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“Is that my sweater?”
Malia’s head shot up from rummaging through her bag, her eyes narrowing on Kira from across the table.
Final exams were fast approaching, and Kira had offered to drag Malia with her in the early mornings before classes started to study. Which, evidently, was more so Kira quizzing and constantly coasting Malia in doing calculus problems than actual mutual studying.
“Yeah,” Malia draws out, her brows furrowing at the question. “I’ve been wearing it all day. How have you not noticed?”
Malia doesn’t take into account the beet-red hue of Kira’s cheeks at that, or how her eyes cast downward. But she can smell the bitter scent of embarrassment, so she glares.
“No, uh,” Kira fumbles with her words. “I- I noticed. I just, um. I didn’t-”
When Kira finally makes direct eye contact with her, Malia is confident she hears the whimper in the back of the girl’s throat.
“I’m surprised.”
Malia blinks. On the mornings she has study sessions with Kira, she usually spends the night at her place, falling into bed together after whatever exhausting day they’d had (Kira’s usually is from lacrosse, Malia’s from simply existing), taking pleasure in the familiarity and comfort that is them. They don’t need explanations, not when Malia climbs through her window and toes off her boots, lifting up Kira’s covers until she’s enveloped in the warmth of them.
It’s pleasant, Kira always lets her be the big spoon, because she knows how much Malia loves the feels of her arms around Kira; they way she can hold her close and hold her hand, feel her heartbeat through her back. And Kira goes along with it because she adores the tickle of breath on her neck, and the way their legs tangle together in a mix of sheets and limbs.
And when they frantically wake up in the morning is also comical to Kira, how Malia will wait until the last possible moment to get out of bed, and then she is just this angry, grumpy girl stomping around and glaring about.
In her rush, though, Malia had taken Kira’s stripped black and blue sweater from the floor, throwing it on while Kira had called her from the front door.
“Why are you surprised?” Malia asks, a genuine concern in her voice. She’s almost certain it’s a normal thing for people to do, people like them. She constantly sees Allison wearing Lydia’s clothes, or when Scott and Stiles will wear something of Derek’s.
She tried to tell Stiles’ he couldn’t pull off the leather jacket, but he was not having it.
“Isn’t that what people who are dating do? Wear each other’s clothes?”
Kira’s face goes blank, completely, and her face more pale than usual. “We- we’re dating?” she stutters, her eyes growing wide, and Malia doesn’t even try and keep from rolling her eyes, despite how fumed Kira becomes.
“Yes. We’ve held hands,” She seems almost annoyed ta having to explain, which, well, Kira notices that expression on Malia a majority of their time spent together. “We sleep in the same bed at night. We spoon. You help me study. We do almost everything together. That’s pretty much dating.” Malia says dryly, going back to rummaging in her bag like she had just told Kira something as inconsequential as a her meal for breakfast. Which, she would never.
“But, uh, we’ve never kissed.” Kira mumbles, looking everywhere but at Malia when she lifts her head, her fingers toying at the edges of her calculus book.
“Well, I know you don’t like that stuff. So, we don’t have to kiss to be dating. I like you, and I know you like me. It can be that simple.”
Malia had vaguely remembered Scott trying to explain Kira’s sexuality to her a few months back, when they could both smell her admiration towards Malia. He told her Kira was asexual, and though Malia could never remember the name, she knew that it meant Kira wouldn’t have sexual desires toward her. Though, romantic was a different story.
Frankly, Malia could care less. She liked Kira, and the way she smelled, and the way she always got excited about everything. She was such a contrast from her own personality, it made her want to be better. Kira made her better. So, she’d be happy with her any way.
When Kira didn’t respond, Malia had to toss her bag to her floor and meet her eyes, but to her surprise, Kira was smiling. All wide and bright, the ones Malia loved the most. The was emitting pure light, and Malia was drawn like a moth, a small smile forming on her own face.
“Okay,” Kira said, softly, practically bouncing in her chair, cheeks rosy. “So, is that why you wore my sweater? Because we’re dating?”
Malia’s cheeks must have gotten red, because Kira instantly looked concerned.
“What?” Kira prodded.
“It’s because…” she hesitated, “because it smells like you. I like how you smell.”
Malia couldn’t tell if she was going to laugh or cry, but the look on Kira’s face was one she wanted to rip off, the smug loser.
“You like how I smell,” Kira repeated, but her smile was enough to turn Malia into mush in a high school library.