Girl-kissing, because this fandom needs it, with added boy-kissing for my own amusement. Rated for caution rather than necessity. Yay, sexual confusion!
Honeyed Heat
"You'll never get that guy," Mika says, "If you don't know how to kiss him."
She's right, of course. Mika's always right when it comes to boys and relationships, so much more wiser in such matters than Sumire, and the way she explained it was so very practical, so very logical. They're best friends, after all, and it's just practice. But still Sumire feels her face burn and her hands tremble; she tries to say I'm not sure about this but it comes out as a stutter and then Mika's leaning in close, long hair falling around both their faces, and all Sumire can think of is that she smells like honeysuckle.
They're in Mika's room, it's late afternoon in May and the sunlight falls hot and golden across the bed where they're sitting, and Sumire is being kissed by her best friend. Mika's mouth is sticky with lipgloss, warm, moving softly against Sumire's; one of her hands brushes against Sumire's burning cheek, pushes back the short thick hair and strokes gently. Sumire's hands are fisted by her sides, her breath caught in the back of her throat, her heart hammering and her stomach twisting itself in knots. What is this? What is this? Her chest tightens, aches; her mouth opens in a silent moan of confusion, and Mika's tongue slips in, wet and hot and oh.
Another moan, this one aloud, and an answering sigh from Mika, shifting, pressing them closer together so that Sumire can feel the curves of Mika's body against her own, the softness and warmth beneath her uniform blouse. Mika's other hand comes to rest below her waist, tightens momentarily on the jut of her hip, then dances up nervously, flutters over Sumire's ribcage and alights on the swell of her breast, fingers splaying to fit the shape of it. Sumire gasps, pulls away.
"I have to go!" she manages to say, grabs her book bag and stumbles out of the room before Mika can say a word. She makes her way home blindly, a jackhammer thudding in her chest, shame and bewilderment searing her thoughts. In her own bedroom, she crawls under the covers and cries, and doesn't know why. She can smell honeysuckle on her clothes.
The next day in school she says nothing, acts as if nothing has changed - nothing has changed, she reminds herself firmly - and if she sees wariness in Mika's eyes at first, she ignores it, and it quickly fades. Everything is the way it should be, and at least Sumire can now say that she's kissed someone. Even if it was just a practice.
---
It is perhaps two weeks later that she sees them on the roof, tangled together in the sunshine, Akane pinned between Hiiragi and the wall and his hand caught in Hiiragi's hair as if trying to drag him even closer. Their mouths are open and moving hungrily, their eyes closed; they look as if they're trying to devour each other, to make one person of the two of them. It's rough and fierce and beautiful, and Sumire watches for a few moments before quietly slipping away.
She's somewhat surprised to find that her heart isn't breaking.
---
Mika looks almost astonished to see her, as if it's been years since Sumire was at her house rather than a couple of weeks. She invites Sumire in a little hesitantly, and Sumire smiles.
They're in Mika's room again, and the sunlight is stark and sultry again, and Sumire is feeling more than a little overwhelmed. She's here, but she's still not sure what this is, what she wants it to be; she only knows she doesn't want it to be nothing. She doesn't want to forget about it.
"Hey, Sumire," Mika starts, her voice anxious-bright. "About that thing the other day, sorry if it freaked you out. It was just practice, y'know?"
Except her eyes say different, fearful and guilty, and Sumire still doesn't know what to do but she remembers the scent of honeysuckle and the sticky sweetness of Mika's lips, and how when she saw Akane and Hiiragi on the roof all she could think of was what she and Mika had done. She can scarcely breathe, can scarcely think, but she steps forward anyway, a fist clenching around her heart.
"I know it was," she says, and leans closer. "But this isn't."
She thinks that everything will smell like honeysuckle from now on.