Work Text:
It’s late in the afternoon on a Saturday when Malia finally, finally gets to go home. Her relief showed up twenty minutes late after she’d already been counting down the remaining work time in increments of five minutes. Rude, but what’s new?
She’s been awake since five-thirty in the morning, but really, she’s been awake for two weeks. She’ll have Sunday off, and Monday, and Tuesday. Three days in a row, a rare enough occurrence at her job, but it’s only because she’s been doing ten-hour shifts every day of the week. And the previous week. For someone who hates their job as much as Malia does, you’d think that the prospect of going home and doing nothing for three days, of turning her alarm off and forgetting that she’s an adult with responsibilities would have her thrilled, but the only thing she feels is how damn tired she is.
Malia stuffs her uniform in her locker, puts on her jacket and grabs her backpack, and then she’s out. She blocks the manager’s number immediately so she won’t be reached until her next scheduled work shift on Wednesday. Now she only has to make it home without falling asleep on the bus again, and then she’s free to enjoy a three-day coma. Like she fucking deserves.
“There you are!” Kira exclaims happily as Malia exits the back door. Kira is sitting on the hood of her car in the parking lot behind the shithole that consumes Malia’s life. “I thought they were never going to let you go.”
“Relief was late,” Malia murmurs. In her head she’s trying to figure out whether she forgot that she was supposed to meet Kira after work. Otherwise she doesn’t know what Kira’s doing at her work place as she’s getting off.
“Again?” Kira asks. She hops off the hood of her car and stands in front of Malia, looking at her exactly the way Malia hates to be looked at, with worry in her eyes.
“I’m getting paid for the extra twenty minutes,” she points out. It’s a desperate attempt to make it sound like her life doesn’t suck that bad after all, and she knows it doesn’t work on Kira.
For a moment, she’s afraid there will be more of that same old conversation, of the endless repetitions of ‘You have to stand up for yourself.’ and ‘You always let people walk over you.’ , but Kira spares her this time. Really, it isn’t even Kira who says these things, but if you hear them often enough you start accepting them as a general truth about yourself, and so Malia assumes Kira thinks the same thing as everyone else who’s met her.
Instead, Kira’s lips form a smile, soft and beautiful to look at, a smile that tugs at something inside Malia that she wishes she had the strength to push further down. “You’re free for three days now,” Kira declares, “and I don’t care who’s late or not, because in any case, they can’t have you. You’re mine now.”
“Kira,” Malia sighs, because it’s not fair to say things like that. Malia wishes it was true. The things she’d give just for the chance of it being true. They’re friends, but what Malia feels when she looks at Kira, when she listens to her talking, when she’s even just in the same room, it’s been more than friendship for a long time now.
“What?” Kira raises her hands in a gesture of innocence. “I’m serious. You’ve got three days, right? They didn’t somehow talk you into coming in any sooner than Wednesday, did they?”
“No,” Malia replies, although now that she thinks about it, she’s a little surprised herself.
“Excellent,” Kira smiles. “Because I’m serious. For the next seventy-two hours, you’re mine. Actually, yours. But also a little mine. I’ll explain in the car. Hop in.”
“Where are we going again?” Malia wants to know. It feels like she’s missing some context, possibly because she wasn’t listening when Kira told her about her plan or because she was half asleep, or because her brain has been a hot piece of garbage lately and she simply forgot.
“Away,” Kira says. “Doesn’t really matter where. The point is that it’s not here.”
“Can it wait until I’ve had a nap?” Malia asks. And a shower, preferably. And a meal that consists of something other than a half sandwich eaten during a five-minute break at work. And then maybe a second nap.
“You can sleep in the car, I brought your pillow.”
“You what?” Now Malia’s gaze wanders from the passenger seat she was going let herself fall into to the backseat where she spots a duffel bag, a basket filled with groceries and Kira’s backpack. “Seriously, what plans did I forget?”
Kira laughs softly at that before she gets behind the steering wheel and fastens her seatbelt, clearly only waiting for Malia to get in. “You didn’t forget anything, silly. I’m kidnapping you. You’ve been working way too much and I’m making sure that during these three days you get to yourself, you actually relax. So get your cute little self in here, we’re going on vacation.”
“I can’t let you take me on a vacation,” Malia says, shaking her head. She’s getting in Kira’s car, but she’s going to make her drive them home. She know Kira means well, like she always does, because she’s amazing like that, and the most wonderful friend to Malia that she could imagine, but this is too much.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” Kira says, “but you’re not taking this from us. You’ve got no responsibilities for these next three days, and neither have I. I’m not paying any money for any of this, except maybe the gas and the food we’ll need. Work needs to stop ruining you for a while. And I need to see you smiling, okay? We deserve this. There’s no reason not to go.”
Malia opens her mouth. And then closes it again. Kira has really thought it through, has anticipated every point she’d make against a vacation and prepared damn good arguments in favor of it.
“Sorry,” she whispers finally. “I’m sorry I’ve been working so much. I know I probably haven’t been fun to hang out with lately.”
“Don’t,” Kira says softly, she reaches over and takes Malia’s hand into hers, squeezing it. And then she simply keeps holding on even as she drives, operating the gearshift with Malia’s hand attached to her own, unwilling to let go. “Don’t say sorry when you mean thank you. You haven’t done anything wrong. What you’re trying to say is, thank you for giving me a break. But instead you’re saying sorry for needing one. Don’t do that with me.”
“Okay.” And just like that, all of Malia’s reservations are gone, she has zero arguments left against letting Kira take her wherever the hell she wants to. “Thank you.”
“Any time,” Kira whispers back. “Hey, do you want me to turn your seat heater on?”
“You’re going to make me fall asleep for real,” Malia warns her. It’s already nice and warm inside Kira’s car, same as it always is, in the car, in Kira’s bedroom, everywhere Kira wants to feel comfortable she needs a couple degrees more than room temperature.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like some sleep wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to you.” Kira presses a button and Malia’s seat starts heating up right away, warming her sore back and her tired legs. She gets the pillow Kira brought along for her and lets her head rest against it. A content smile on Kira’s lips is the last thing she sees before her eyes, unsurprisingly, fall shut.
Sleep doesn’t usually come easy to Malia. When she goes to bed at night, she tosses and turns for a long time before she feels comfortable. She stares at the ceiling a lot while her thoughts run wild, reminding her of every tiny little thing she could be ashamed of, replaying mistakes she’s made over and over in her head. She thinks about Kira, too, longing, yearning, aching. Imagining a parallel universe where they’re girlfriends. Remembering she only truly exists in this one universe. Crying while her heart breaks for the billionth time. By the time loneliness and misery have exhausted her, she has three, four hours left before she needs to get up again.
In the passenger seat of Kira’s car, everything is different. Broad daylight, the noise of traffic and the constant jerking and jolting of the vehicle should keep her awake, but she’s surrounded by Kira’s scent, she’s warm, she’s safe, she’s being held and taken care of. It’s the closest to peace she’s ever known in her life.
Waking up doesn’t feel the same way either with Kira’s finger lightly caressing her face, tugging at her hair carefully and putting it behind her ear. “Hey sweetie,” Kira says, “wanna continue that nap in a real bed? We’re here.”
Malia slowly opens her eyes. Everything is right and perfect for a moment, because in that blur of half-consciousness, Kira’s kind face and her gentle touches are all that exists. She offers a hand and Malia takes it, letting it help her out of the car and guide her to their destination.
“Wow.”
She has no idea where they are, or how long they were driving to get there. It could be anywhere, though, because the only thing she sees is trees in every direction. The ground is soft and covered in leaves and twigs. Birds are singing, single rays of sunshine are breaking through the thick roof of green above them. And then there’s the little cabin.
It looks like a house, but it’s tiny. It’s made entirely of wood, with two rocking chairs on the front porch and pretty little ornaments carved into the doorframe.
“This belongs to your family?” Malia has some difficulty picturing Mrs. and Mr. Yukimura spending their vacation in a little cabin in the woods in the middle of nowhere, not that it doesn’t look absolutely beautiful.
“My grandparents, actually,” Kira explains. “My grandfather built it himself. My parents had it renovated and modernized a couple of years ago, but I don’t think they ever actually spent any time here themselves. I know they never took me here, at least. But then again, it’s not really a place for a family. It’s made to disappear in.”
“Sounds perfect.” And Malia really thinks so. How many times in her life has she wanted to pack a bag and walk off into whichever direction to never be seen again. The job that’s killing her one day at a time doesn’t qualify as enough to keep her where she lives. If anything does, it’s Kira.
They stand on the front porch now, Kira’s hand on the door handle. In her eyes is something like excitement but softer. “Ready to disappear with me?” She asks. Naturally, Malia nods. As if she could ever say no to Kira. Not even if it wasn’t something so promising. Kira smiles and opens the door, gesturing for Malia to step inside. “Welcome, my darling.”
There was no need to sell Malia on a cute little cottage in the woods far from home and protected from civilization. She was in love the moment she opened her eyes to the beautiful scenery. And yet, the interior gives her even more feelings. The construction is really quite simple. There’s only one big room with a kitchen unit at one wall and a huge sofa at the other. In the middle, there’s a ladder leading up to what isn’t truly a second floor but more just a giant bed floating over their heads. Every wall has big windows with pretty, probably handmade curtains. There’s a thick carpet covering the floor and two stools by the kitchen counter.
Malia loves the place. There’s no luxury there, not a lot of space, nothing too expensive for her to be comfortable touching it. It’s mostly wood and leaves peeking in through the windows, fairy lights across every wall illuminating the place instead of an actual lamp. There are pillows and blankets piled on the sofa but most importantly, there’s Kira standing right beside her, who’s never been to the cabin with the family it belongs to but with her, with Malia because she chose to bring her there.
“I don’t know what to say,” Malia admits. She could tell Kira how thankful she is to have her in her life, but she doesn’t know words big enough for that. She could tell her how much she needed a break, that she’s saved by Kira’s existence alone, that she loves her, that she’s scared of losing her, that one day sooner or later she always loses something, or someone, or herself, that this one is the loss she won’t survive.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Kira interrupts her before her thoughts can spiral further out of control. “I know.” She doesn’t know all of it, but that might be for the better.
Malia sighs, takes her boots off to leave them by the door, planning to get a closer look at everything when Kira suddenly stops her with a hand gently touching her arm. “Wait,” she says, a grin appearing on her face, “I forgot to tell you. Real clothes aren’t allowed in here.”
“What?”
Kira points at Malia and the ripped jeans she’s wearing in combination with a black t-shirt and a purple and black plaid shirt over it. The shirt has been her protector against the world for about two weeks. She hopes it doesn’t smell too bad.
“You gotta take those off,” Kira says simply. “Jeans? Not that they don’t suit you, but they’re way too uncomfortable. I had a slightly different dress code in mind for these following three days.”
“And what dress code might that be? Because you didn’t exactly let me pack any clothes.”
“Glad you asked,” Kira smiles. “As I said, real clothes aren’t allowed in here anyway. All we’re going to wear from now on-” She reaches into the duffel bag and pulls out what seem to be their vacation outfits. “- are these.”
They’re pyjamas. Malia hasn’t slept in an actual pyjama in literal years, she just wears an oversized t-shirt to bed. She must have been a child the last time she even owned matching pyjama pants and shirts.
“Which one do you want?” Kira asks. Both pyjamas are colorful and patterned with button-down shirts, looking kind of ridiculous, but Kira seems one hundred percent serious.
“This one,” Malia replies, pointing at the green and yellow plaid one, thinking that Kira will look adorable in the red and white polka-dotted one. They hold eye-contact for a moment before they both begin to strip down until they’re in their underwear.
“Should we ban bras also?” Kira asks, not waiting for an answer. “Yeah, I think bras should be banned.” Without a second thought, she takes hers off and sighs.
Malia tries the same thing she’s always tried when seeing Kira half naked, which is not to think about the fact that she’s half naked. This is the girl she thinks is the most beautiful in the whole world, and she could look at her all day, not even because she’s a horny, touch-starved lesbian but because Kira is art in her eyes. Should she ever be so lucky, it won’t be like this, it won’t be stolen glances while getting changed, it won’t be dirty or forbidden.
“Beautiful,” Kira says when they’re both changed, reaching out to fix Malia’s collar, just the faintest brush of her fingers against Malia’s neck making her heart beat so much faster. “Have you eaten today?”
“You know I don’t really eat that much,” Malia murmurs, because Kira does know, because they’ve had the same conversation countless times before.
“And you know I’m going to cook for you and make you eat every day that we’re here.”
“You really don’t have to,” Malia tells her. She’s too big anyway, the flat stomach she had as a teenager has turned into a wobbly tummy that can’t be hidden unless she’s wearing oversized clothes. A work-out here and there would do her good and Malia knows it, but where is she supposed to take the time and energy from? More vegetables and fruit would probably help as well, but those are expensive and she’s not a good enough cook to know what to do with them.
“Do you want to continue your nap or do you want to keep me company in the kitchen?” Kira asks simply. No food is not an option, apparently.
“I’m helping,” she insists, “don’t try to stop me.”
“Fine.” Kira starts unpacking the grocery basket she brought, spreading food all over the kitchen counter. “We’re making lasagna. You can chop up an onion and some carrots for me. Do you want me to put on some music? Oh, and which wine should we open first? White or rosé? Sweetie, be careful with your fingers! I’d like you to keep all ten of them.”
With the music playing quietly in the background and Kira filling her glass with wine for the second time, Malia forgets about the rest of the world one shitty little thing at a time. Every laugh from Kira makes another one of her insecurities go away. They cook and snack on the raw carrots, drink and exchange stupid stories, smile and laugh and sing along to the songs of their teenage years.
As the lasagna is baking in the oven, the sun sets and it gets dark outside. Dark and silent. They’re no longer in town, there’s no traffic noise, no light on at a neighbor’s house, no chaos, just peace. The cottage is lit only dimly by the golden lights at the walls, giving it a soft, warm glow. Maybe the rest of the world has ceased to exist or maybe it’s the same as always. Either way, it doesn’t matter to Malia now. The stupid world can’t touch her.
“You know,” Kira says, giggling into her wine glass before she continues, “sometimes when you look at me like this - yeah, like this - I think you want me to kiss you.”
Malia knows it doesn’t count, because she’s a little tipsy herself and Kira might have had even more to drink, but for a moment, she wishes it did. She wishes she could just smile and admit that it’s true. That every single time she looks at Kira, no matter where or when or how, she wants her to kiss her so badly that it hurts. She can’t stop herself from grinning at the thought, but she isn’t drunk enough to forget there’s a difference between fantasy and reality, so she hides her face behind her palms as heat rushes up and reddens her face.
“Kira,” she complains, “you can’t just say things like that.” It’s unfair. And one day, it’s going to break her.
Kira looks disappointed, sets down her glass and moves closer on the sofa until their knees are touching. She peels Malia’s fingers from her face and holds her hands in her own, looking deep into her eyes. “Why can’t I say it, sweetie?” She asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “What if I mean it?”
Malia shakes her head. She can’t allow herself to think about it too much. “You’ve had too much wine,” she says quietly. “We’re friends, remember? We’ve been friends forever. And you always tell me you never want to not be my friend, right? And for the record, I never want to not be your friend either. That pretty much settles it, don’t you think?”
It breaks her heart to say these things to the most beautiful girl she’s ever known, but Malia isn’t going to make the mistake of letting herself believe in a fairytale that will be over in the morning. It’s tempting, but it’s not worth risking the best friend in the entire world, and not even Kira’s face right in front of hers is going to change that.
“You haven’t answered my question,” Kira says.
“What question?”
“When you look at me like that,” Kira explains, “do you want me to kiss you?”
Malia can’t think of a response that isn’t going to make her look like an asshole in one way or the other. “I think dinner might be ready,” she says instead. “You stay here and I’ll take care of the food, alright?”
She gets up but Kira holds her back by the arm. “I hate it when you do that. It’s like you think you can avoid having feelings by dodging conversations. Like you think you can fool me.”
“I know I can’t,” Malia tells her. “Tell me you still want an honest answer tomorrow when you’re sober and I’ll give you one.”
Kira lets go of her hand and crosses her arms in front of her chest instead, pushing her lower lip forward in an expression of her stubbornness. “Gonna be the first thing you hear from me in the morning,” she murmurs.
Malia turns away and towards the kitchen. She’s an expert at pretending that problems are solved when they’re indeed merely deferred, but it’s an easy thing to do when you always live under the assumption that your future self is screwed anyway. She busies herself by taking the lasagna out of the oven and putting it on two plates.
“I’m sorry if I made things awkward,” Kira finally says.
“You didn’t,” Malia tells her, but who is she kidding? It’s been silent in the little cabin ever since Kira mentioned the possibility of the two of them kissing. Silence is the worst thing she can imagine happening to them.
“I did,” Kira insists. “Didn’t mean to. This is still supposed to be your vacation. You’re supposed to relax. Anything else doesn’t matter anyway.”
“It’s fine. We can still relax. I mean, we’re already here at this lovely place.”
“Wanna watch a movie after we finish?” Kira asks. “I added every 2000s romcom and high school trash movie that Netflix has to your list. Thought Mean Girls could be our grand finale on Monday.”
“You really thought this whole trip through, huh?”
Kira shrugs and gives her a smile. “Of course. I’ve been waiting for this for literal months.”
“You’ve been waiting for months to take me here?” Malia assumed the whole operation was more of a spontaneous decision after seeing her not getting any rest or sleep lately. Apparently, she underestimated the lengths that Kira is willing to go to for her.
“It’s criminal that it took so long for you to get three days off of work.” Malia knows that it is, but that’s not really the point.
“Can we start with Easy A?” She simply asks, because thinking about what all the rest means might be a dangerous game.
Kira looks up at her and lets out a little laugh. “Sounds perfect, let me get my laptop.”
It really isn’t awkward between the two of them anymore then. Kira sets up the laptop on the coffee table in front on the sofa while Malia puts their plates in the sink. They sit next to each other, thankful for their pyjamas after they’ve stuffed themselves with lasagna. They share a dozen pillows and a huge, thick blanket. Five minutes into the movie, they both sink further into the cushions and closer to each other. Soon, Kira’s head is resting against Malia’s shoulder and their legs are entangled.
“Hey,” Kira says softly. By that time, it’s gotten so warm and cozy under their shared blanket that Malia is in a state of half-sleep and full comfort, feeling soft and unwilling to ever move again.
“Hey,” Malia whispers back.
“If I’m not allowed to ask the question you don’t want me to ask, can I ask a different one?”
“Depends,” Malia says, “are you trying to make me all confused and speechless again?”
“I don’t understand why that would be so bad for you,” Kira answers. “Maybe I want to be the one to make you speechless sometimes, you know.”
Malia can sense danger. “Kira…”
“Fine. Tomorrow, then. But what are you going to do about this, huh?”
Malia briefly wonders what the hell Kira is talking about, but then there’s a hand reaching for her own under the blanket, pulling it over into Kira’s lap. Kira turns it softly, presses their palms together, slides her fingers in between Malia’s fingers. It seems crazy that they fit, Kira and Malia, an angel and, well, Malia, a soul so bright and beautiful and soft and kind and then one that is dark and lost even on the better days. It shouldn’t work, and yet, in the shape of two hands intertwining, it works perfectly and naturally, like they were born with puzzle pieces at the ends of their arms and they were made to fit.
The truth is, nothing. There’s nothing Malia will ever do to stop Kira from taking her hand and holding it. There’s still a voice in her head reminding her that she’s being stupid. Friends hold hands. Nothing about it should make her heart race or her insides become all mushy. She wants Kira to hold her hand in a real way, but it’s okay that that’s never going to happen. She’ll take the alternative and pretend like it doesn’t kill her. Kira doesn’t ever have to know.
It’s an excellent strategy, and nothing could ever go wrong. She lets Kira hold her hand, and if Kira means it as a friend and Malia has long lost her heart, then so be it. Some time later, Kira snuggles up to her because she’s sleepy and seeks body warmth, Malia puts her arms around her, holding her entire world, but that’s just how it is. Sometimes a person uses you as a pillow while sleeping peacefully, out of friendship, and you look at them and think about how much you love them.
It’s okay. Love is a crazy thing if you think about it. Twenty-six years, and Malia has only loved one person like this. Nobody else, no matter how attractive, how intelligent or kind or funny or talented, will ever mean the same to her. She can look at other people, but she’ll never see the same in them as she sees in Kira.
Malia can’t really imagine anyone feeling the same way about her. But even if she someone managed to convince herself that she’s generally lovable, there are seven billion people inhabiting the planet. Three hundred twenty-seven million in the United States alone. Forty million in California. No matter for how long you continue breaking it down, there are too many people she’ll meet in her life for it to make sense that someone miraculously falling in love with her will be the same person she loves as well. It’s insane that some people manage to find love at all. And so it really isn’t a big deal if Malia won’t ever be one of them.
She looks down at a sleeping Kira and strokes her hair, smells her shampoo. “It’s okay if you don’t want it anymore tomorrow,” she whispers. “I promise I won’t be disappointed. And I’m sorry if I already fucked things up between us anyway.”
After the third movie from the list is over, Malia decides to take them both to bed before the sun can rise again. She brushes her teeth and watches Kira pretending to do the same. They climb up the ladder to the large bed where Kira immediately goes back to sleep, arms and legs wrapped around Malia, face rubbing against her shoulder. It’s okay if all of it goes away in the morning, but Malia isn’t naïve enough to believe it won’t kill her.
While Kira sleeps and dreams, murmuring noises that aren’t quite words into Malia’s pyjama, Malia stays awake. Her body is aching from how tired it is after all the work it’s been doing without proper rest. Her mind can’t sleep, though, afraid of losing any of the precious time she’s got before Kira will wake up and realize her mistakes, looking at her with regret visible in her eyes. And so she keeps staring at the sky through the large window above their heads, counting stars and running her fingers through Kira’s soft, silky hair.
By the time she absolutely can’t fight her body’s need for sleep anymore, the dark of the night is slowly turning into a softer shade of blue. Falling asleep entangled with Kira is one half of a lifelong dream, and if the waking-up part never comes, she will pretend not to be upset by it.
For once, Malia sleeps long and she sleeps soundly, without dreams interrupting her. The warmth of the bed and the sunrays feel too good to be true when she slowly comes to, but if she doesn’t open her eyes, she can lie to herself for a little longer. Just five more minutes. Or ten.
Malia rearranges the pillow in her neck until she realizes that it’s an arm. She’s instantly being pulled closer against Kira until Kira is breathing against her, chest heaving against Malia’s back. A second arm comes to wrap itself around her. Kira’s nose travels up her neck, nudging her ear cautiously.
“Are you awake yet?”
Malia groans. “No.”
“Nice try. You’re not avoiding me again.”
It dawns on Malia that Kira isn’t trying to get her to get up and make breakfast or get showered and ready to leave the cabin. I’m sorry, she thinks in her head, I’m sorry I fucked up and ruined our friendship. I never wanted this to happen.
Kira grabs her by the shoulder and then by her arm, pulling at her while Malia squeezes her eyes shut and then buries her face in her hands, hiding, whimpering because she knows this is how it ends.
“Sweetie,” Kira says softly, propped up on her elbow next to Malia, who’s on her back but behind her hands, in denial.
“Can you just look at me?” Kira asks.
Malia shakes her head. She doesn’t think she can.
Kira sighs. And then her body weight shifts next to Malia. And then she can feel something touching her fingers where they cover her eyes. It’s Kira’s lips, and they’re placing featherlight kisses on them, one side first and then the other.
“I don’t want you to hide from me anymore,” Kira says. “I know your life is chaos sometimes. I understand why you hide so much, I really do. But not from me. I want you to look at me.”
Malia slowly lowers her hands, if only because she needs to see the lips that just touched her with her own eyes.
“When you look at me like this,” Kira finally says, with a faint blush on her cheeks and uncertainty in her eyes, “I think that you want me to kiss you. When you look at me like this, I wonder if you see the same when I look at you. Because I do.”
She’s not really saying that…
Is she?
Malia doesn’t say anything for so long that Kira lowers her eyes, looking sad. A part of her wants to reach out and touch her face, tilt her chin up and tell her not to be sad, tell her all the wonderful things she truly thinks about her.
Something stops her.
“You got it wrong, you know,” Kira continues eventually. “When I said I didn’t ever want to not be your friend. I don’t ever want to be less than your friend. But I can’t even remember how long it’s been since I started wanting to be more than that.”
“Kira,” Malia gasps.
“When you look at me like this,” Kira starts again, catching Malia’s eyes with her gaze again, “do you want me to kiss you? No bullshit this time. Just yes or no.”
Malia takes in a deep breath. And then she swallows. She’s been pretending for so long. Really, pretending is all she ever does. Maybe she can pretend she isn’t scared of having her heart broken for a moment.
“Yes.”
Kira doesn’t kiss her right away. First, she releases the breath she’s been holding and lets her head drop to Malia’s shoulder. “Oh thank god,” she mutters, and then she starts giggling. She’s grinning when she looks back up and then they both have to laugh. It’s stupid, so stupid, spending years and years right next to each other, lifting each other up and catching another as they fall, longing for the same things, thinking that they’re impossible.
Malia takes Kira’s face in her hands and Kira grabs her by the collar. They’re both still laughing as they move closer. Their very first kiss isn’t a kiss at all, it’s just a big smile they’re sharing with their lips touching each other’s. The second kiss is a little shy, lacking any real pressure. The third one feels right, though, and so does every single one that follows. Not much later, Malia can’t remember anymore how she ever thought she could live without them.
In the end, it isn’t important. What counts is that she knows better now. Maybe it isn’t impossible to find that one in seven billion after all. Maybe, where you have to look is right in the middle of your chaos. And then allow yourself to believe.