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Nijika's first love was music, or so she thought. As she turned nine, she thought it had to be more specific than just music, so she said her first love was drumming. Then, as the fickleness of adolescence killed her naïve conviction, Nijika realized that she's never truly known the kind of love that drove girls her age into madness.
Seika described it once before when PA broke it off with her for the first time-- love was that chaos inside your chest that wants to scraper out, the teeth slicked with grief tearing into your skin, yet love was what kept you going. Maybe it was true, they did get back together in the end.
As the thoughts faded, the girl sighed against Ryo's neck, cheeks as red as the quartered strawberries they were feasting on, now sprawled on the floor just as they were. Nijika laid on the hardwood, her head granted an inch of reprieve by her snug choice of carpet.
Nijika's hand trembled, feeling for the skin on Ryo's nape. Ryo's hand snaked behind her, cushioning her nape with the flesh of her forearm. "Are you okay?" Ryo whispered, an atypical warmth sizzled in her tone, searing her love into her paleness.
Her breath hitched; her eyes darted to the slightest hint of saliva between them, still hot on her lip. Then she managed a nod.
"I want to kiss you more," Ryo admitted, the coarseness on her fingertips raising gooseflesh on Nijika's skin. "Can I?"
"I can't say no to your dumb face," Nijika kissed the tip of her nose. She hoped—no, begged— that the pounding she was hearing wasn't hers. Despite all that drumming, she couldn't hear there were two hearts beating as one.