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It crept up on her one day.
Navia and Clorinde were at their usual shenanigans. Navia would say something unequivocally stupid with a confident puff of her chest and Clorinde would bathe her in the warmth that radiated from her lopsided smile—oh, those dimples. Then, it would be Clorinde’s turn to say something silly, and Navia would laugh almost too hard. It wasn’t forced by any means, but people don’t normally laugh that hard over the mental image of a fish dangling from a fishing rod. This was a game of push and pull that spanned years, not accounting for the three years they spent apart. They had talked about it before, but ultimately decided that it wasn’t worth continuing to beat a dead horse. They didn’t forget, but they forgave, and that's what mattered.
Navia didn’t notice it at first—the way Clorinde’s laugh made her feel all fuzzy and warm, like she had pulled her into one of her very rare bearhugs. It was normally Navia handing those out, so whenever Clorinde would pull her into one it always sent her into a tizzy. Navia’s face started to feel hot the longer Clorinde talked—something about her most recent fishing excursion—and Navia couldn’t seem to focus. She blamed it on the sun beating down on them, and to some extent that may very well have been true. She tried to keep up for a few beats longer, but Clorinde was nothing if not observant.
Things fell quiet and Navia enjoyed the comfortable silence. She didn’t even notice Clorinde had stopped walking until there was a gentle but firm tug on her wrist. Navia spun around and saw Clorinde staring at her with a look of concern and Archons, she wished she could live in the moment forever. The slight crease of her brow would give nothing away to the average person, but this was Navia, she had grown up around this icy woman her whole life and, in turn, had learned a whole lot about the seemingly aloof beauty. Clorinde barely visibly expressed emotion at the best of times, hardly even smiling. This ordinary reflex was foreign on Clorinde, and it showed just how much she was worried, how much she cared.
“Navia, are you alright?” Clorinde had never sounded so sweet, or had she? Navia really couldn’t tell. Perhaps the heat was getting to her, as she started to feel a little lightheaded. Navia playfully swatted the woman’s hand away and very quickly stumbled, nearly falling over had it not been for Clorinde’s insane reaction time. Seriously, this girl was doing something to her.
Navia watched through bleary eyes as Clorinde fussed over her. Cute. No other word fit how Clorinde was behaving other than cute. Navia bathed in the tender care for a moment, letting her head swim with thoughts of her and Clorinde and wondered what the future would be like for them. They’d still be friends, certainly. Maybe they’d be living together, like roommates, possibly having a cat or two—Navia knew how much Clorinde loved those little creatures—and they could stay up late into the night playing their silly tabletop games as Clorinde expertly wove a story around the two like a hand-crafted blanket, much to Navia’s amazement. And maybe, when things dropped dark and the games were exhausted as were their cheeks from laughing too much, just maybe Clorinde would swaddle them under a blanket like how she used to when they were younger, and Navia would lean into the touch, closing the distance and—
Wait, what? Why would she be thinking of such a thing? About her best friend, no less? Was she that desperate for a partner? Perhaps she should’ve taken up a suitor...
Navia’s head lolled to the side—her vision was much clearer now, thank the Archons—and saw Clorinde’s adorable pout as she brushed Navia’s golden locks out of her face. That face was downright criminal, what with the things it did to poor Navia’s heart.
Then, it clicked, and everything was starting to make sense.
Was she falling in love, or had it always been this way?
“Navia, ma biche, are you alright? You’re worrying me now.” Navia’s heart soared.
Perhaps it has always been this way.