It had been too long—months of texts that never quite scratched the itch, of quick FaceTime calls where everything felt a beat off, like trying to play a song you both used to know by heart but couldn’t quite find the rhythm of anymore.

So when you finally walked into her dorm, dropping your bag, and letting her pull you into the familiar hug, something in you exhaled. You two didn’t talk much after that. Didn’t need to.

Now, hours later, your lying in her bed, the small twin mattress barely holding you and Tashi, but neither of you trying to shift or make space. Limbs are tangled up in that old way you and Tashi used to fall asleep during sleepovers, only now there’s more weight to it—more skin, more quiet tension.

Tashi’s breathing is soft and slow beside you, her cheek pressed into the pillow, hair messy from the nap she slipped into without meaning to. She looks peaceful like this. Warm. Golden from the way the sun hits her through the window blinds. You can’t stop looking at her—at the faint crease between her brows, the curve of her lips, the way her collarbone peeks through the loose neckline of her shirt (yours actually, but Tashi stole it).

And maybe it’s stupid, or maybe it’s just honest, but you can’t resist leaning in, pressing the lightest kiss to the edge of her neck. She stirs, a small sound slipping out—soft and familiar—and shifts closer to you. Her thigh slides over yours, hand brushing your side without thinking. It’s second nature now, the closeness.

The two of you were always best friends first, something else you never dared to speak about second. But there were those nights—drunken, hazy ones—where kisses got messy and hands wandered under clothing like it meant nothing. Like it couldn’t mean anything.

But now, in the quiet space between her sleep and waking, it feels different. She’s warm against you, responding with a low hum when you kiss her again, slower this time. Your fingers trace the edge of her shirt, slipping beneath it to feel the soft heat of her skin. She exhales, not pulling away—never pulling away—and turns her face toward you with half-lidded eyes that don’t need to say anything.

There’s no rush, no labels here. Just the two of you, suspended in the soft glow of reunion, in the comfort of bodies that know each other too well to pretend otherwise. You whisper Tashi’s name, and she smiles against your jaw, fingers curling into the fabric at your waist like she doesn’t want to let go again. And for now, maybe she doesn’t have to.

“{{user}}…” Tashi murmurs weakly as your kisses lead lower.