The university's café smelled like sugar and espresso—sweet, thick, and warm. It clung to the air like perfume, the kind that made your pulse slow and your guard drop.
Michiko spotted her immediately.
Fumi Itou was sitting in the farthest booth, a heart-shaped earring glinting beneath the overhead light, pink phone in one hand, a half-eaten strawberry crepe in the other. Her light brown bob framed her face, and her dress—short, pastel, and trimmed in lace—showed just enough thigh to be tempting.
Michiko paused for a beat, just to look at her.
She always did.
"Finally," Fumi said without looking up, voice lazy but warm. "I thought you were ditching me again."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Michiko murmured, slipping into the booth beside her instead of across.
Fumi turned her head slightly, gold-brown eyes scanning her with interest. "You're wearing my lipstick."
Michiko shrugged. "You're wearing that dress I chose."
"Touche."
Michiko reached for the corner of Fumi's crepe, stealing a bite without asking. Fumi didn't protest—just tilted her head, watching as Michiko chewed slowly, letting her lips linger around the fork a second too long.
"You're a menace," Fumi said, tone affectionate.
"You like it."
"I'm trying to work on my boundaries."
Michiko smirked. "You're doing a terrible job."
Fumi bumped her shoulder against hers. "And you're getting clingy."
"Mm. Only when you taste like strawberries."
Fumi rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. "Anyway. I have news."
"You're pregnant."
"Worse," Fumi said, leaning in like she was sharing a state secret. "I got a boyfriend."
Michiko blinked, fork pausing mid-air. "Since when?"
"A few weeks ago. It's kind of serious now."
"Is it secretly a girl?" Michiko asked, but the answer was already obvious.
Fumi's smile turned smug. "Nope. Full-grown man."
Michiko put the fork down with exaggerated care. "You're joking."
"I'm not. He's sweet. Thoughtful. Normal."
"God. That's worse than being a man."
Fumi laughed. "You say that like it's a tragedy."
"It is."
There was a beat of silence before Michiko added, quietly but with bite, "Guess I won't be staying over anymore."
Fumi's voice softened. "Michi-chan…"
"Don't."
"You know it was never serious."
"I know," Michiko said. "Doesn't mean I liked sharing."
Fumi looked at her for a moment, eyes unreadable. Then she nudged her knee against Michiko's beneath the table. "You'll survive. Besides, it's not like you haven't replaced me with every girl who wears bows and makeup."
Michiko smiled faintly. "I like what I like."
"I know," Fumi said gently. "You know, you could like other things too. If you let yourself."
Michiko leaned back, arms crossed. "Don't start."
"I'm not trying to fix you," Fumi said, turning serious. "But maybe you could try… softening the lines a little. You're not allergic to masculinity, Michi-chan."
"Wanna bet?"
Fumi smiled slyly. "Actually, yes."
Michiko raised a brow. "You're serious?"
Fumi leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "What if you tested it? Like, dip your toes in. Someone not so feminine. Not a guy, obviously, but someone… in-between. A tomboy maybe?"
Michiko wrinkled her nose. "Why?"
"Because you don't actually know how you'd react unless you try it. If it's awful, you'll have the satisfaction of being right. If it's not—well. Growth."
"Sounds like a setup."
"Fine. Make it a bet."
Michiko waited.
"If you hook up with someone masculine and still find it unbearable," Fumi said, "I'll do your English assignments for a month."
"And if I don't?"
"You pay for all our drinks until the end of the semester."
Michiko considered it. "I hate you."
"You love me."
"Not enough to lose a bet to you."
"Then prove it."
Michiko sighed, but her curiosity was already flickering. She hated being challenged. She hated backing down even more.
"And where am I supposed to find a girl like that?" she asked.
Fumi tapped her acrylic nail against the table. "There's this bar I've been meaning to check out. Mixed crowd. Lots of eye candy. Guys, girls, in-between. Maybe you'll get lucky."
Michiko side-eyed her. "I don't need luck."
"Then let's go tonight."
"Tonight? It's not even the weekend."
"No time like the present."
Michiko hesitated, then gave a slow, determined smile. "Text me the address."
Fumi's smile matched hers. "Already on it."
They left the café shoulder to shoulder, not quite touching but never too far apart. As they walked, Michiko stole a glance at the soft dip of Fumi's collarbone, the delicate curve of her cheek, the slight bounce of her earrings.
She thought about what it meant, to lose her. To not be allowed to touch her anymore. To have to pretend they were just friends when everything between them still felt too alive.
She wouldn't say it out loud. But it itched behind her teeth.
Fumi slid her arm around hers, casual but familiar. "You're pouting."
"I don't pout."
"Right. And I'm not perfect."
Michiko said nothing more. She simply let herself lean a fraction closer as they walked, under the glow of the campus lamps and the scent of spring stirring in the air—close enough to feel Fumi's warmth and not quite close enough to let go.