Years passed. A lot of years, in fact. They weren't the playful, childish kids they once were. They were older and wiser...well, somewhat wiser. In reality, he was the only one that became relatively wise, while she remained her old, idealistic self. That may have sounded a bit harsh, but she didn't mind it one bit. As long as she could make her best friend smile, that was all she needed to be satisfied. And satisfied she would be...

...Because, today was her 18th birthday! Her father wasn't there, but her best friend was, so she didn't mind! Her father told her she wouldn't get as many presents as she usually would get because she was an adult now, and adults didn't have to recieve gifts because they could buy them themselves, but she didn't mind! He also told her she could have any cake she wanted, and she said she wanted a tiramisu instead, and her father was confused, but he gave her one anyway...so she didn't mind! She didn't mind a lot of the things that happened to her. That was fine!

"This tiramisu tastes velvety." her friend murmured, one hand holding the fork (which in turn was carrying a piece of fresh, bitten tiramisu), the other firmly grasping the book which she first laid her eyes upon all those years ago on that faint summer's eve. He sure likes that book, she thought, almost as much as he loves that pastry!

"So?" she asked eagerly, ready to take another bite of the pastry. "Do you like it here?" Once the bite was taken, she took her time to twiddle her times as she chewed, admiring the soft flavors as she awaited his response. As long as he didn't say something mean about whatever he thought about, everything would turn out fine and completely ordinary!

"...It is preferable to conditions elsewhere, that's for sure."

Huh? He didn't say he hated it, but...she didn't expect that. Out of all the things she expected from someone like him...no, no. This wasn't a problem. It may have not been ordinary, but...it was her birthday. She needed to make this work...for her very best friend, she'd make it work.

"Circi, did I startle you?"

Silence. For once, she didn't know what to say. At least he knew...right? He was still her friend. And...he always would be, right?

"My apologies. I just assumed we were close enough for me to mention that."

"Is...is everything okay, Wilfre?"

He didn't say a word. Instead, he put the fork down and opened his book, writing something into its pages. A part of her wanted to peer into his writing, but she did her best to refuse that call. What if it was something super personal, and if she knew about it he'd get mad, and then they wouldn't be bestest friends anymore! But...he thought he was close enough to her to mention that, so...but for her own sake, maybe it was best to stay put.

"Hmph, why can't I…" he muttered, just quiet enough so she couldn't hear him. She stared at the tiramisu. It was getting cold, and a good chunk of it was still left uneaten. This disappointed her. Tiramisu was best when it was fresh, after all. She thought about putting it away into the kitchen, but then he might notice that she had left his line of sight. Just because he could be distant doesn't mean he wasn't clever! And even if she didn't know what he was saying...would it really be worth it to hear everything he could say?

It would. Don't worry, Wilfre. I won't tell anyone else.

I won't.

"What are you doing?"

Both of them could feel the light above them flickering ever so slightly. There was tension. Just as there was tension years ago, that same feeling of uneasiness would remain. It wasn't meant to be like this. Weren't they supposed to be amicable with each other? And instead of a feeling of caution and tension, there'd be satisfaction and happiness. She liked it when he was happy. And...well...this was her 18th birthday! She could finally do the things adults could do...so why did she slowly stop feeling satisfied?

"Why do you need to know?"

Instinctively, she put a hand to her mouth as she could feel her face turning red. She didn't know what else to think. There was just...something about him that made everything swirl, turning common sense into nonsense, seeing into believing, making the ordinary...extraordinary. She could feel multicolored, prismatic butterflies (or dragonflies...perhaps moths?) in her stomach, begging to break free. The flickering light seemed rhythmatic with her uneasiness, becoming a predictable pattern—ironic, considering how she could never predict him. Anxiously, she lowered her hand, bracing herself for the response that could make or break everything:

"...I just assumed we were close enough."

That response seemed to break him. He looked down at his book, and then up at her, and then at the book, and then up at her yet again. The pen seemed to tremble in his hands, his ears slightly twitching. Then, mustering up the grace, he put down his book, then stood up, continuing his eye contact with her line of vision. She didn't expect this from someone like him...or maybe she did. Did she even care at the point? By now, she awaited his response, as heartbreaking as it could be. At this point, it didn't matter: everything was far from ordinary at this point.

At last, he spoke.

"We are."

And then she knew what exactly was extraordinary—him. And she knew what that meant: it was love at not-so-first sight.

Maybe being extraordinary wasn't so strange after all.