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Kozue would always keep an eye on things around her when she kissed boys. She never got much out of the activity, after all—they never really knew how to do it, too much or too little, and the same was true with their lips: either dry, even cracked open like an egg and where Kozue could feel the blood against her own lips and tried not to let her grimace show in how she kissed; or too wet, too slobbery, disgusting and messy in a different way. They always grabbed at her like a starving man grabbing at his last bit of food, and with little regard for all the places they pinched and prodded and whether it felt any good for her. She wasn’t really sure why other girls did this for fun.
It didn’t matter, because she wasn’t doing it for herself or even for the boys. She was doing it for the audience. She was doing it—as she let her eyes stray about to find, while the boys obliviously sucked at her neck—for her brother. If she couldn’t excel in the ways he prized, she could keep his attention by being everything he despised.
If she couldn’t have the bond, the love they had as mirror images of each other as children, always together, always playing, always a matched set—then she’d make him hate her.
It never seemed to work well enough. She had to up the ante.
Girls were the next logical option, of course. The only thing more scandalous than a girl who spread her legs for every boy who wanted her, was the one who was found with another girl. The other students told stories about those kinds of girls, and Kozue wanted to be one of those. She wanted Miki to hear them, hear the sound of his sister’s name next to some other girl’s on someone’s lips and gasp—
And what better, more scandalous, more apt to dab at his attention like a stained spot than to do it with one of his fellow Student Council members?
But Nanami was different. She was every bit as haughty in Kozue’s arms as in the halls, of course, but she channeled her confidence into pleasing her. With how Nanami pushed tiny little kisses onto her cheeks and her lips and temples—pecking, incessantly, needily—and the way her hands caressed through all the curves of Kozue’s body like a well-worn map—
Later, Kozue would think that she should have expected that another girl would be better. If it’s a body like your own, then you know, right? What feels good. What the other one will like.
Yet Nanami seems to unlock parts of Kozue that are distinctly her, that even she didn’t know she possessed. And Kozue can’t summon the same confidence in return. If Nanami is charting a sure course, she’s a ship lost at sea—adrift as she weaves her fingers between Nanami’s soft curls, and yet the other girl moans and sighs and says it’s wonderful, oh so wonderful…
So she must be doing something right.
When they settle down and her brain comes back online, and Nanami is just lying there with her, and Kozue is letting her fingers’ paths slow…. She realizes she didn’t look. She never checked to see if her brother—or anyone else—was watching.
She takes a quick frantic glance, but finds no one.
And finds she’s okay with that.
She thinks she’s finally found something she might like to do again, just for fun—for herself—when no one’s looking.