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Having a crush is so complicated.
No, seriously. It has to be one of the most under researched topics in the history of the historic universe– because no matter how calculated (which is quite broad) keywords An could type into the search bar, there hasn’t been a singular scientist on the case of FILWYOP. What may that be? None other than the infamous form of crushes: Falling In Love With Your Own Partner— Oh.
The lack of research would make sense, An swipes away the tab and sighs in another loss (an undiagnosed disaster disguised as a blessing? A win as it is a life-ending crisis). Although a part of her says to drop it (the more sensible part of her mind), the other part of her screams that this couldn’t possibly be fictional.
This is incredibly serious. An knows it for sure (?).
Any unaware individual would assume an economic crash had just occurred. “I assumed there would be at least one similar documentation?” She says, tossing her phone aside in place of the obvious– the girlfriend who is the subject of her crush. “Maybe I'm the first recorded case in history.. oh, gosh. What if it’s contagious?!” An speaks above the average tolerated voice level, fully wrapping her arms around her girlfriend’s torso as if the world were to be crumbling under their feet.
Kohane. A girl who has been with her through thick and thin, associated with all things devastatingly sugary sweet– she herself also happens to be the candy and marshmallows that has An in a consistent sugar rush. Incredibly fatal. All the more worth the eventual crash that brings An straight back into square one (aka: within Kohane’s proximity).
Alongside being sweet, Kohane is also the pinnacle of fine knowledge and basic common sense. With such revolutionary talents, she’s quick to ease An’s concern with a few simple words. “I don’t think I’d mind being infected.” Well. Actually, there’s a low success rate on most days.
Something about her girlfriend had changed so rapidly these days. The way her voice could remain so fluffy and adorable but her words can strike directly through An’s heart within the matter of seconds. “Woah–” She looks straight at Kohane, then falls back into place in no time. “Ahhh– You’re surely not saving my case, Kohane!”
Falling in love with Kohane was like stepping into a puddle. An’s shoes end up soaking wet, similar to how her face was when she cried about the love she thought was unrequited back in high school. It was requited. Her shoes were still wet. Kohane is the love of her life. The shoes are wet. Kohane is her precious girlfriend who regularly buys animal shaped pastries from the local shop and smiles with a hand hovering over her mouth which is single handedly An’s ultimate weakness. Oh, and the socks got wet too. She’s mesmerized. She’s so in love.
Although this was quite a common theme in An’s world– it would be easier to say that this has since become more extreme, leaving out every primary details. Like how Kohane’s charm makes her jaw dramatically drop, or how she permanently sees the world as a place covered in glitter and cute sprites, or just the plain fact that she’s feeling every single emotion simultaneously only by being in her presence.
Okay. That’s all a bit dumb. But it’s true.
Because Kohane is simply that girl for her. The one to make her question what is normal and what isn’t. To have her stalk matchmaking websites just to see if they have a high probability. A girl that makes her think of stupid metaphors and generally melts her to the ground, all in the name of what would be a dangerous love.
Once again. Definitely not helping her current case, but neither is Kohane’s laugh so that is that. “Alright, on a serious note,” She says with a not-so subtle control of her laughter. “An-chan, I can promise you that you aren’t sick in any way, let alone contagious.” She ensures with a coo, stroking An’s hair in careful strides.
Despite all of Kohane’s affectionate reassurance, An swears that her condition is only getting worse. As if the doctor was writing her symptoms with a glittery pink pen and prescribing her with twenty-four hours of pining daily (scientific evidence states that direct contact with the cause sometimes helps. Only sometimes )– which would make zero sense because pining is physically impossible in a relationship.
There’s just no logic in her words, and her thoughts are nothing more than imaginary bubbly clouds that hover over her head. After all, there’s a pretty good reason for her to not be a doctor, especially when she insists that she caught an illness (FILWYOP) every weekday. “That’s good.” An murmurs against Kohane’s sweater. “If it was, we would have to practice keeping distance. That’d be bad. Really bad.”
“It really would.” Yet again, she stifles another laugh– still managing to entertain An’s hypotheticals despite the silliness of it all.
It takes a brief few seconds of settlement to have An stop worrying about her own proclaimed illness (which was allegedly being too much in love? Yeah, she’s confused too). She watches Kohane’s lashes flutter one last time before nuzzling into the crook of her neck, attempting to ignore the burning sensation on her cheeks as she settles back into place for the millionth time that day.
Really. Times like this seem to always feel like the first, feeling Kohane’s knuckle drift over her bangs as she murmurs unintelligible words. Making her heart skip an abnormal amount of beats and make her stomach have the same uneasy feeling of being at the top of a roller coaster drop. Excited. Nervous. Out of her damn mind.
Such a needless discussion it was– because there’s a high chance she knows that a crush on a partner was more like idiotically admiring Kohane beyond an acceptable degree. Then again, is there really such thing as a standard when it comes to too much?
Kohane says no. Society says maybe.