My favorite loveless pairing. Was once dedicated to someone. . . as a Christmas gift. I'm glad Kouya liked it.

Pinkliquor

“HEY, hey! YOU, you!”

I jump. Physically hopping three feet in the air, which is harder than it looks when you’re comfortably settled in a down comforter. The radio, somehow cranked way higher up than it should be, shrieks from my nightstand. Its morning. Glorious morning, a new day is stretched ahead of me—just waiting for me to stampede into. Yeah, that’s my style. Stampede; rush. Charge . . . gallop? Pick a word; that’s Yamato.

But this morning, I can tell, is going to be a really really shitty one. Not only is my hair everywhere when it shouldn’t be, cause it’s only so long---but the radio is blaring. The radio should never be blaring at ten in the morning. Too early. I shouldn’t even be rolling out of bed till 12:00!

“I don’t like your GIRLFRIEND!!”

I turn to the screeching radio, glaring at the pulsing speakers. I bet this is Kouya’s idea of a prank. She always gets up way too damn early. It’s suspicious.

“No Way, NO WAY! I think you need a new one.”

I slam my fist down on the source of the noise, demanding silence. Anything but Avril.

“HEY, hey! YOU, you! I could be your GIRLFR--!”

The black box short-circuits, falling stiffly to the wooden floors with a bang, dragging its black cord down with it. Victory! I roll back into bed, expecting to roll right back over onto Kouya’s side where it should be only pressed, indented, cool, clean, sheets. But no; it’s inhabited. Instead of plowing into more space, I roll right on into a shoulder. My legs tangle with another set, and my head bumps into frenzied black hair.

“You killed our radio.” She mumbles from the depths of the pillow, added sheets, and both of our hair. I groan in reply. I shouldn’t be awake right now. I shouldn’t have Girlfriend lyrics embedded in my brain. The world shouldn’t be spinning yet.

Kouya lifts her head and I sink into the now empty space with a soft mumble. I want to yell that it’s Avril’s fault that the radio’s dead.

“I thought you liked that song, too.” She says, resting her cheek just above the back of my ear. A hand wanders around my waist from beneath the covers, and I settle into Kouya’s warmth. I can tell the room is frigidly cold outside of the bed—which is my own fault. I always set the temp alittle too cool at night.

“Are you ignoring me?” I can tell she’s smiling, which makes me smile. I shuffle slightly under her weight, and our legs lock against each other. This feels roughly like the night before. . .

“I’m trying. . .” I mumble, my own voice sounding like sandpaper. Lips are on the back of my neck, parting my hair. “Wake up.” She calls, fingers lacing through the rowdy blonde locks that fall on my bare back. Somehow, her touch makes me feel beautiful, and just for that, I forgive the fact that her hands are freezing as they slide down my back. Fingertips slowly meet the curve of my waist, slowing as if rounding a bend in the road.

I breathe in the scent of her pillow, mine long forgotten on the other side of the bed. The cotton smells of both of us. My perfume is mixed with my body wash—and is mixed with her shampoo which is mixed with the scent she carries constantly—and it all smells perfect. I wonder if my pillow smells the same. If our entire bed smells this good. We’ve owned our own place for two months at most. Why haven’t I noticed this before?

“Yamato??”

“Hmm?”

She sighs lightly, shifting if anything, closer. “We should probably look for a new radio today. . .that’s kind of our clock, too.”

I groan, turning so that my face isn’t in the pillow any longer, but instead I’m nestled into the crook of her neck. It’s amazing how she smells like her and me. “You just completely killed the moment.” I hope she knows I’m smiling.

Her throat vibrates against my lips and I kiss the skin tenderly, “ well, you killed our radio, so I had to be responsible with the murder of our moment. We’re even now.”

“The second one was so much more important.”

“Yeah, I know.” She lets out a soft breath.

“Screw you’re clock.” I grumble, moving drastically. I’m making the most movement of the morning as I lift up to my elbows, resting my head just inches from the pillow and centimeters from her lips. “We don’t need time. Who needs time? Let the whole day crumble around us, Kouya—“ I’m on a rant now, and she’s smiling handsomely. That’s a good way to describe her. Handsome in a pretty sort of way. A mix of both. Why am I just now noticing these things! “—Normal couples sleep the day away, so sure as hell, we can too! I mean, sense when do we have any real place to be that isn’t more important than being beside each other . . .? Besides, I like this bed way more than that sucky, glow in the dark, singing clock.”

I collapse beside her without another word. She turns on her side, wraps her arms fully around my waist and tugs me closer to her body. Suddenly, I’m fully pressed against her legs, stomach, chest. Her hands are just now warming up on the small of my back. I love these moments. I can pretend I don’t have a job, that we don’t have bills to pay, that we’re not running low on milk, and that we actually do have some sort of breakfast food. . .

I can forget that some very close or far off country is being bombed, that a couple just like us is fighting heatedly, currently busy hating each other guts. I can pretend that the world doesn’t have a problem with the fact that we feel this way and we’re both girls. I can pretend that some normal couple is just as wrapped up in each other as we are—but they are incapable of feeling this way, this good. No one can feel this good. They’re nowhere near where we are.

Kouya’s kissing me now, and I’m beginning to forget where she starts and I end. I’m beginning to forget that we’re two people. Not one.

Air becomes a need, and we break off sweetly. I stare into her eyes, and just like her hands, they’re beginning to warm up as they touch me. Without words, without reason, we both smile and she whispers,

“Don’t worry. . .I never liked that clock, either.”