Could you be this intimate with anyone else? Anyone apart from your lifelong best friend?
She had been with plenty of men, in relationships and one night stands. She had never felt anything like this. She looked over at her. She was staring back at her. They were thinking the same thing. It felt right.
How had they ended up here, lying in bed together? It had been an evening like any other, apart from the news. They watched the rioters storm the Capitol, engrossed in the drama as democracy struggled to survive. It was too much for her to bear. She was always too passionate about politics. It had been the same during the Black Lives Matter protests.
She comforted her, wiping away the tears, stroking her hair, holding her. Nothing that they hadn’t done for each other for the last twenty years as friends. But something felt different. She had thought about it before, they had talked about it before. Now they looked at each other and their eyes said the same thing.
That first hesitant kiss, their lips meeting softly, then pulling apart. Were they sure? Then another kiss, longer and lingering and her hands running through her hair and down her back and they were pressed together and she felt a hunger and a yearning.
They looked at each other now. They were still friends, but they were something more. You can’t be that intimate with someone and go back to being just friends. And she didn’t want to be just friends with her. She wanted so much more.
They returned to the real world slowly, lazily, lounging in their apartment. She put the news on. Four dead. The new President confirmed. Democracy was fighting back. It was a new dawn.
Written for #FOWC, hosted by Fandango Today’s prompt word was: Intimate.
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