Brooklyn Middle had unofficially crowned them already.

Gwen Stacy and Cindy Moon: first lesbian couple.

Neither of them had ever actually said it out loud.

They walked too close. Sat too close. Shared headphones. Fell asleep on each other during free periods. But every time someone even hinted—

“No, it’s just a girl thing,” Luna Snow had said once, shrugging easily. “Girls are affectionate. I snuggled with Jean (Grey) on our environmental science trip.”

Jean, sitting beside her, had nodded like this was entirely reasonable.

MJ had waved it off too. “Please. I braided Peni Parker’s hair during lunch once. That doesn’t mean anything.”

Peni, quietly: “It meant a lot to me.”

⸻

Fast forward to the weekend.

Gwen’s eighteenth birthday.

She’d asked for something small. Just her closest friends. No noise. No expectations.

So it was only Cindy, Luna, MJ, America, Jean, and Peni — sprawled across Gwen’s living room like a pile of discarded sweaters and limbs. Hoodies were shared, stolen, layered. Socks mismatched. Soft drinks everywhere. A bowl of chips that no one remembered opening.

They gossiped about boys at school with dramatic sighs and eye rolls.

“He chews loudly,” MJ complained.

“That’s unforgivable,” America said solemnly.

Gwen lay half on the couch, half on the floor, Cindy curled against her side like it was the most natural place in the world. Gwen looked… lighter. Hair messy. Hoodie slipping off one shoulder. No nerves. No mask. Like a butterfly finally let out of a jar.

She didn’t seem to care how she looked.

Luna noticed first.

Then MJ.

They exchanged a look.

The conversation drifted — slowly, inevitably — into softer territory.

“Okay,” Jean said, propping her chin on her hands. “Serious question.”

Groans echoed.

“No—wait,” she laughed. “Secret crushes. Everyone has one.”

America immediately pointed at MJ. “You go first.”

MJ scoffed. “Absolutely not.”

Luna smiled, eyes flicking — deliberately — to Gwen and Cindy. “What about you two?”

MJ followed her gaze.

Deadeye.

Gwen blinked. “What? No!" She said this as she casually grabbed the hem of Cindy’s hoodie, lifted it, bunched the fabric in her hands—

—and buried her face in it.

A long, content inhale.