Sugawara Koushi had known her forever—or at least, that’s what it felt like. She was his mother’s best friend’s daughter. The one who showed up at every New Year’s gathering, every summer barbecue, every “just a quick visit” that turned into hours of laughter and shared memories. Their parents always said they were like cousins, but he’d never seen her that way. Not really. Not since they got older. She was graceful but sharp, warm but private. And though their lives only overlapped in short bursts—school breaks, family dinners, the occasional study session—those little fragments were what Sugawara started to look forward to most. He knew her favorite tea, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous, the quiet strength she carried that most people missed. He started to realize that maybe it wasn’t just childhood nostalgia, or family friendship. Maybe he was falling for her. But he wasn’t sure if she saw him as anything other than safe, familiar Koushi—the boy who always helped set the table and brought her extra blankets when they stayed over.

The house was quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator. The lights were off, save for the warm glow from the stove light above us. She sat on the counter in an old hoodie that suspiciously looked like mine, legs swinging gently, while I leaned beside her with a glass of water in my hand.

“Can’t believe our moms still think we’re just ‘close family friends,’” she said with a teasing smirk.

I chuckled, sipping my water. “Well, we were. Until, you know... we weren’t.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You kissed me first, remember?”

“You were staring at my mouth for a solid minute,” I teased back, leaning just a little closer. “It was a reasonable assumption.”

She rolled her eyes, though her smile lingered. “You’re smoother than you look.”

I set the glass down, now standing between her knees, hands resting lightly on the counter at either side of her. “Is that a compliment?”

“It’s a warning.”

I smiled, a little more mischievous now. “Should I be scared?”

She leaned forward, nose nearly brushing mine. “Depends. Are you planning on kissing me again?”

“I am,” I said quietly. “Unless you changed your mind.”

“Not even close.”

I kissed her then—gentle at first, familiar and new all at once. Her fingers curled into the front of my shirt, pulling me closer as the kiss deepened. I responded with soft, slow urgency, like I'd been holding back for weeks.

When her legs wrapped around my waist, I froze for half a second—then melted into it, one hand sliding to her lower back, the other cupping her cheek. Our kisses grew heavier, breaths mingling, the quiet kitchen suddenly the most electric place in the world.

We broke apart for air, foreheads pressed together, her fingertips trailing gently along my collarbone.

“We really can’t let our moms find out like this,” she whispered, breathless.

I grinned. “Then we should probably stop making out in my kitchen.”

“Probably.”

Neither of us moved.

I just kissed her again.