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“Maybe they’ll just kiss you.”
She huffed, rolling her eyes.
“Instead of saying it to my face before doing it?” she complained crossing her arms over her chest, “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe for them it does.”
She sighed, tired of discussing it, but, even if for her it wasn’t logical, talking about the sudden letters that started appearing in her locker talking about unrequited crushes and sweet things murmured into her ear, they made her smile too honestly for her taste.
She had to admit that seeing the letters at first had filled her with annoyance, thinking that they were part of a bad joke from Lance or that some stupid had just mistaken her locker with Allura’s. But while the days passed and the daily letters that fell from her locker when she opened the door, the credibility from the scrawled-written words was even bigger.
The papers bled honesty, and she had never felt so grateful from something as stupid as being courted.
“Anyways, they should let me know,” she said with another sigh, taking one of the open letters and reading it quickly, “No one can hide for so long behind a piece of paper.”
She smiled at the praise to her new haircut in the letter, too focused on it that she didn’t notice her friend had stayed awfully silent.
“You’d be surprised.”
She hummed and left the letter fall back to the table top, wincing.
“I wouldn’t like it, you know?”
He leaned his chin on his hands, elbows perched on the table, and the wood creaked below his movement.
“What?”
She blinked, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. But it was obvious —the topic in discussion wasn’t something she’d share so easily with him, even after it has been popping up so many times that month because of the letters.
“To be kissed without them telling me.” She shrugged. “Or them kissing me without asking.”
He straightened a bit, tilting his head.
“Without asking?”
She grimaced, looking to the ceiling.
“I mean, what if I don’t like it?”
He arched an eyebrow, his mouth curving a little.
“The kiss?”
She felt herself blush.
“The kiss. Them. What they’re doing.” She gestured to the letters scattered between them, “I don’t like the idea of them kissing me just because they want to kiss me, without any regard and respect for what I want.”
He hummed, his expression contemplative.
“So you want them to ask you if they can kiss you.”
She blinked, taking a slow breath, but as much as she tried, she couldn’t do anything to calm down her heart.
“It’d be the ideal, yes.”
They stayed silent for a bit, and she looked down to the letters once again, feeling a bit intimidated and embarrassed for what she was about to say.
“Also, I haven’t been kissed.”
He didn’t answer, and she shrugged when she felt his gaze watching her closely.
“I wouldn’t want my first kiss to be stolen.” She frowned, “Much less if it’s from someone I don’t even know, as many letters they have sent me.”
A few seconds went by in complete silence, and she felt them like hours.
“I thought you liked them.”
She tried to ignore the deception on his voice, convinced it was just her imagination, and then shrugged, staring at a visible spot on the table through all the bunched-up letters over it.
“I’m flattered that they take time to do this,” she explained, “and it’s true that it cheers up my day. But I can’t say I like them.”
“Why?”
This time his tone was notorious, and she frowned, biting down on her lips, a bit confused.
“Because I don’t know them, Keith,” she said gazing up, “I can’t say I like someone if I don’t even know them.”
She saw him blink, later looking away and nodding, as if that thought hadn’t crossed on his mind. But there was something on his expression that she couldn’t read.
“Keith?”
He opened his mouth and closed it again, watching the scattered letters and then up to her.
“What if they’re someone you know?”
She couldn’t help her scoff, the smile on her lips flattening when his face kept serious.
“I don’t think so,” she answered, shaking her head, “Anyone that knows me knows that I don’t like romanticism.”
He tightened his lips, thinking for a second before leaning over the table.
“Do you dislike it, though?”
She frowned deeper, perplexed by the question. But she ended up doubting what she has been assuring for years.
“Of course I-”
“Or do you say it because you haven’t lived it?”
Her words got caught on her throat, blinking at the determination on his face, and she narrowed her eyes, now more suspicious.
It was true that she has never lived romantic moments on her short existence, and of course for a time she had wished to fall helplessly in love with someone and be requited with the same authenticity. But only person she has felt something for seemed to only look for nothing more than a friendship, so she was very skeptical and even grossed out by big romantic gestures that she saw other people experience around her. She tried to convince herself that she didn’t need them.
And she didn’t. She had herself, her personality and her intelligence. She knew she didn’t need someone to feel complete. But it could be sweet to experience.
“I don’t know,” she answered, looking down to the letters and sighing, “But I don’t need it.”
“But you appreciate it,” he said with a grin lightening his voice, and she looked back at him trying to not smile back.
“But I appreciate it,” she repeated, rolling back her eyes.
His smile widened a bit, and he scooted a bit closer, the papers rustling and the wood creaking.
“I have a question for you, Pidge.”
She hummed, suddenly feeling weirdly excited.
“Can I kiss you?”
She huffed, blinking and straightening her back, pulling some distance between him and the letters.
“Excuse me?” she scoffed, brow twisted in confusion, and he shrugged, downplaying it.
“Or do you prefer your secret admirer to do so?” he asked, ticking one of the letters with his finger, “If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t kissed anyone either.”
She scoffed again, this time leaving her breathless.
“Are you serious?”
“I am.” He nodded, staring into her eyes, “And I understand you don’t want to. I just thought you’d prefer to have options.”
“Options,” she deadpanned and he shrugged again, “There’s no good options.”
“Would you prefer Lance?”
“Maybe Hunk.”
“Then ask him.”
She stared at him for a second, narrowing her eyes, and then she leaned over the table again, this time closer than before.
“You really haven’t kissed anyone?”
“Try me.”
She wrinkled her nose and he arched an eyebrow.
“Do you think my secret admirer would be mad?”
“I think they would be very happy.”
She huffed and leaned a little closer, seeing his gaze fall to her lips.
“So it’s you.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t notice.”
A touch to her lips and she pulled away, frowning at the sensation.
“You’re bad at this.”
“I don’t think you’re any better.”
Another kiss and he pulled away this time.
“I think you’re the one bad at it.”
“I think I need practice.”
She felt the laugh against her mouth and pulled away when she couldn’t keep down her laugh. He stared at her for a second before, “I like you, Pidge.”
She grimaced, making a gesture to the letters on the table.
“You made it clear.”