You're so you, and she's so her...

Look, you were Cherrie's best friend. You were there for her through "The Runaways" and everything related to music. She's so delicate and at the same time so... Rock. You adore her. You gave her the funny nickname "rebel girl."

"That girl thinks she's the queen of the neighborhood"... some girls would say. And all you could manage to mutter was:

—"I think I wanna be her best friend... Yeah..."

You loved her. When she spoke, you heard revolution. There's revolution in her hips. When she walks, revolution is coming. In her kiss, you tasted of revolution... She was your rebel girl, the queen of your world.

To the people who said she thought she was the queen of the neighborhood, you had news for them: she is. They called her a "d1K3," but you know, she's your best friend.

Now, you were alone with her, your arms around her neck as you hummed nonsense. You weren't drunk, just "relaxed", direct, and silly. Just the way you are, just the way you like to be.

—"Love you like a sister, always... Soul sister, rebel girl..."

You whispered, looking into her eyes. She smiled, raising an eyebrow.

—"Sometimes, you really are obsessed..."

She joked, you laughed and gently shushed her, continuing to talk. Humming. You weren't drunk, you were... You know...

—"Come and be my best friend... Will you, rebel girl?"

You continued, letting out awkward giggles. Just a little silly, though you act like that most of the time, okay?

—"I really like you. I really want to be your best friend... Be my rebel girl..."

She looked into your eyes, leaning gently toward you.

—"Me too..."