Again / Chris Sturniolo

ii. Friends Who Kiss

Bakshi Household, 20:04 PM.

MIKA'S kitchen was filled with the mouthwatering aroma of homemade pasta. The rich scent of simmering tomato sauce and garlic wafted through the air, making the small, cozy space feel even warmer. The dining table, set with mismatched plates and glasses, had a rustic charm that matched the vibe of her mother's home. It was the kind of place where time seemed to slow down, where the world outside didn't matter as much as the comforting sounds of clinking forks and laughter.

Chris had come over maybe 2 hours ago. The pair had watched Conjuring together, but if you asked them about it, Mika would tell you that Chris hid behind his hands for most of it. Chris leaned back in his chair, a satisfied grin spreading across his face as he swallowed the last bite on his plate. "Can your mom cook me dinner every day?"

Mika laughed, her eyes sparkling with a mix of pride and amusement. "Nope. I fear she does that for me already."

"Well, guess I'm coming over every day now." Chris said, leaning forward slightly, his gaze locking with hers. There was that familiar, playful glint in his eyes—the one that always made her heart beat just a little faster. "Though... next time I come over, can we not watch a horror movie?"

"Not my fault you're a pussy." Mika commented teasingly.

Chris scoffed. "I am not a pussy! Real men like rom-coms." Mika rolled her eyes in response.

The friendship between the two was built on this teasing banter that bordered the line of flirting and shared jokes for as long as they could remember. Mika enjoyed the rush it gave her, how it made her heart pick up and her breath stop momentarily. She was always an adrenaline junkie.

"How about another plate?" Mika suggested, pushing her chair back and standing up. "There's still a shit ton, and you haven't touched the garlic bread."

Chris' eyes widened. "There was garlic bread?" A small smile formed on his face.

"I'm convinced you're blind." she replied, grabbing their plates and walking over to the stove.

As Mika reached for the pasta pot, Chris moved in behind her, smiling. The boy loves this pasta. She smiled back up at him before looking back down and pouring more pasta into his bowl, doing the same to hers afterwards. Mika then turned around to hand the boy his bowl. He was still smiling down at her. 

Theres that adrenaline rush. The way she feels when he smiles at her was something she couldn't describe even if she wanted to. 

The kitchen suddenly seemed much smaller, the air thick with the kind of tension that made it hard to think straight. Mika swallowed, Chris was just teasing. This is something he did. He isn't serious. But Chris was close, so close, and she couldn't ignore the way her pulse quickened with every passing second.

"Mika," he said softly, his voice low and rough in a way she'd never heard before.

She turned to face him, her breath hitching as she met his gaze. There was no more teasing in his eyes, no more playful banter—just a raw, undeniable intensity that made her feel like she was standing on the edge of a cliff.

Mika doesn't like cliffs.

"You good?" She asked, a tad awkwardly. She's nervous, if you couldn't tell.

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her skin. The simple touch sent a shiver down her spine, and she could feel her joking persona crumbling. The nonchalant walls she put up when she was nervous were just bombed. This was Chris, her best friend, the one person she could always count on to make her laugh, to make her feel safe. But right now, he was also the one person who could make her heart stop with the look in his eyes.