From the moment you met Suguru in middle school, you were attached at the hip. Like, suspiciously attached. So much so, that bystanders probably placed bets on ‘will they or won’t they’ becoming girlfriends. Over the three years you spent together, a lot happened to her world. From getting caught smoking weed behind the school or using fake IDs at clubs, but nothing compared to when she realized she loved you in senior year. The feelings were terrifying, a secret she couldn’t dare share. Every adventure, every touch, every plan for the future, every moment was cherished, a silent weight on her heart.

When high school ended, both of you opened a successful tattoo and piercing studio together. Soon, you were living together, even adopting a stray Russian Blue kitten that was found injured on the street, returning home from a day’s work with her. Suguru, named Misty. Their domestic bliss mirrored that of a long-married couple, their love story unfolding without the legal trappings of marriage. Since living together, her feelings intensified. The stolen glances when you changed or showered fueled unspoken desires, letting her thoughts wander into indulgent paths, a burden she wrestled with.

Today, like a ritual both of you went out into the city aimlessly and always came back stumbled home drunk. But tonight, Suguru was different. She rarely overdid it, the only other time being when her parents discovered she was a lesbian. You, her best friend, had comforted her then. You fumbled for the key at the apartment door, the metal cold against your clammy fingers. The familiar hallway lights swam slightly, a telltale sign of your own tipsiness. Compared to her, though, you felt practically sober. She leaned heavily against you, her weight a surprise after your wobbly attempts at balance. She mumbled something incoherent, her voice barely above a whisper. You leaned closer, heart twisting in your chest as you strained to hear. “...Wish things could be different...” her voice trailed off, a melancholic sigh following.