#cece singz

Yachi sighs as she leans back against the tree’s trunk, her eyes slipping shut as she fondly recalls your summer together.

Things had begun harmlessly enough. Hitoka had been humming as she shuffled into the girls’ showers, a song from the latest Disney movie stuck in her head. She was just about ready to properly sing it to herself when she heard a voice from a stall. 

“Hey,” she’d heard, “do you have an extra towel? I think I dropped mine in the hall. I can wash it and return it later, but…it’s pretty dire.”

To this day, Hitoka can’t remember seeing a towel in the hallway. Whether you’d just said it as a conversation starter, or if cleaning had just been passing through and gathered the item before she could even see it, she still wasn’t sure. (She was willing to bet it was the latter, though. You took long showers, much to her dismay when the two of you were trying to get ready for a night out. Who knows how long you had been in the stall before she had come in? The poor cleaning crew had probably picked up your towel an hour and a half prior to your meeting.) But she had given you her towel and hurried back to her room to grab a new one. When she came back, you were already gone.

She’d been a little miffed, honestly. It was just a Target bath towel, sure, but she liked those towels. They were really soft, and they were the pretty shade of blue her mother had always said made her skin glow healthily. She couldn’t believe she let some random girl steal her towel.

She finished her shower—still humming that damn Disney song, mind you—and returned to her room, but no sooner had she shut her door than a frantic knocking began against the thick wood.

She had opened the door to find you, a shy smile on your face as you presented her with a fluffy yellow towel.

“So,” you said sheepishly, shifting your weight from foot to foot, “I’m actually out of laundry detergent right now. I won’t be able to head into town to get some for a few more days. So for now, I figured I’d give you one of my towels.”

Yachi had squinted at you suspiciously.

“How’d you find my dorm?”

Your smile widened, and Yachi found herself surprised at the soft giggle you let out. 

“Your name’s embroidered on your towels, and it’s on your whiteboard out here. It wasn’t too hard.”

She remembers how humiliated she’d felt—leave it to her overprotective mother to embarrass her by doing something like embroidering her name on a damn towel without her noticing. But as she muttered a weak apology for something so lame, she couldn’t help but notice the way you had smiled at her, shaking your head as you insisted it was really sweet. 

A gentle smile sneaks its way onto Hitoka’s lips as she opens her eyes again, the memory of your meeting setting off the butterflies in the pit of her stomach that she’d grown all too familiar with since the beginning of the summer. 

She felt a little ridiculous, honestly. It felt rather juvenile to have a silly crush like this, complete with all of the butterflies and stumbling over her words when you were around. It felt even more ridiculous when she considered your relationship…or lack thereof. In fact, Hitoka was convinced that she was making a grave mistake as she waited for you in the shade of the massive oak tree, ready to confess her feelings towards you—even if she was sure it would mean the end of your friendship.

It would destroy her, really, losing you. She’d grown fond of your presence, however she could enjoy it. But there were so many things that had happened between the two of you that she just wasn’t sure of. Like…a few weeks ago, you had gone together to a party at one of the frats on campus. God, that party. 

The two of you had danced together all night, pressed skin to skin as you shouted the lyrics to every song at the top of your lungs. Cup after cup of cheap liquor passed between the two of you, and it hadn’t been long before you had smiled at Hitoka loopily and begun to sway a little too hard on the dance floor. She had called an Uber for the two of you and spent the entirety of the brief ride back to the dorm focusing on not kissing your forehead as you leaned on her shoulder. She’d carefully helped you into the building, fully prepared to settle you in your own room, when you’d pouted at her and asked to stay with her. 

“What if I wake up all drunk ‘nd confused? If I’m alone, I’ll prob’ly just go lookin’ for you, anyway,” you’d mumbled, tightening your grip on her. And how could she say no to you?

So Hitoka had guided you into her room. She helped you take your makeup off, setting your lashes carefully atop the unused dresser, and she hadn’t argued with you when you insisted on crawling into bed with her. You had snuggled into her, your head tucked into her neck. She spent the night fighting the urge to tell you she loved you as your breath fanned over her collarbone. When she woke up the next morning, you were sitting on the other bed wearing a blue dress she thought she had lost—you must’ve found it in the back of her closet. As she shifted, you looked up from your phone, smiled at her, and asked her what she wanted for breakfast.

Hitoka swears that was the night she fell in love with you. You had looked so sweet, wearing one of the oversized T-shirts for her high school’s old volleyball club as you clung to her in your sleep. She couldn’t stop herself from imagining waking up to such a beautiful picture of you every morning. It was too good for her to consider passing up even the smallest opportunity to experience that reality.

Your laugh floats across the courtyard, catching the blonde’s attention immediately. She watches as you wave at a classmate, a bright smile on your face. She catches herself mirroring your expression as you approach, completely unaware of her gaze as you pull out the compact mirror she knows you keep in your bag at all times. You fix your hair, rub on some chapstick—and then you’re looking at her.

It’s too late to look away when your gaze meets hers, and Yachi can’t help the embarrassed flush that decorates her cheeks as she lifts her hand in a little wave. You wave back, jogging the rest of the way over to her with that same bright smile stretched over your lips.

“Hey! Were you waiting long?”

Her throat is closing up.

“No, uh…I didn’t get here that long ago.” 

The lie burns at the back of her throat. She’s glad you hadn’t happened to decide to take one of your little campus strolls, or you would’ve seen her seated under the tree for about an hour before she even worked up the courage to text you to meet her.

You give a theatrical sigh of relief, wiping imaginary sweat from your forehead as you flop down into the grass next to her.

“Good. I really didn’t mean to be so late. I mean, I’d never leave my favorite girl waiting on purpose,” you reply, affectionately knocking your shoulder into hers. 

She laughs, knocking you back—and trying hard to ignore the soda-fizz that bubbles just behind her bellybutton when you call her your favorite girl. 

“Yeah, right. But I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to…ask you something.”

You face her fully, crossing your legs and locking your hands around one of your ankles.

“Shoot.”

This is it, Yachi thinks, it’s now or never. This will be when she tells you how long she’s been dreaming of feeling your soft fingers skate over her cheek as you pull her in for a kiss, of swinging your interlocked hands between the two of you as you walked to the campus ice cream shop for a date, of snuggling up to you every night to go to sleep. This will be when you tell her you feel the same way, that you realized your own feelings not long after, that you want to try being more than friends, too. This will be when everything changes for the better, when she kisses you properly for the first time and finds that it’s better than her dreams had ever let her even begin to imagine.

…isn’t it?

Or are you going to laugh at her, tell her that her confession was such a funny joke and that you aren’t even into girls? Are you going to tell her you should just stay friends and just slowly start avoiding her more and more? Are you going to break her heart into pieces under the oak tree where you’d first properly exchanged numbers, agreed to hang out, and truly become friends? Are you going to destroy her?

The mere thought makes the blonde hesitate, and she watches your expression morph into one of genuine concern. 

“Hitoka? Hey, is everything okay?”

You sound so worried about her, and that alone makes it even harder for her to loosen the words that stick to the back of her throat. Can she really risk losing you? 

The breeze picks up again, and if she listens hard enough, she can hear the echoes of your voice from the many talks you two had had under this very tree. The sound soothes her, and she takes a deep breath before she finally manages to look you in the eye again. 

“I like you.”

You smile at her, tilting your head as you give her a playful pout. 

“Aw, ‘toka, I like you t—“

“No, I like you. I have feelings for you.”

Your smile drops, and so does her heart. But it doesn’t matter—she has to finish what she started. 

“I’ve liked you since we went to that one shitty frat party in the beginning of the summer and you insisted on staying with me. I like how you refuse to hang out if the next day is your wash day, and I like how you’ll call me after to help you detangle. I like the way your nose crinkles when somebody says something you think is silly. I like that you wear tube tops all the time just because you don’t want to get darker and still have “one stripe of winter” on your shoulders. I like that no matter what, you do your best to smile. I…I just wanted you to know. It’s fine if you don’t feel the same way, but…I just wanted you to know.”

You don’t answer. You blink at Hitoka absently, and she can already envision the rest of her evenings spent alone, a permanently empty seat next to her at the dining hall as you do your best to avoid her completely. 

The breeze grows stronger—and there’s your voice again, echoing in her ears. She quickly begins to mourn that this will be the only way she’ll keep hearing her favorite melody. 

But then you smile at her and lean closer. 

“I like you too, Hitoka.”

The world falls silent. Her heart skips, the wind stills, and the Earth stops spinning. But you continue. 

“I was really embarrassed the morning after that party. I thought I’d been so obvious. I didn’t know how to bring it up…I was scared you didn’t even like girls, but…” 

You crinkle your nose, and Hitoka can feel her ears heat as she admires the sight. 

“…I guess I was scared for nothing, huh?” 

She can’t help it. She bursts into laughter, burying her face in her hands as tears of pure relief prick at her eyes. When she finally looks up, she rolls her eyes at you, reaching to tuck a braid behind your ear. 

“Yeah, you were.” 

You echo her laughter, albeit softer, and the sound makes her heart flutter in a familiar way. 

“Hitoka, can I kiss you?”

She feels her face warm, and she rips her hand away from your face so quickly she worries for a moment that she may have hurt you. Just as quickly, though, she leans forward, your lips just millimeters apart. 

“Y-yes….yes, please kiss me.”

Between a few stressful courses, kids who threw sand, and the lingering anxiety brought on by what she thought was an unrequited crush, the summer had begun to weigh heavily on Yachi’s shoulders. But when you kiss her, she’s suddenly sent back to early June. She’s dancing with you at that party, dressed in that skin tight red dress, and neither of you care who sees. You’re the only two people in the room—in the world.

Her heart slams against her chest when you pull away, giving her a shy smile that makes her want to kiss you all over again.