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Leaves billow in the wind, grass rustles under sneakers, clouds pockmark the vast blue, and Tome has a crush on Takane Tsubomi.
Takane Tsubomi stands afront a wooden bench, reaches her hand out, and thumbs the surface of Tome’s palm. Warmth rises in her cheeks, her heartbeat spikes. She unfurls her fingers and gently wraps them around Tsubomi’s till they’re both sharing heat.
Tome’s hands sweat, because this is the most game she’s gotten since Inukawa kissed her for a dare (and, in all honesty, that was easily the worst experience of her life.) Not only that, but Tsubomi’s eyes shutter and swim like a deep lagoon, like if you stepped inside them you’d snap under the water pressure.
“You like me,” Tsubomi observes, staring down at their intertwined fingers, the hint of a smile curving at her lip.
Tome coughs. “Wow, what clued you in, Takane?”
“Tsubomi,” she says, her smile spreading wider as her eyes flick back up to her, “you can call me Tsubomi, if you want.”
“Ha, uh,” she clears her throat, “yep, yep, thanks… Tsubomi.”
Tsubomi leans into her space until their noses brush and their eyes bore into each other. Tome’s chest contracts, flutters, warmth skittering through her veins, breath becoming shallow. The dark haze of Tsubomi’s eyes traps her, and then lips are on hers, soft but assertive.
She clamps her eyes shut, squeezes Tsubomi’s hand, breath tightening in her throat. Their noses still bump, so Tsubomi tilts her head for a better angle, but their lips remain unmoved. Tome has no idea what to do, all of her limbs jagged and awkward on her body, her face aflame.
She’s been friends with Tsubomi for five months, or six, she wasn’t counting, and somehow this just feels like another step in their friendship. Even if that means stepping into a new label—one Tome’s mind doesn’t dare utter…
Tsubomi breaks apart from the—well, it couldn’t really be called a kiss, maybe a press of lips—staring at her from under her eyelashes. Tome’s hands tremble. The word scampers through her mind unbidden: Girlfriends.
“You’re not very good at kissing.”
“Well, I’ll have you know—It’s my first one.” Technically a lie, but, also, Tome doesn’t want to count that as her first kiss. She cringed.
“I know,” Tsubomi giggles, pressing her nose against Tome’s, the navy sheen of her hair curtaining her shoulders. A smile trembles its way onto Tome’s lips.
Birdsong floats through the trees, the air crisp and clean at this secluded little park, and Tsubomi’s breath smells like peppermint.
“We could try again,” Tome mutters, sniffling through a tingling nose (damn allergies.)
“You’re right. Practice makes perfect, Tome. You can do it.”
Tome clicks her tongue, looking away. “You don’t have to give me a motivational speech about it.”
“But you just look so cute when you’re embarrassed.”
Tome grumbles, coming up short with words, and instead puts her thoughts and feelings into a clumsy, terribly angled, extraterrestrial, perfect kiss.