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Firefly didn’t do dates.
Not the real kind. Not the kind where someone waited outside a restaurant looking like a daydream you weren’t brave enough to believe in.
But there Stelle was, standing under the soft glow of the evening streetlights, her silhouette clean and sharp against the amber-lit city. Her high ponytail swayed lightly in the breeze, hair slicked back just enough to look deliberate while still catching soft curls at the nape of her neck. Her rose-gold eyeshadow shimmered in the light, a subtle contrast to her otherwise sharpened angles.
She wore a cropped black jacket, rolled sleeves showing off lean arms, over a fitted mock-neck top. A tight black skirt hugged her hips and ended well above mid-thigh, and beneath that, the faint flash of a powder-blue garter teased from under the hem when she moved just right. Combat boots added height, grounding the outfit with a kind of hit-me-and-I’ll-hit-harder energy that Firefly felt in her chest.
This wasn’t dorm-room Stelle. This was intention.
And Firefly saw her. Really saw her.
By contrast, Firefly had gone with what felt safe: her brown blazer over the familiar green-and-white dress, yellow bow slightly off-center. Her silver-blonde hair with teal ombré was swept into a practical knot, though a few strands had escaped and framed her face. Her thigh-high stockings faded from teal to dark brown, trimmed in gold, and her black heels still carried the scuffs of old battles. The green gems at her ankles glinted under the streetlight, but she hadn’t dressed to impress.
She’d dressed like herself.
The scar across her collarbone peeked out from under the ribbon-tied neckline, catching just enough light to draw attention.
“Hey,” Stelle greeted as Firefly approached, voice low and warm, like smoke curling off a dying ember.
Firefly blinked. “You clean up.”
A slow smile curled across Stelle’s lips. “You say that like I’m usually filthy.”
“You’re not usually… this.”
“Charming?”
“Shiny,” Firefly muttered.
Stelle stepped in, just close enough for Firefly to catch her scent—spice and something floral, heat softened by sugar.
“Guess I wanted to impress you,” Stelle murmured.
“Why?” The word came out softer than Firefly meant it to.
“Because,” Stelle said, meeting her eyes without flinching, “I like you.”
Firefly’s heartbeat stuttered once, sharp and foolish.
———
The restaurant was all dusky wood, warm lighting, and the low hum of ambient music. A wall of glass bottles glittered behind the bar like stained glass for sinners.
Firefly slipped into the booth across from Stelle, immediately scanning the layout.
“I definitely can’t afford this,” she muttered.
“It’s covered,” Stelle replied with that confident smile. “I know a guy.”
“You always know a guy.”
“Let me have my mysterious hot girl privileges.”
The waiter came and went, glasses clinked, silverware gleamed. But there was a tension below the surface—new, taut, intimate. Their knees bumped under the table and neither pulled away.
Stelle leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on one hand. “You have a tell.”
Firefly raised an eyebrow. “Do I?”
“You always check the exits. Twice. Right when you walk in.”
Firefly didn’t smile. “Old habits.”
“Flameborn instincts?”
“Trauma,” Firefly corrected softly.
Stelle paused. “I grew up alone,” she said. “I look for silence like you look for danger.”
They let that settle between them.
Then Firefly spoke again, voice low. “Is that why you don’t let people in?”
“Is that why you cover your arms even when it’s hot?”
Firefly stilled.
Her sleeves were rolled up tonight—an uncharacteristic choice. Pale skin crisscrossed with old scars. Some were clean, almost surgical. Others jagged, uneven. Together, they made a mosaic of hurt.
She waited for Stelle to flinch.
Instead, Stelle reached across the table, hand slow and deliberate, fingers ghosting just over Firefly’s forearm. She brushed one of the longer lines with the pad of her thumb.
“They’re not ugly,” she murmured. “They’re you.”
Firefly’s pulse kicked up.
“You always flirt like this?” she asked, voice low and warm now, shaped like smoke.
“You bring it out of me,” Stelle said, gaze unwavering.
Something in the way she said it—intimate, unrushed—made Firefly want to lean across the table and ruin her lipstick.
They walked after dinner with no real destination, just movement, their bodies echoing the rhythm of the city around them. Pavement cooled beneath their boots, and the low glow of neon signs shimmered in the rain-polished streets.
Stelle had shed her jacket and draped it over her shoulder, revealing the toned lines of her bare arms. Pale skin, dusted lightly with freckles, glowed soft under the city lights. Her skirt swayed as she walked, each step a study in controlled chaos, like she was always about to dance and never quite did.
Firefly glanced at her, then away.
Then back again.
There was something dizzying about this version of Stelle—looser, bolder, like she was vibrating just beneath her own skin. Something… off, but not in a bad way. More like extra oxygen in the lungs. Something dangerous in how natural it felt.
“You ever wonder what we’d be like without all of it?” Firefly asked, voice quiet.
“The past?”
“The damage.”
“No,” Stelle said without hesitation. “We’d be empty.”
Firefly looked over, her silvery-blonde hair catching the wind, teal ombré strands fluttering along her back like ribbons torn from something softer. “You say that like it’s obvious.”
“It is.” Stelle slowed her steps. “Everything I’ve survived taught me how to want more. Not just survive.”
“Want what?” Firefly asked, stopping completely now, her boots scuffing to a halt.
“Closeness. Connections. People.” She turned toward Firefly, eyes low-lidded and shining. “You.”
Firefly’s mouth went dry. The air between them buzzed with something heavier than before. Something low and coiled.
She looked down, then up again, met Stelle’s gaze and felt it like a touch. Their hands brushed again, instinctively.
Firefly reached out this time.
And Stelle didn’t just take her hand—she stepped into it.
Firefly felt the shift before it happened. The slow narrowing of space, the shared breath, the gravity pulling them inward like magnets giving up the fight.
Stelle’s hand slid up her arm, slow, steady, until it cupped the side of Firefly’s face. Her thumb brushed gently across Firefly’s cheekbone. The touch was reverent. Barely there.
Firefly’s eyes half-lidded. “You’re not subtle.”
“I’m not trying to be,” Stelle whispered.
Then their mouths met.
It wasn’t polite. It wasn’t shy.
It was hungry.
Firefly’s fingers fisted in the fabric of Stelle’s top, pulling her closer as their bodies aligned chest to chest. Stelle kissed like she knew how—confident, slow at first, then deeper, her lips parting just enough for her tongue to taste. Her hands curled around Firefly’s waist, drawing her in until there was nothing left between them but friction and breath.
Firefly made a soft sound into her mouth, a half-moan, half-sharp inhale—and Stelle answered it with a deeper kiss, guiding them back against the side of a quiet building. Cool brick met Firefly’s back, but all she felt was heat.
Hands roamed. Not fast, but searching. One of Stelle’s slid down Firefly’s side and rested at her hip, anchoring her there. Firefly’s own hand curled in Stelle’s ponytail, tugging lightly, earning a quiet, amused gasp against her lips.
It was only a kiss.
But it didn’t feel like only a kiss.
It felt like confession.
When they finally pulled apart, neither moved far. Their foreheads touched. Their breaths mixed.
Firefly didn’t open her eyes right away.
Stelle spoke first. Her voice was ragged silk. “Still with me?”
Firefly blinked, dazed. “Barely.”
Stelle smiled. “Good.”
The kiss echoed in Firefly’s skin—on her mouth, in her ribs, along the line of her spine like memory curling inward.
And in the back of her mind, something whispered that it had felt a little too good. A little too perfectly placed.
But she ignored it.
For now.
She laced her fingers with Stelle’s again and walked on.
———
It started with a hesitation at the stairs. A pause, a glance that felt too calculating. “Stelle” didn’t walk like she usually did—she glided, almost. Lighter than she should’ve been.
Then the elevator dinged.
And the real Stelle stepped out.
Sweats. Hair tied up haphazardly. Mug in hand.
“Hey,” she said casually. “Oh—did I miss something?”
Firefly blinked.
Twice.
Then turned back to the “Stelle” she’d just spent the entire evening kissing.
Who shimmered like a heat mirage collapsing.
And Sparkle stood there.
Of course. Of course.
All color and mischief and too-bright eyes. Her short red kimono hugged her body like sin, gold and cherry blossoms embroidered across every inch. Her twin pink-dipped pigtails bounced as she smiled sheepishly. The white kitsune mask tilted atop her head, a bell chiming in her hair.
“…Hi,” she said.
Firefly blinked. Then again. Her voice cracked. “You—you were her?”
“In my defense, you had a really good time.”
“You kissed me—!”
“I meant it,” Sparkle said, a little breathless now. “Every second of it.”
“You lied.”
“I loved you,” she said simply. “I just didn’t think you’d see me unless I looked like her.”
Firefly turned to the real Stelle. “And you just let this happen?”
“She borrowed my jacket,” Stelle said. “And she’s smooth as hell. Hard not to admire the commitment.”
“You knew?”
“I also know you’ve been watching her,” Stelle said, stepping beside her. “When you thought I wasn’t looking.”
“I have not—”
“You stared at her lips all week,” Sparkle said. “It was cute.”
Firefly flushed.
“I’m not ready to forgive you,” she muttered, glancing between them.
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Sparkle said softly. “But I hoped you’d still want to try.”
Stelle reached for her hand again.
So did Sparkle.
And Firefly didn’t pull away.
“You’re both going to ruin me.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Stelle teased.
Firefly sighed. “Get inside. Before I change my mind.”
They followed.
And Firefly didn’t think about exits anymore.
———
(Bonus)
She shouldn’t have done it.
She really shouldn’t have done it.
But Firefly looked at her like the world had narrowed to just her mouth, and Sparkle, wearing someone else’s face, was drowning in it.
The kiss hit like a drug. Like being held in sunlight. Like warmth she didn’t deserve.
She felt Firefly’s hands on her waist. Her fingers in her hair. Her lips, her tongue.
And for one impossible, perfect moment, Sparkle let herself pretend that Firefly knew it was her.
She kissed back with everything she had.
And then, when Firefly moaned, soft and unguarded, something broke inside her chest.
When the kiss ended, and Firefly leaned her forehead against hers, breathing heavy, Sparkle almost confessed.
Almost whispered: It’s me. It’s Sparkle. Not Stelle.
But she didn’t.
She walked beside her in silence, every nerve screaming, skin still burning from Firefly’s mouth.
Later, in the hallway—when the mask dropped—Sparkle knew she deserved the look on Firefly’s face.
But she would never forget the moment when Firefly kissed her like she meant it.
And nothing, nothing, had compared to the real thing.
When Firefly pulled back, she was flushed and breathless. Her voice was low. “Don’t make me regret this.”
“You won’t,” Sparkle whispered, fingers still curled in the fabric of Firefly’s dress.
And she meant it.