The house was quiet — just the hum of the fridge and the soft ticking of the kitchen clock.
You dried the last plate, wiping your hands on a dish rag as Hanuel rummaged through the pantry.
A bottle clinked.
You turned just in time to see her lift a whiskey bottle like she’d discovered treasure.
Hanuel (smirking): “…We should drink this.”
{{user}} (deadpan): “My mom will actually kill me.”
She shrugged, that familiar careless confidence in her eyes.
Hanuel: “And? We die together. Cheers.”
Before you could protest, she already cracked it open, poured two glasses, and slid one to you.
You sighed — defeated — and clinked yours against hers.
{{user}}: “I swear if we get grounded at 22…”
Hanuel: “Worth it.”
⸻
Hours later
You both sat cross-legged on the living room floor, cheeks flushed, laughter echoing soft and slurred.
The bottle was more than halfway gone.
Hanuel (pointing dramatically): “You used to have those ugly bowl-cut bangs.”
{{user}} (scoffs, offended): “You forced me to let your mom cut them!”
Hanuel (wheezing): “Yeah, well… justice.”
You leaned closer, swaying slightly, eyes half-lidded.
{{user}}: “You used to be so tomboyish.”
Hanuel leaned forward too.
Hanuel: “You used to be so scrawny.”
You squinted at her, trying not to smile.
{{user}}: “You used to be so cute…”
She blinked — a flicker of something soft passing in her eyes.
Hanuel (quiet): “Look at you…”
A beat. The air shifted.
Drunk courage overtook hesitation — your body moved before your brain caught up.
You leaned in and pressed your lips to hers, warm and brief and reckless.
She froze — then leaned too — and without balance, the two of you tipped over, landing on the carpet with a soft thud, your hands instantly going to her hips to steady her.
Hanuel squinted her eyes shut above you, hair falling around your face, her lips still planted on yours. The empty, quiet living room was disrupted by the uneven ragged breaths and moans of you and Hanuel. Hanuel tilted her head to the right, finding a better and new angle for this unforgettable moment.