough to startle you, just a hush of movement and muffled bass leaking out for half a second before it clicked shut again. You didn't look. Probably just someone stepping out for a smoke, maybe heading home. You didn't care. Not anymore.

But then there were footsteps.

Light ones.

Measured.

You didn't turn around, not at first. Just stared out at the road, your eyes glazed and dry.

And then, in your peripheral, a shape.

Familiar somehow.

Slow-moving.

You blinked and your chest went tight.

Because for a second, you didn't think it was her.

Didn't want to believe it was her.

Your brain reached for excuses — someone with the same hair, maybe, the same walk, the same frame…

But no.

You knew.

Even out here, even half-lit by streetlights and a sliver of moon.

It was Cairo.

She stepped closer, and you heard the gravel shift under her boots.

Heard her hesitate.

And still, you didn't move.

Because after everything — all the pretending, all the disappearing — she had followed you.

And somehow, that didn't feel like enough.

Not anymore.

She stood behind you, not too close, not too far.

The kind of distance that said I'm here, but also I don't know what I'm doing.

You didn't turn.

Didn't need to.

You could feel her.

Cairo had always been bad at standing still. She shifted her weight once, then again. The gravel crunched softly under her shoes — not the kind of party heels most girls wore, but boots, like always.

You imagined her glancing down at the steps and hesitating.

She probably didn't want to sit.

The skirt she was wearing — the pale one she only wore when everything else was in the wash — was probably still damp at the hem.

She'd waited too long to do laundry, as usual.

Didn't think things through unless she had to.

And yet she'd shown up tonight.

You could feel her watching the side of your face. Probably waiting for you to make it easy.

She was never good at starting things with you.

Not real things.

Maybe she was hoping you'd look over your shoulder and say something stupid and casual — "didn't expect to see you" or "some party, huh?"

Something she could step into.

But you didn't.

Because you knew how it would go if you did.

You knew how easily your mouth would forget everything your heart remembered.

You could smell her before you heard her breathe.

That same mix of coconut and vanilla clinging to her skin — subtle, warm, the kind that made you ache.

And underneath it: smoke.

Always the smoke.

She never lit her own cigarettes, just borrowed other people's and forgot to return them.

And still, you didn't look.

Because if you did, it'd all slip again.

The hurt, the distance, the last scraps of dignity you were trying so hard to hold onto.

You stared at the road instead.

And pretended you couldn't feel her ruining you all over again, just by being there.

You hoped she'd give up eventually.

That she'd take the hint — realize you didn't want this. Not right now.

Not like this.

You hoped she'd sigh or roll her eyes or check her phone and walk away, back inside where it was loud and warm and easier to pretend.

But she didn't.

She just stood there.

Fidgeting, like she was working through some equation in her head. Like if she got the words in the right order, maybe you'd stop freezing her out.

Her fingers picked at the edge of her sleeve, slow and nervous — Cairo's version of pacing.

And then finally, quietly, like it was something she'd been holding onto for too long, she spoke.

"It's pretty cold out here... shouldn't you head inside?"

Her accent wrapped around the words soft and hesitant, and she tilted her head like maybe that would make her seem more sincere.

Like maybe if she sounded gentle enough, you wouldn't notice how fake it felt.

You almost laughed.

Almost scoffed.

Because really?

Now she cared if you were cold?

She never cared about that.

She never cared if your fingers went numb walking home.

She never cared if you were shivering beside her when she opened the window in her room just because she liked the sound of rain.

She never cared about what you felt unless it had something to do with her.

But you swallowed it down.

That sharp little spike of bitterness that wanted to slip out and cut her.

"No thanks," you said instead, your voice low, a little thick from the cold.

Your nose was starting to sting — just enough to make it hard to talk like you weren't feeling anything at all.

You sniffled once, sharp and quick.

"But you do that."

You didn't say it cruelly.

Didn't snap.

You just let it sit there — soft but pointed, like something closing a door without slamming it.

She didn't say anything back.

And you still didn't look.

Because if you did, you weren't sure what you'd see.

And you weren't ready to see it.

Not yet.

The silence that followed stretched thin and awkward, the kind that made your skin itch.

Cairo didn't say anything.

Didn't move at first.

She just stood there like she was trying to solve a puzzle with no right answer — like she hadn't expected this version of you.

One that didn't fold the second she opened her mouth.

One that didn't give her softness just because she asked for it.

She was used to being chased.

To getting the last word.

To people falling all over themselves to hear what she had to say — but you didn't look at her.

You didn't give her that.

And it must've thrown her off.

Because she shifted her weight, arms folding over her chest.

Then unfolded them again.

Then looked down at her shoes, like maybe she was thinking of leaving — turning around, heading back inside, forgetting this ever happened.

And for a second, you thought she would.

You wanted her to.

Sort of.

But she didn't.

She just hovered there, her hesitation loud in the air between you.

You didn't notice her watching you — not at first.

But something in the way the silence held started to feel different.

Not cold anymore. Not distant.

Like it wasn't just indecision that kept her standing there.

And even though your eyes were still on the street, some part of you knew.

Knew she was looking at you — not with the sharp edge she usually had, but with something else.

Softer. Quieter.

Something almost like... admiration.

You didn't turn to check.

You didn't want to.

And then, finally, her voice again — quieter this time.

Careful. Almost gentle.

"You look very pretty tonight."

Like she meant it.

Like it was a secret.

Like saying it any louder would break something between you.

And maybe that should've meant something.

Maybe a part of you — a softer, dumber part — wanted it to.

But instead, it just made your throat tighten.

Because of course she was doing this.

Of course she waited until you were at your worst — outside, alone, unraveling — to say something sweet.

She always did this. Always showed up just late enough to make it hurt more.

Weeks of silence.

Months, even.

Ignoring you like you hadn't shared her bed, her secrets, her goddamn heart.

And then she'd show up again, all slow blinks and honeyed words.

"You know I can't sleep right without you."

"I missed the sound of your voice."

"I kept your hoodie, is that weird?"

Like that was enough.

Like those sentences could hold together the wreckage she always left you in.

And every time, you let her.

Every single time, you let her tilt her head and smile and pull you right back into her orbit.

You hated it.

You hated yourself for it.

And you were so, so tired.

Maybe it was the alcohol — sharp behind your teeth and fogging your head — or maybe it was just the weight of too many endings pretending to be beginnings.

Either way, something snapped.

You shot up from the steps, sudden and stiff, brushing your palms on your thighs like that could wipe off the ache.

"I have to go," you said quickly, voice tight.

You didn't wait for her to ask where.

Didn't wait to see if her face fell or stayed smug or even surprised.

"I have to use the bathroom," you added under your breath, like it explained anything.

Like you weren't already turning away, walking fast, fast, fast toward the edge of whatever this had become — toward the only escape you had left.

Away from her.

Before she made you stay.

Before she made you want to.

You didn't mean to brush so close.

But as you stepped past her—barely a centimeter between your shoulder and hers—it was enough.

Enough for her to react like you'd tugged something out of her.

Like leaving was something she physically couldn't let you do.

"Y/n, wait—"

Her voice cracked, louder than she meant it to be, tangled with something too desperate, too raw.

You saw her foot shift forward, heard the scrape of her heel against concrete.

And then her hand—warm, trembling—closed around your wrist.

Her fingers were soft, familiar, like they still remembered how to hold you.

Like they hadn't forgotten.

You refused to look at her.

Even when her body tilted toward yours, even when her other hand lifted slightly—reaching for something in the space between you two.

Her mouth opened.

"I—"

"No."

Your voice was low, almost a whisper.

But it stopped her.

You pulled your arm out of her grip, sharp and quick like it burned.

"Cairo, please stop doing this."

It hung there between you—quiet but undeniable.

A plea, a boundary, a crack in the spine of every story you'd lived with her.

Because you couldn't do it again.

Couldn't let her start something she'd never finish.

Not when you already knew the ending.

Not when you'd lived it too many times.

Cairo had the stomach to look confused.

Like you hadn't just laid yourself bare in front of her. Like she didn't know exactly what she was doing.

"Doing what?" she asked, voice light, cautious—almost innocent.

But her eyes flickered.

You caught it.

That flicker of guilt or recognition or whatever it was—quick, like she didn't mean to let it show.

You almost laughed.

Because she knew what you meant.

She always knew.

You meant the way she only ever looked at you like that when no one else was around.

The way her voice softened, the way her compliments curled around you like smoke, sweet and slow—but only when it was just the two of you.

You meant how you were only enough when no one was watching.

How she never touched you in public.

How she never said your name like it meant something unless it was in the dark, when her body was pressed against yours and her lips were on your shoulder and she didn't have to pretend.

You meant this.

Her chasing you down just to give you almost.

To say something tender and break you open, and then leave you bleeding while she walked away clean.

Like always.

You didn't say any of that out loud.

But your eyes did.

Your silence did.

And you watched her shrink beneath it.

But your eyes did.

Your silence did.

And you watched her shrink beneath it.

You didn't mean to say anything.

You really didn't.

But the words started spilling out before you could stop them—low and uneven, like your voice didn't know what tone to take.

"You know exactly what I mean."

She blinked, and something flickered again in her face—like she wanted to deny it, like she wanted to play dumb. But you didn't let her.

"You're fine being around me when no one's watching. When it's just us. You can say all the pretty things then, right? You can touch me, kiss me, sleep in my bed, tell me you missed me—like it's nothing. But the second we're around other people, it's like I don't exist. Like you don't know me. And now you're out here acting like—like I'm the one who's being cold?"

Your voice cracked at that.

Your breath caught in your throat, and your hands clenched at your sides like maybe that would hold everything else in.

She didn't say anything.

Of course she didn't.

So you kept going, voice rising just enough to make it worse.

"I can't keep doing this with you, Cairo. I can't. I can't go back to being just your friend, or your maybe, or your secret. I can't sit next to you at some party and pretend like we didn't share a bed, like I don't still feel you on me every time I try to sleep."

You didn't mean to let your eyes sting.

Didn't mean for your throat to tighten like that.

But it was too much.

And somehow, what made it worse was how stupid it felt to even have to say this.

Like this wasn't obvious. Like she hadn't been doing it over and over again.

Your voice wavered, but you didn't stop.

"You keep doing this to me. You disappear, and then you come back and say one thing—just one fucking thing—and I fall for it. Every time. You say I look pretty, or that you miss me, or that you didn't mean to stay away, and I believe you. And then what? You leave again. Like none of it ever mattered."

You laughed, dry and bitter and tired.

"I'm done, I can't do it again. I can't."

And then it was quiet.

Not because there was nothing left to say, but because saying it out loud already felt like too much.

Like you'd peeled something raw open between you, and it was all just sitting there now—too exposed, too ugly, too real.

You were trembling now, not from the cold but from everything she made feel like too much. Your hands, your chest, your thoughts—none of it felt yours anymore. And still, she hadn't said anything.

So you gave her one last look. Not kind. Not cruel. Just done.

"And I can't pretend we're strangers," you said, quieter now but somehow heavier than before. "Even though you seem perfectly fucking fine with it."

And with that, you turned.

You started walking toward the door, not fast, not dramatic—just steady. The porch light buzzed softly above you, and the house hummed with music and voices muffled by the walls. The party you'd almost forgotten was still happening.

You got close to the door, close enough that the tip of your fingers grazed the handle, metal cold under your skin.

And behind you, you could hear Cairo trying to find words—her breath hitching just enough to give her away. You could picture it without turning: her brow furrowed like she was concentrating too hard, her mouth opening like it always did when she was about to say something that never came.

"Y/n—"

Then nothing.

Then again. "Wait—"

Still nothing.

And just when your fingers curled around the doorknob—

"I love you."

You froze.

It wasn't loud.

It wasn't confident.

She said it like it was her last card, like she wasn't sure it was even worth playing. Like if she didn't say it now, she never would.

And it hit you in a way nothing else had.

Like the one thing you'd wanted to hear, and the last thing you could stand to.

You didn't turn around yet.

You just stood there.

Fingers still on the door.

Heart in your throat.

It echoed in your head—I love you.

Too soft to be real. Too cruel to be fair.

And then, slowly, you turned.

Your eyebrows pulled together before you even realized they had, confusion etched deep into your face. You stared at her like she'd just said something in a language you didn't speak. Or like she'd ripped open a wound you didn't know was still bleeding.

"What?" You breathed it out, sharp, almost spat it.

Because people don't do this.

They don't ignore you for weeks. They don't flirt with other people, disappear into crowds, pretend not to know you in rooms filled with mutual friends—and then say that.

People don't destroy you and then tell you they love you.

Not unless they mean to ruin you.

But Cairo just stood there.

And it was like watching someone realize they'd said the one thing they weren't supposed to. Her shoulders dropped just slightly, her hands fidgeting at her sides. She looked like she wanted to crawl out of her own skin.

Her eyes flicked to yours, then down, then up again—scared.

Not of you, but of what you might say next.

She looked nervous.

She looked nervous.

And maybe it was the expression on your face—the anger she wasn't used to seeing. Because you'd never looked at her like this before. Never let her see the damage. The frustration. The disbelief. You'd always swallowed it down, tried to stay soft even when she made you feel cold.

But not now.

Now you were just angry.

Because your chest fluttered at her words—still.

Because of course she'd said the one thing you'd always wanted to hear, just when you were ready to walk away.

Because it worked. It always worked.

And that was exactly why you hated it.

Because it still meant something.

And that felt like the worst part.

There was a long pause. You didn't fill it.

You just stood there, still halfway turned toward the door, waiting to see if she'd even try to explain.

For a second, you were sure she wouldn't.

But then Cairo took a step forward, slow, like the ground might split if she moved too fast.

"I didn't..." she started, then stopped. Her jaw tightened as she looked past you, toward the road. Like maybe the words would come easier if she didn't have to see your face. "I didn't think you'd—God, I didn't think this would get so..."

She shook her head. Not at you — at herself.

Then her hand came up to her forehead, brushing her bangs back like that might help her think clearer.

"I didn't mean to—" she tried again, voice soft, almost choked. "It's not like I wanted to lose you. I just... I didn't know what to do with you."

She laughed—barely. A quiet, breathy, humorless thing.

Her shoulders hunched in a little, like she hated even hearing herself say it.

"It was easier to pretend we were just messing around. Easier than... admitting it was more than that."

You stared at her, but she still didn't meet your eyes.

She was fidgeting again—wringing her hands, rubbing the back of her neck, shifting her weight like standing still made her restless.

"I mean, I knew, okay?" she finally said, a little louder, a little more desperate now. "I knew what I was doing when I pulled away. When I acted like it didn't matter. It's just—if I let it matter, I had to believe it could actually work. And I didn't want to believe that."

That made you flinch. Just a little.

Cairo noticed.

She panicked at the look on your face—whatever it was.

"I didn't mean it like that," she rushed. "I mean—I did, but not because of you. I didn't trust me. I mess things up. That's what I do. I get too close and I ruin it, or it gets taken away. So I told myself it was better to just..."

Her voice trailed off.

She was talking with her hands now, gesturing vaguely like the words might somehow appear if she moved enough.

And it was weird — seeing her like that.

Cairo, who was usually so composed, so cold, so smart-mouthed and detached — now standing in front of you like someone scrambling for a lifeline.

"I didn't know how to have you and not lose you," she said finally. Quieter this time. "So I kept letting you go first."

You didn't say anything.

You couldn't.

Because part of you wanted to scream.

And part of you wanted to believe her.

She looked up finally.

Her eyes were glassy, but she blinked hard like she refused to cry in front of you. Her bottom lip tucked slightly between her teeth, and she took a half-step closer—like maybe if she was just a little nearer, you'd forgive her faster.

And still, she looked embarrassed to be saying all this.

Ashamed of how late it came.

Ashamed that it had to come like this.

Her voice dipped again, uneven now. "I know I made it look like it didn't matter. I know that. And I'm not saying that's fair. I just... I didn't know what else to do."

You turned slightly, only just—barely angling your body toward her. And maybe it gave her hope.

Because her eyes flicked up.

And then she kept going.

"I was scared. Not of you—just... of what it meant. Of how I felt. And I guess that sounds stupid now, but I didn't know it was gonna be you. I didn't think you'd—" she cut herself off, shaking her head again, teeth digging into her bottom lip.

Then her eyes flicked to yours for a second—like she was checking to see if you were listening.

You were.

Too much.

"But I liked you," she said suddenly, almost tripping over it. "I like you. Not just like... in that way. I liked you before I even realized what it was turning into."

You blinked, startled by how honest it sounded.

Cairo noticed your expression change—just slightly. Your eyebrows creased in a way she recognized, and it made her shift again, lean in a little.

"I liked the way you look at people when you think they're not watching," she said, still quiet, but now her voice trembled. "I liked that you never pretended to be something you weren't, even when everyone else was busy trying. You just... you were always there. Even when I didn't deserve it."

You hated that your heart thudded at that.

Because of course she would say something like that now.

Now that you were already halfway gone.

"And I know I'm not saying this right," she muttered quickly, hand curling into a loose fist at her side. "I always mess it up when it matters. But I meant it—what I said earlier. I do love you. I just didn't know how to show it. Not in a way that wouldn't fuck it all up."

Her voice cracked at the end of that. And she looked away fast, like if she didn't see your face, it wouldn't hurt so bad when you walked away.

She didn't realize you were still standing there.

Still facing her.

Still listening.

Even if your heart didn't know what to do with any of it.

You pursed your lips, slowly.

Not in frustration—just trying to process it all.

Her voice still echoed in your chest, repeating the things you'd waited too long to hear.

You didn't even know where to begin.

Because part of you wanted to believe her.

Wanted to let the warmth of her words settle into your ribs and undo the months of damage she'd done.

But the other part—

The part that had sat alone on the stairs, aching and cold—

It was still angry.

Still hurting.

And so, after a beat, you nodded once.

"Okay."

Cairo's expression faltered immediately.

Like the floor shifted beneath her feet.

"Okay?" she echoed, almost confused.

Her brows drew together slowly.

She blinked. "That's all you have to say?"

You nodded again. "Is there something else you wanted me to say?"

The silence that followed was thick and sharp, like the air between you had teeth.

Cairo's mouth parted, then shut. Her head tilted slightly—like she couldn't decide whether she was more shocked or offended.

She hadn't expected that.

Not from you.

Not after all that.

Because for once, you were the one pulling back.

And she wasn't used to that.

Not from you.

You looked at her for a moment longer—

At her still furrowed brows, the soft rise and fall of her chest, her fingers twitching like they didn't know what to do if they weren't touching you.

It would've been easier if she hadn't meant any of it.

If she'd just said all that to win. To manipulate.

But she hadn't.

You knew she hadn't.

And maybe that's why it hurt more.

You didn't even know what you were supposed to feel. Relief? Vindication? Anger?

It felt like all of it. All at once.

Because yeah, maybe you had needed to hear it.

Maybe a part of you had been begging for this moment for weeks.

But not like this.

Not after everything she put you through.

Not after all the times she made you feel stupid for hoping.

You ran a hand down your face, exhaling hard through your nose.

Your chest ached. Your throat stung. You hated how it all still mattered.

And maybe that's what finally pushed the words out of your mouth.

"You don't get to just say that and make it better, Cairo," you said, barely looking at her. "You don't get to say 'I love you' like it erases the rest."

She blinked—like she hadn't expected you to sound so calm.

You swallowed. "You keep doing this thing where you disappear. You come close just long enough to fuck with my head and then act like it never happened."

She flinched—just barely—but you saw it.

"And I always let you," you added, voice cracking. "Every time."

There was a long, quiet breath as Cairo stared at the ground, lips slightly parted like she wanted to interrupt but couldn't find where. You waited. You gave her the silence. And when she didn't take it, you filled it yourself.

"I can't keep doing this with you. I can't keep... feeling like a secret. Like I'm only good enough when no one else is around."

The words felt heavier now that they were out. More real.

You blinked a few times, fast, trying to push the burn out of your eyes.

You didn't mean for that one to come out so bitter. But it did.

And she felt it.

It landed like a bruise across her face — barely visible, but you knew.

Your chest tightened. Your hand drifted toward the doorknob again, fingers curling around cold metal.

"And if you're not ready to be honest about this—about us—" you paused, voice dropping, "then come back when you are."

You didn't look at her after that.

You didn't even give yourself the time to second-guess it.

You were just about to turn the handle—just about to walk away for real—

When you heard the quiet shuffle of footsteps behind you.

And before your mind could even register what was happening—

Her hands were on your cheeks.

Warm. Familiar. A little shaky.

You blinked in surprise as she pulled you down slightly—eyes darting over your face like she wasn't sure if she was allowed to do this—and then she kissed you.

Hard.

Not like the last time. Not like any of the times before.

There was no hesitation in it. No pretense. No half-truths.

Just Cairo, pressed against you like she was trying to make up for every single second she'd wasted not being here.

Her lips tasted like stale sugar, cheap wine, and cigarette smoke, and somehow that combination made your chest ache harder than anything else.

Her fingers twitched against your jaw, like she didn't know how to stop holding you.

And her mouth—

God, her mouth was saying everything she couldn't get out.

Sorry.

I mean it.

Don't leave.

Her thumbs trembled slightly where they pressed against your jaw.

Her mouth moved against yours like she thought she might never get to do it again.

And your heart—

It cracked open.

Because even if everything still hurt...

Even if none of this fixed what had already broken—

She was trying.

She was finally trying.

When she pulled back, her eyes searched yours, frantic and wet around the edges.

And she didn't say anything.

She didn't have to.

You rested your forehead against hers for a moment, just breathing.

Feeling the ache settle into something a little quieter.

Maybe it wasn't a fix.

Maybe it wasn't clean or easy.

But it was honest.

You flick on the light, and your heart skips a beat.

There she is.

Cairo Sweet, perched on the edge of your bed, her legs crossed casually, her hands resting on the quilt your mother sent last semester. She’s still in her uniform from earlier, though the loosened tie and unbuttoned top collar give her an air of reckless confidence. That signature cheeky grin of hers—equal parts playful and infuriating—greets you as if she has every right to be here.

“Miss me?” she teases, tilting her head just so, the dim light catching the mischief in her eyes.

You close the door behind you, leaning back against it for a moment. “Cairo,” you say, your voice a mix of surprise and exasperation. “What are you doing here?”

She shrugs, feigning innocence as she leans back on her hands, her posture lazy but intentional. “Thought I’d pay my favorite person a visit. Is that a crime?”

“It is when you sneak into my dorm,” you retort, though there’s no real heat behind your words.

Cairo’s grin widens, and she pushes herself to her feet with a slow, deliberate grace. “Relax,” she murmurs, stepping closer. “No one saw me. Besides,” her voice drops slightly, low and teasing, “don’t pretend you’re not happy to see me.”

You bite your lip, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing the way your heart is racing. “Cairo, we’ve talked about this,” you begin, your voice quieter now.

“Yeah, yeah,” she interrupts, rolling her eyes playfully. “We shouldn’t. It’s dangerous. Your dad’s my teacher. Believe me, I’ve got the speech memorized.”

“And yet, here you are,” you say, raising an eyebrow.

She steps closer still, and now you can smell the faint traces of her perfume, something warm and sweet that lingers in the air between you. “Here I am,” she agrees, her voice soft but still teasing. “Because I can’t stay away.”

Your resolve wavers under the weight of her gaze, and she knows it. Cairo always knows exactly how to push your buttons, how to get under your skin in ways no one else ever has.

“You’re going to get us caught,” you whisper, though the words feel weak even as you say them.

Cairo's eyes sparkle with mischief as she takes another step closer, closing the distance between you. "So what if we do?" she murmurs, her voice a low purr. "Live a little, Y/N. Life's too short to play by all the rules."

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. Cairo always has this effect on you—making you question everything you thought you knew, making you want things you know you shouldn't.

"I... I don't know," you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's not that simple."

Cairo's hand comes up to cup your cheek, her touch gentle but electric. "It is that simple," she breathes, her face inches from yours. "It's just you and me, Y/N. The rest of the world can fall away."

You lean into her touch, your eyes fluttering closed for just a moment. God, it would be so easy to give in, to let her sweep you away on this tide of forbidden desire. But...

You lean into Cairo's touch, letting out a shaky breath.

 Fuck it. 

Your resolve crumbles under the intensity of her gaze.

"Cairo..." you murmur, your voice heavy with want.

A triumphant smirk curves her lips before she closes the remaining distance, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss. Her fingers tangle in your hair, tugging lightly as she deepens the kiss, her tongue teasing along your bottom lip.

You melt into her, your hands coming up to grip her waist, pulling her flush against you. The heat of her body seeps through the thin fabric of her uniform, igniting a fire deep in your core.

Cairo's hands roam over your body with a new urgency, her nails digging lightly into your skin through your shirt. She breaks the kiss, panting softly, her eyes dark with desire.

"Touch me," she breathes, her voice low and needy. "I want to feel your hands on me, Y/N."

You comply eagerly, your fingers slipping beneath her shirt to explore the smooth expanse of her back. Cairo arches into your touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

"Just like that," she pants, her hips grinding against yours. "Don't hold back, baby. I can take it."

You lose yourself in the sensation of her, in the taste of her, in the way she makes you feel alive in a way no one else ever has. Cairo is a force of nature, wild and unpredictable, and being with her feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, dizzying and exhilarating all at once.

As your hands roam lower, skimming over the curve of her ass, Cairo lets out a low groan. "Mmm, yes," she hisses, her hips bucking forward. "You know just how to touch me, don't you?"

The knowledge that you make her feel this good, that you can unhinge her so completely, sends a rush of power straight to your head. You nip at her bottom lip, relishing the way she whimpers in response.

"Fuck, Y/N," Cairo gasps, her fingers fisting in your hair. "I need you. Right now."

You don't hesitate, sweeping her up into your arms and carrying her the short distance to your bed. You lay her down gently, taking a moment to admire the sight of her spread out before you, her chest heaving, her skin flushed with desire.

Cairo watches you with hooded eyes as you slowly undress her, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Each piece of clothing you remove reveals more of her smooth, tanned skin, and you can't help but trail your fingers along her newly exposed flesh, mapping out every curve and dip.

"Y/N," she whispers, her voice thick with need. "Please, I want to feel you."

You obey, your hands and mouth worshipping every inch of her body as you work your way down. Cairo arches into your touch, her fingers tangled in your hair, urging you on.

By the time you reach her hips, she's practically shaking with anticipation. You hook your fingers in the waistband of her panties, drawing them down slowly, teasingly.

"Fuck, baby," Cairo groans, spreading her legs wider, inviting you in. "I need you so bad."

You don't make her wait any longer, diving in eagerly, your tongue hot and wet and perfect against her most sensitive parts. Cairo cries out, her back arching off the bed, her fingers tightening in your hair almost painfully.

"Yes, fuck yes," she pants, her hips bucking against your face. "Just like that, don't stop."

You double down your efforts, licking and sucking and teasing until Cairo is a writhing, incoherent mess beneath you, her thighs trembling and her breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps.

"I'm gonna... fuck, I'm gonna come," she warns, her voice strangled. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

You redouble your efforts, pushing her closer and closer to the edge until finally, with a scream of your name, she comes undone, her body shaking and convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over her.

You work her through it, gentling your touch as the aftershocks fade, until finally, she collapses back onto the bed, spent and sated.

You crawl up her body, capturing her lips in a deep, passionate kiss. "Was that good for you, baby?" you murmur, nipping at her bottom lip.

Cairo hums contentedly, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your back. "Mmm, that was incredible," she purrs, her voice low and sultry. "But don't think we're done yet. I'm far from satisfied."

You reach for your nightstand with trembling hands, fumbling for your trusty strap-on. In your haste, you knock over a lamp, sending it clattering to the floor.

"Whoops!" you exclaim, stifling a laugh. "Graceful as always."

Cairo watches with hooded eyes as you fumble with the strap-on harness, your fingers clumsy in your haste. She bites her lip, trying to hold back a laugh at your determined expression.

"Eager, are we?" she teases, propping herself up on her elbows.

"Shut up," you mutter, finally getting the harness secured around your hips. You turn to face her, a mischievous glint in your eye. "I'm going to rock your world, Sweet."

Cairo rolls her eyes, even as a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "Big words for someone who can't even put on a strap-on without help."

You narrow your eyes, stalking towards the bed. "Oh, I'll show you big, alright."

Cairo's laughter dissolves into a moan as you descend upon her, your hands and mouth mapping the contours of her body. You take your time, savoring every inch of her, until she's writhing beneath you, desperate for more.

"Please," she gasps, her hips lifting off the bed. "I need you inside me."

You smirk, reaching for the lube. "Patience, baby. Good things come to those who wait."

Cairo groans, burying her face in the pillow. "You're such a tease."

You just chuckle, coating the strap-on liberally. "And you love it."

Her only response is a muffled moan of agreement. You line yourself up, pushing forward slowly, sinking into her welcoming heat inch by delicious inch.

"Fuck," Cairo whimpers, her hands fisting in the sheets. "You feel so good."

You set a steady rhythm, losing yourself in the slide of your bodies, in the slick sounds of your lovemaking. Cairo meets you thrust for thrust, her nails raking down your back, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

The strap-on rubs deliciously against your own sensitive parts with each deep thrust, the pressure building steadily. You grit your teeth, fighting the urge to let go, determined to make this last for Cairo.

"That's it, baby," you growl, angling your hips just so. "Take it all."

Cairo keens, her head thrashing on the pillow, her body trembling beneath you. "Harder," she demands, her voice ragged. "Fuck me harder, Y/N."

You oblige, snapping your hips forward, driving into her with renewed vigor. The bed creaks in protest, the headboard slamming against the wall, but you're too lost in the heat of the moment to care.

Cairo's moans grow louder, more desperate, her body clenching around the strap-on like a vice. "I'm close," she gasps, her eyes squeezing shut. "So fucking close."

You can feel your own orgasm building, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your core. "Me too," you pant, your rhythm starting to falter. "Come with me, Cairo. Now."

With a final, powerful thrust, you bury yourself deep inside her, grinding against her sweet spot. Cairo screams, her body convulsing around you as she comes apart, milking the strap-on for all it's worth.

The sensation is too much, pushing you over the edge with her. You throw your head back, a guttural moan tearing from your throat as you find your own release, your hips jerking erratically.

For a long moment, you both remain locked in each other's embrace, panting harshly, your sweat-slicked bodies pressed together. Slowly, you come back to yourself, the post-orgasmic haze receding.

You pull out carefully, collapsing beside Cairo on the bed. She immediately curls into your side, her head resting on your chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin.

"That was amazing," she murmurs, her voice soft and sated.

You reach down, fumbling with the straps of the harness with clumsy fingers. It takes a few tries, but finally, you manage to unbuckle the straps, the harness falling away from your hips.

Cairo lifts her head, watching you with a lazy smile. "Need some help there, sexy?" she teases, reaching out to trail a finger along your hip.

You shoot her a half-hearted glare, even as a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. "I've got it," you mutter, tossing the harness aside carelessly.

Cairo just chuckles, settling back down on the pillows. "Alright, alright, I won't mock your struggle-bus hands."

You roll your eyes, flopping down beside her with a huff. "You're a brat."

"And you love it," she retorts, nuzzling into your neck.

You rub your eyes feeling your body wrapped in fatigue. They hurt because of so much screen time. The last essay of the semester is driving you nuts.

You are in your residential room, it's a saturday and you have been researching for days and all afternoon.

It's your second year in the Literature Degree and still you fail to get used to the extenuating requirements of your university. You are one of the most brilliant students of your class, but this Compared Literature' essay is giving you a really hard time.

For a brief moment, you consider asking Cairo for help. You can't help a sly smirk from emerging. Cairo. Just yesterday she was bragging about how excellent her essay turned out.

"I can help you out anytime you want. You know that, little one" she said with a smugly smile. You mocked her tone and stuck out your tongue at her, only to regret the latter for the rest of the day.

You have been handleling that flirty tone of hers for over a year now, and it still makes you panic everytime. It's really frustrating for you, the power she has over you.

Cairo is a mysterious, teasing, sarcastic sexy woman. She was the best of the class and usually perfect. She happened to make one mistake at the end of the first semester, though; she lost her notes. That's how you two met.

At first it may appear that your notes were everything she wanted from you, but it didn't take her that long to show genuine interest. She would throw sarcastic comments about the non-existant contest between you both, and suggest that you should join forces and study together. From study sessions to grab a coffee, to go to parties, to every other plan two college girls can do.

You were attracted to her from the instant you first saw her, but haven't made a move yet. It has become a platonic thing, so to speak.

"Sort of" you whisper, as you stretch your arms and move from your desk to your bed.

Sort of, it's what you'd say in order to avoid admitting the embarrasing amount of times you've touched yourself thinking of her. Platonic thing, you'd think everytime your eyes lock, everytime her smile makes you shiver, everytime one smart, enchanting text of hers lights up your phone and your entire mood for the whole day.

With every thought about her, it'd come the it's a platonic thing. Yeah, sure.

It's frightening sometimes, what you feel towards her. Some nights are specially tortous, when you witness how she leaves parties with a man all over her.

You know how everybody wants her, you are not the only one. But it makes your blood boil, seeing their hands wrapping her weist, stroking her hair, kissing her lips.

I should be touching her like that you'd think, and inmediately discard that thought with a we're friends.

You close your eyes and the thought of her instantly invades you. A rush of fantasies impregnate your brain, your hands roam over your body. You can't stop yourself.

It's impossible to resist the urge in days like this, where her perfume still lingers and her voice is as clear as water. It's all in your imagination, of course, but she has bewitched your senses up to a point in which it seems like a fever dream. Especially when you're stressed and exhausted like today.

Your hands sneak under your jeans and it feels too good to stop. It's so nice and relaxing, so satisfying. You can't help yourself.

Sometimes you feel guilty. You don't want to be like one of those guys whose only intention when having a female friend is to fuck her. You really see Cairo as your friend. A friend you also want, so ardently. But still, someone who's presence in your life is priceless. You really respect her.

So much, you think to yourself, that you never intend to make your dreams come true. But it feels so wrong sometimes. What if she suspected of you? God, you'd be so embarrassed...

She's told you a thousand of times about the nonstopping dms she gets after a night out. All these people, boys and girls, begging for a chance. You've had a laugh more than once mocking them. You know she isn't interested in a relationship.

"But you're a romantic woman" you teased her once, "how can someone like you despise relationships?"

She gave you one of her charismatic smiles and looked deep into your eyes before looking away. She gave a sip of her coffee, took her time.

"It's not easy to meet my expectations. You already know that", she finally revealed.

That conversation comes to mind everytime the yearning overcomes you. You go over the list of events that would happen if you told her about your feelings: first, things would get really awkward, especially for you -you aren't precisely the boldest woman-.

Then, she would kindly thank you for your courage to, later, also very kindly; reject you. You're convinced she would, of course she would. You could never match up to her.

She's way prettier, funnier and smarter than you could ever be, and she's looking for someone just as interesting as her. You defenitely aren't. At least that's what you tell yourself once a week, when you go through the list. Each. And every. Week.

The pleasure is replaced by concern as you close your eyes for a moment. The tiredness of the day mixed with the orgasm makes you fall into a light sleep.

An insistent vibration wakes you up. You lift your chin in a daze and look for your phone, which is right beside you. You pick up when you see who's calling.

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty. Nap is over, I'm picking you up in an hour" is her greeting.

You smile and nod even if she can't see you. You whimper and your voice sounds grumpy.

"That fucking essay took all my strenght away. I'm soooo tired"

"Stop the whining, Little One"

"Don't call me that" you instantly interrupt her. That stupid nickname gets you so much you fear she'll end up figuring you out.

"Don't be a dick, then". She makes you chuckle. "Get the fuck up and spend the night with me?" she starts her sentence in a tough tone, but ends with that familiar suggesting voice.

You snort. It might sound like a suggestion, but you don't feel like you have a choice.

"See you later" she hungs up before you can say no more. You roll your eyes, kind of annoyed. She always has to have the last word.

An hour later she"s at the front door, as promised. Her beautiful face lights up the moment she sees you.

"Finally", she's smiling "you like to make a woman wait, huh?"

She's wearing her circle-shaped sunglasses and tilts her head a little so your eyes can meet. She reaches up and takes them off in such a sensual movement that your breath hitches; but you manage to cover that up by huffing.

"Cairo Sweet using the same dress twice? This is new."

Your gaze drifts down her body and it's so obvious that you're checking her out before you can hide it. You find her smirking when you look up. "You remember it, hm? I never even showed it to you."

Cairo is wearing her signature platinum silk dress. Fitted, hugging her every curve, especially her waist, torso an sides of her thighs. She had told you about it, indeed. And you fucking remember.

Just the mere image of that outfit in your head had earned several indulgence sessions late at night, when the exhaustion of the day would be strong enough to silence you guilt.

You would picture her like this, exactly how she's standing in front of you. Smiling like that, swaying her hips ever so subtly to one side, hands gracefully caressing her hips.

When your gazes meet again, her eyes are glinting with mischief as if she knew something you don't. That condescendence gets in your nerves and turns you on all at once.

"It's nice" you finally say, nodding slightly. She cocks her head, pleased.

"Thanks. I figured you'd like it." She pauses, glancing down at you; and you wonder why would Cairo care whether you liked her outfit or not. "As to you, you really made the right choice. You look really adorable tonight, little one."

Her little smirk embellishes her words, and the sparkle in her eyes that refuses to dissipate makes you frown. She's being especially playful tonight.

But as devoted as you are, you can't help it when the corners of your lips curl up into a tiny smile, and you shake your head. "Oh, stop it. I have wore this look a million times."

You're wearing a cool, loose shirt, a velveteen light brown jacket and a nice, more formal pair of jeans with militar boots.

"Yeah, but your makeup" she argues observant as you walk towards the party. "It's different. Are you trying to get laid tonight?"

She's right, you've chosen bright colours and bold eyeliner tones. Your hairstyle is also different, dishevelled in a controlled way; loose and slightly curled.

But her deduction is definitely wrong. "Not at all" you sound more bitter than intended. She glances at you briefly, but doesn't add a single word.

A guy Cairo definitely hooked up with opens the door for you. You can't even recall his name, but you remember how he grunts. You remember his unintelligible whispers as he pinned Cairo against the wall and groped her thighs over her stockings.

The guy grins smugly. "Hey you" he greets lowering his voice. You narrow your eyes but he doesn't catch that, his gaze already fixated on Cairo. "Didn't know you'd show up."

Cairo tilts her head ever so slightly and gives him a mocking smile. "Didn't know we'd have to announce our attendance in advance."

His expression slowly melts into something close to second-hand embarrassment, but for himself. His eyes flicker briefly in your direction before he looks down, moving to the side. "No. Of course not. You don't have to" his voice trails off.

You can't help but to smirk ducking your head as you enter behind Cairo. "That's what I figured" her words are tainted with a lethal venom of humilliation that reaches that poor boy's ears even as he walks away.

"You're so mean to them" you tease talking close to her ear so that she can hear you over the loud music.

She glances at you over her shoulder. "They're mere entertainment."

The music is blasting, your heart slamming against your chest mirrors the beat. The rank smell of cheap beer reaches your nostrils, and for a moment you consider turning around and leave.

You've seen this before, you know how it ends— with Cairo giving flirty eyes to her next helpless victim and them trying to take her out for a date the following days, following you two around the campus.

You're sighing deeply as you picture it when she grabs your hand, leading you into the crowd. And the simple touch brings you back to this moment, with her. You realize how easy it is to make you fold even without her being aware of it. It makes you contort your mouth in disgust.

Stepping into the kitchen, Cairo makes drinks for you on the kitchen island. You two chat exhanging smirks and quick glances, gossiping about the people around you.

"Mark seems so alone tonight. Do you think he and Sophie finally broke up? I've heard she's met someone else."

"I'd be overjoyed if that turns out to be true. He's a mediocre man."

"Cairo, you're so cruel."

"It's my brand. You already know that, little one."

Your eyes lock when she says those words, and the smugly smile on her lips seems so kisseable you have to clutch onto the edge of the island with your nails. You can't help but to look down at her lips, and her smile grows wider...

"Oh, behind you." She says, and her tone has shifted into curiosity. "Mel."

You look up into her eyes and frown in confusion. "Mel? The Mel?" You freeze, refusing to turn around.

Cairo is glancing over your shoulder. She nods almost imperceptibly and looks down at your drinks, she takes a sip. "Mhm. The Mel."

You take a deep breath and turn a little, fully facing the kitchen island and taking a long swig. You look out of the corner of your eye very briefly, catching a quick frame of Mel in a soft pink dress chatting with her usual group of friends.

You roll your eyes with apathy and then settle your drink on the counter in a sort of loud thud. Cairo gives you a glance and frowns momentarily in a quiet question, but you're too busy recalling it all.

Mel spent the last semester waisting your time with almost daily texts, basically love bombing you.

The brunette would go off saying you're "truly magical", how she had "never met someone like you"; and she would shower you with complements about your appearance clearly showeing she just wanted to fuck you.

Even if you'd text daily, weirdly she never had the time to take you out on a date, especially after you once mentioned you weren't interested in casual sex.

She then proceeded to ghost you for months, and even if you just replied to her last messages and never contacted her again because it all seemed odd, it hurted your ego.

"She's successfully avoided you for months. At a given moment it had to slip" Cairo comments beside you.

"She's such an idiot" you mumble shaking your head.

Cairo nods. "Yep she is—"

"Girls!" someone swarls next to you.

It's Mel's voice, and she's beaming as she stares at you with light green sparkling eyes and an innocent demaenor. "A bunch of us are gonna play this card game, wanna join?" she points behind her with her thumb.

You glare at her, irascible, and arch an eyebrow. But her pretended naive expression remains, so you decide to just move on. "Yeah, why the fuck not?"

You sound quite dry, and nudge her with your shoulder as you pass past her, joining her group. She might be a bitch but some of the people there are cool. When you look back, you catch her approaching Cairo.

There are two couches placed in a V shape and some chairs to complete the deformed circle. When you sit down on the couch there's enough room for Cairo, but you find her in front of you, sitting on one chair... With Mel beside her?

"Alright, so, rules" the voice of Sophie distracts you and you decide to let it go. Turning your head, you focus on the blonde girl.

"Basically consists on passing around a card... Using our mouths" she looks around, smiling mischievously. People make exaggerated noises of commotion, causing you to shake your head and smile.

"Basically one person holds the card against her lips by inhaling, and the person next to them has to catch it. The way to do that is to inhale exactly when the person holding it, exhales."

Her eyes flicker around you all, and she seems too excited for such a basic game. And also, why does she say 'basically' so much?

"They have to be very coordinated, because if not the card falls and..." Sophie trails off and smiles showing her teeth. People shout in playful excitement again, and you catch Mel glancing at Cairo. She seems clueless, chatting with someone else.

Your blood burns in your veins. She can't be fucking serious. How dare she? Cairo is...

But then you stop your train of thoughts and shake your head. No, she's not mine. She is my friend. But still, she knows how Sophie trated me. She wouldn't...

The game starts before you can think any further. "Okay, let's go!" Sophie seems so excited as she turns to her side to face a guy who's name you can't remember, but you know she dumped Mark for him.

Sophie gives him a meaningful smile, as if he already knew, with a glint of mischief in her gaze as she brings a card to her lips. She inhales and leans in, and everyone chant.

Some tell her to drop the card, others are more competitive and cheer up for her to hold it; since the idea would be to pass it around and complete the circle as a team.

You look at Cairo's direction wondering in what team is she, only to find she's smiling softly, with her face so close to Mel's as this last one talks in her ear.

Your stomach shrinks, and the alcohol burns in your throat when you look away and take a good swallow. How can she be smiling like that while...?

"Yeeess let's go!" Sophie puts her hands up when she successfully passes the card to the guy, and the show goes on.

The next ones are quick since they're not interested in eachother, and you realize it's not difficult to keep up and coordinate with your partner as long as the two of you play fair.

As long as no one is interested in the risk of losing, for the risk of winning.

You check it for yourself when the guy next to you passes the card and you inhale, easily holding it as you turn your head and pass it to the girl next to you.

It's quick and harmless. It's fun, to try and not let it drop. The girl giggles and the card escapes her lips, causing her to laugh lauder, she's clearly pretty drunk. But it's fun, you laugh with her and shrug.

It's all innocent and playful when it's like this.

But as the card travels from mouth to mouth, approaching Mel, your smile slowly dissapears from your lips. It's so obvious, now that you look at her.

She has moved her chair closer to Cairo's in a ridiculously clear gesture. She's looking anywhere but Cairo or you now that the card is getting closer. And she smiles following the movement, but it's perceivable that she's distracted, even nervous.

Your flaming gaze penetrates her neck, you know she notices. But she's too coward to acknowledge you, just as she was earlier when she dared to speak in your direction; just as she was months ago.

For a moment you wonder if she tried to be close to you just to have her way with Cairo, and your breath hitches in painful realization for some seconds.

Back in the day you were trying to get over Cairo with her, that's true, but you truly considered getting to know Mel, maybe... Before she love-bombed and ghosted you, of course.

But what if it's true?, you wonder as people fail with the card or let it fall to share a quick, cheered peck kiss. What if she just wanted Cairo? And what if Cairo wants her back?

Finally, the girl next to Mel catches the card. She turns around and faces Mel, and she's giggling, running the risk of letting it fall. But Mel grips her shoulders, confident as ever; leans in and inhales the card very easily.

She turns to Cairo, who is smiling with her charasteristic playful-slightly-drunk smile. The friends of Mel cheer especially loud now, and your jealousy becomes stronger.

"Come on Mel, you can do this" you hear Cairo's voice, thick with intoxication and maybe something else.

You see Mel's cheeks raise into a smile, and the card falls off her lips as she leans in. They inevitably land on Cairo's and they kiss.

People around you seem to be watching a football game. They chant and cheer exaggeratedly, and suddenly everything seemed planned out.

The unattainable Cairo finally falling into Mel's trap.. Or letting herself be caught, because you know there's no way Cairo didn't see it coming.

You watch like a fool, incapable of looking away as the two women make out in front of you. The way their kiss lingers for some long seconds before the thread of spit between her lips breaks makes you have a visceral reaction. Literally retching, you stand up with the intention to leave the room.

Because of your abrupt move, you realize how drunk you are when you try to cling onto Cairo's chair for balance but instead shove it, almost making her fall onto Mel.

Cairo looks up at you, genuinely confused and still with a stupid smile on her stupid face, and when you glare down at her, you know your gaze is being so raw and unhinibited that you're not hiding away your rage.

That's why you can't bring yourself to apologize for the unexpectedly strong push, and instead just exit the living room.

Trying something new with this much inner thoughts :)

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