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"I love you," Kira tells Malia.
It's raining, fat drops of water that almost hurt when they hit Malia's face. Malia inhales the smell of wet dirt from the forest around her, wet pavement from the road. The wind picks up, blowing Kira's dark hair all over her face. Malia's so close that she can see the water droplets sticking to Kira's eyelashes.
"I love you, too," Malia says, easily.
Kira lights up, her smile wide, her laughter bright. She takes Malia's hands and spins her. The world narrows down to Kira's laughing face and the swirling green of oak leaves. The rain is warm on Malia's face, her hair heavy on her neck, soaking into her shirt.
They stop spinning. Kira's out of breath. Her hands shake in Malia's, and her face is so close, it's only natural that they close the distance between them. Kira shivers in Malia's arms, her fingers tight in Malia's shoulder length brown hair. She's insistent, impatient, as she kisses Malia.
"I love you," Kira insists, when they break apart.
Malia laughs, delightedly, and pulls her in again.
***
Kira asks Maila out when they turn twenty-one.
They're sitting on a dark blue blanket, out in the Beacon Hills Preserve, the sun warm, the forest quiet. It's the day after the full moon, and Malia's muscles ache as she stretches out on the blanket. Kira turns to her side, her hair falling over her shoulders. She smiles shyly at Malia.
"Hey," Kira whispers.
Malia looks away from the drifting clouds. "Hey," she says.
"Can I take you out for coffee, sometime?" Kira asks, her voice soft, but sure.
Malia used to think Stiles was it for her, back when she was sixteen, and everything she felt seemed too big to mean anything besides forever. She'd believed in love without understanding it, and when things inevitably ended with Stiles, she'd realized she hadn't quite known how to love, because she should have felt something besides relief when they ended. Not because she hadn't liked him, as she'd come to understand, but because, as all consuming as their time together had been, she and Stiles just weren't meant to end together.
So Malia had stopped trying to find who she belonged with. Not out of disappointment or disillusionment, but because there was too much going on. There were too many people to save, too many mysteries in her life to solve. It was a time where Malia was just beginning to understand that the love she felt for her friends was starting to feel like the love she felt for her father, and it confused her. She understands, now, years later, that people can come to love strangers in the same absolute way that they love their family. That strangers can become friends, and that friends can become family. But she hadn't known when she was sixteen, and she was too busy figuring things out to care to try anything after Stiles.
Today, she looks at Kira, sitting patiently on the blanket, surrounded by the swaying branches. Kira smiles at her, a little nervous, but mostly fond.
I'm ready, Malia thinks.
*
They break up, two weeks later, when Kira takes Malia's hand and kisses the back of it.
Kira's wearing a black dress that comes down to just above her knees, cinched in the at the waist, with a flowing skirt. Malia is wearing dark skinny jeans and a t-shirt.
"It's okay," Kira says, even though she's laughing at Malia. "I forgot to tell you we were going to a restaurant."
Malia stares down at her clothes, then at the makeup on Kira's face and the beautiful dress. "We never go to restaurants," she says.
Kira takes her hand, the bit of contact sending Malia's heart thudding in her chest. Malia has come to understand that she doesn't find that unpleasant. She closes her eyes and pretends to pout, as Kira pulls her along.
"We don't have to go anywhere," Kira says. "But I do want to talk to you."
Malia, who can't stop staring at Kira's legs, now that she can, walks closer, her shoulders rubbing against Kira's with every other step. Kira raises an eyebrow at Malia.
"What?" Malia asks, grinning.
"Stop that," Kira says, but she's smiling too.
They walk in silence, their hands the only point of contact. They don't look at each other as they make their way to Kira's house, but Malia can feel the heaviness in their silence. Her heart pounds, and she lets the tightness in her stomach fill her with heat. She takes a step closer to Kira's side, looks pointedly away when Kira turns to her.
"Malia," Kira says.
But Malia just speeds up. Kira keeps up with her for a couple of steps, before she tugs on Malia's hand.
"Hang on," Kira says.
Malia keeps going.
"Stop."
She does. "What is it?" Malia asks, finally looking at Kira.
Kira's angry, Malia realizes. It takes her a moment to process that, to really understand that Kira is mad at her.
"What is it?" Malia asks again.
Kira exhales, her anger rushing out of her with the same breath. "I want to talk to you," she says.
They're in the middle of the block before Kira's, in between the front of a white and blue house and a car parked by the curb. It's past eight, which means all the kids and the parents in the neighborhood are sleeping.
There's a block and a half to Kira's house.
"We can talk," Malia says.
Kira looks at her feet. "I want to do this right," she says.
Malia thinks of a warm bed and Kira between the sheets, her eyes closed, her cheeks red. "Okay," Malia says.
"I mean," Kira says, as though Malia isn't understanding something. "I want to do this for a long time. Me and you."
It takes Malia a second to break out of her thoughts and focus on what Kira is saying.
"I'm going to fall in love with you," Kira says. She gestures between them. "Do you still want to do this with me?"
It sounds too much like an ultimatum, especially when they've only been dating three weeks. Malia hears, you have to love me, too. She takes a step back, tries to school her face into something less horrified. From the look on Kira's face, she doesn't quite manage.
I like you. Let's do this, she wants to say.
"I'm sorry," she says, instead.
*
Kira won't look at her for days after they end things, and Malia can't make herself say anything that might make things better. She's furious and miserable, and she doesn't quite understand why. There's a constant ache in the center of her chest every time she thinks of Kira. When they're together, because they share all the same friends, Malia's filled with a yearning so strong, she starts leaving the room whenever Kira comes in.
At night, Malia keeps replaying all the times they kissed, how careful Kira always was, how soft her face felt in between Malia's hands. She thinks of their first date, about how shy Kira had seemed, even though they've known each other for years. They've saved each other's lives, fought things much scarier than Malia, and still, somehow, Kira had seemed almost afraid on their first date.
"I want to do this right," she'd said, before they broke up.
"I don't understand," Malia tells Scott, when it gets to be too much for her. "We'd only been dating three weeks."
Scott pushes a mug of tea into Malia's hands, and smiles a little sadly at her. "You've known each other five years," he says.
"It can't be that easy," Malia says, shaking her head.
Scott reaches across the table, his fingers just shy of touching Malia. She looks up at him, at his kind eyes, and nods. He's holding her hand when he says, "Sometimes, it is that easy."
*
They get back together because they're both miserable.
Malia laughs and picks Kira up in her arms. They kiss, hungry, angry kisses up against Malia's bedroom wall. Their teeths bang together and their hands fumble with buttons and zippers. They fall on Malia's bed, out of breath.
They fuck in Kira's bedroom. In the back of Malia's car on their way to watch a movie, in the bathroom of the movie theater, in a dressing room, in the bathroom of a restaurant. They're almost aggressive in the way that they can't keep their hands off each other, and there's something about it that's not sitting right with Malia.
She can't figure it out, doesn't want to ask in case she says the wrong thing and Kira leaves again. She thinks it can't possibly be anything, if Kira is content to go along with it.
Malia trusts Kira's judgement.
*
The second time, it's Kira who ends it.
"I can't do this," she tells Malia. "I can't just fuck you."
She spits the word out, as though it's something dirty.
"Hang on," Malia says. "I thought you were okay with this."
"No," Kira says, picking up her clothes and putting them back on as she moves away from the bed.
"Oh," Malia says. "You should have told me."
Kira glares at her from the doorway. "I did tell you," she says.
Oh, Malia thinks. Oh.
*
They start off slower the third time. Malia writes Kira letters, because saying what she feels is easier when she doesn't have to voice it. Kira buys her flowers in return, hides little gifts for her around Malia's house, so that Malia finds them at random moments.
They're very careful, both of them, of the things they say.
Neither of them mentions love, even though that's where they both know this is going. And it's easier that way, easier for Malia to pretend that Scott was right, that love is easy and uncomplicated. They go to movies, and hold hands in between the hand-rests. They walk hand in hand, or shoulder to shoulder, both of them gravitating towards each other, naturally.
"It's not easy," Malia tells Scott, when she and Kira have just passed their three week mark.
Scott smiles at her. "No," he says. "Of course it isn't."
*
Malia falls in love the same way she falls asleep. She closes her eyes, one day, opens them, and just knows.