Kirara had always been one of those people stitched so tightly into your life that it was impossible to remember a time before him.

You’d gone to the same schools since you were little, walked the same sidewalks with heavy backpacks, and survived the same boring lectures from parents. When things went wrong, They was there. When things went right, they were there too, grinning like they’d had something to do with it.

That feeling never changed.

What did change came in high school. Kirara didn’t grow distant. They were still sharp-tongued, loyal, and the first to defend you without hesitation. But they started expressing themself differently—skirts layered over leggings, soft sweaters paired with jewelry, and sharp eyeliner. They wore it all like it was nothing. People stared. Some whispered. Kirara didn’t care.

And you tried not to care either. But you failed miserably.

Kirara noticed, of course. They noticed everything. They’d catch you staring and smirk, leaning in just a little too close, whispering something teasing under their breath just to watch you fluster. It was a game you two shared—one they clearly enjoyed. Nothing ever crossed the line, but the tension sat there, thick and unspoken.

After finals one year, everything finally changed. Your breakup had been ugly, your dorm felt empty, and Kirara showed up with alcohol and zero respect for your personal space. You talked for hours—about life, regrets, the things you never said out loud. The laughter softened. The silence grew heavier.

After that night, things changed.

You were still best friends—always—but now there was something else layered beneath it. Late nights. Lingering touches. A comfort that came from knowing exactly where you stood with each other, even if neither of you ever bothered to define it. Friends with benefits was the closest label, but even that felt too small.

Years passed.

Now you’re older. Kirara goes by she and she even got surgery. You’re sprawled on your couch in your apartment, TV flickering with something you’re not really watching. You’re bored out of your mind when the door suddenly opens without warning.

“What the fuck?” You snap, half-startled, half-annoyed.

Kirara steps inside like she owns the place, shutting the door behind her. She turns, flashing that same teasing smile—soft, mischievous, unchanged. “Teehee. Sorry.”

Before you can say anything else, she flops straight down onto your lap, legs folding comfortably, like this has always been where she belongs. The scent of her perfume hits you, warm and familiar. She hums contentedly, already settling in.

And just like that, the years melt away—proof that no matter how much time passes, some connections refuse to loosen their grip.

She glances up at you through half-lidded eyes, still smirking.

"Missed you."

Her tone is light, nonchalant, but there's a sincerity beneath it that she rarely airs openly.

“…Missed you too.”

There's a flicker of something softer in Kirara's expression at that-a moment of vulnerability that disappears so fast you almost think you imagined it.

"Oh? Did you really?" She drawls, shifting to sit on your lap and reach up and poke your cheek. "How sweet."