Fire and Rain [🗸]

29. sunflowers and summer endings

i have the blurb + faceclaims done for 'like real people do' 🧚‍♀️

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ZAHRA'S ROOM SMELLS LIKE butter.

At the doorway, she dons a t-shirt that dwarfs her body and fleece shorts, a new bowl of butter popcorn held underneath one of her arms. She crawls onto the bed, handing the bowl of popcorn to me and grabbing her laptop.

"What're we watching?" she asks, shifting close enough to me, shoulders brushing against mine, head falling to my shoulder. She's warm, and for some reason, back at home, her clothes have a cinnamon scent. I move closer to her, basking in her dark, freshly-washed curls and the softness of her skin.

I've been at her place for days. Once I told my parents that I was queer and walked out, I returned later that night to grab some clothes and a toothbrush. Mom was still up, and I had told her that I was headed to Zahra's. 

She nodded, but that was it. I've been here for almost a week. Zahra's parents haven't asked any questions, they never do, and my parents haven't reached out to me since that day. I don't know how I would response if I did.

At the moment, all I can think about is Zahra's head resting on my shoulder, her laughs imprinting amusement into my skin as she rates trailers out loud, the soft tap tap tap of her fingers pressing against the keyboard, her. 

Zahra ends up settling on something about awkward teenagers and supernatural elements, and we curl up against each other as though we're trying to become one being. I've never really felt this: the need to be so close to someone, the realization that both of you are real and present and tangible.

"What're you thinking about?" Zahra asks. She's paused the episode, pointer finger hovering over the laptop. 

Proximity, I think. My shoulders fall into a shrug, because sometimes it's easier to shrug than to dissect the endlessness of your thoughts and explain it to the person asking. She lowers the screen of the laptop, turning to me.

She sets her laptop and the bowl of popcorn onto her bedside desk, settling across from me, legs crisscrossed. She reaches out to me and I nod, moving forward so that my cheek is held in her hand, her thumb brushing underneath my eyes.

"What're you thinking about?" I redirect the question, and a grin appears on her lips, crooked and twinkling and Zahra. 

"You," she says, because Zahra doesn't waste any time cutting to the chase. She messes up her curls even more if that's possible, so the strands stand at awkward angles that I want to smooth down.

Her eyes widen as if she's remembering something. Her grin widens. She clears her throat, and her eyes return to me. But she stops before she can say anything else, her eyes on me, her hand pressed against my skin. She exhales a curse. 

"Were you about to say something?" I ask.

"I swear to fuck," Zahra says, running a hand through her hair. "I had such a good pick-up line. I literally just forgot it. Shit."