A/N:

It's a long one today~

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I'm tucked into my living room sofa, comfortable in one of my dad's old shirts and sweatpants, waiting for Mom to finish with the dishes so that we can begin our traditional Friday movie night, when the door buzzes. I moan softly to myself, drop the TV remote, pick myself up and idly walk past the kitchen, a large bowl of popcorn tucked under one arm — dozy and comfortable and relaxed in the way you can only really be in your own house.

Dad's home early, I think as I step into the foyer. I hope he brought snacks.

I open the door to the face of a literal snow angel. Oh, I think again. It's not Dad.

Once I've had the time to properly absorb the sight, it quickly steals my breath away. My fingers go limp around the knob and I gasp quietly, letting my eyes trail down the spellbinding figure in front of me, before drawing them back up and narrowing them in suspicion. Is this real? I...don't think it is. I probably fell asleep on the couch back there, and if that's the case - I feel myself relax a little, eyes blinking slowly at the scene — good job, dream.

I take a step forward, careless and happy, and reach for her face with my hand, expecting the touch to feel ethereal...but her skin is smooth and cold underneath my fingers, and it's enough to let my heartbeat slowly start to pickup. Her eyes go wide for a brief second, before her face condenses into a smile. Some more of the haze clears away, and I feel myself frown.

"Irina...?" I whisper.

"Are you going to invite me inside or not?" she asks, amused.

"I...thought I might have been dreaming," I say stupidly, gaping at her in awe.

Her smile grows, and she presses her lips together to keep a laugh from escaping them, a playful twinkle in her eyes. "You're not wrong. It is a dream," she says, catching my withdrawing hand and pressing it to her cheek. "Anything can happen." She tilts her head at me. "What do you want, Rubi?"

Warmth floods my face, and if I wasn't fully awake before, I am now. "Irina, don't," I mutter weakly, plucking my hand from her grip and lowering my eyes.

Irina's wearing a pretty white dress that stops just below her kness. It's emitting a faint glow in the dim lighting of my doorway, and it makes her look like some sort of a celestial being, like someone who belongs in an other-worldly garden and definitely not outside my plain two storey building. She has her silky black hair loose behind her ears today, flowing around her hips like a curtain, and I like her signature braids, I like them a lot, but I might like this even more.

"Surprise!" Mom suddenly shrieks from somewhere inside, and it makes me flinch. Once I've recovered, I pinch my nose and sigh.

"She didn't tell you that she invited me?" Irina asks curiously.

I tug self consciously at my oversized t-shirt, suddenly very aware of my mismatched clothing and all the butter stains they must be sporting, and nod. I've got my hair in a careless bun and a ginormous bowl of popcorn in one hand. Just how much of a pig must I look like right now? "Sorry," I mutter, resisting a very real urge to bury my face in my hands and let out a loud cry. "C-Come in."

Irina steps inside and shuts the door behind her, then gracefully bends over to undo the straps on her sandals. Irina.
All at once, I'm hit with a rush of nerves and excitement. Oh my God, Irina is here. "Wait one moment," I tell her, and hurry into the kitchen.

Mom's on the counter cutting onions, a pool of tears in her eyes. "What the hell Mom?" I say, throwing open all the shelves overhead in search of something I could serve to Irina. The popcorn is too salty and although I like it that way, I could definitely never put it before a guest. "Why couldn't you just tell me!?"

"Honey, it was a surprise! That's the whole point!" she exclaims, blinking hard.

I toss her the pair of swimming goggles that we keep in the kitchen to avoid the burning eyes situation, and resume my search for refreshments. "You know how I feel about your surprises!" I groan.

If I'm being completely honest, I knew she was going to pull something like this eventually. She'd been the one to invite Kurumi-senpai over the first couple of times as well, because I'd been too nervous to do it myself. I didn't want to make her uncomfortable by sticking her with an invitation she wasn't interested in. It all turned out okay in the end though. Senpai always says that she loves coming over to our house, but I have a feeling it's more so because of my mother than it is because of me. They've gotten unexpectedly chummy with each other over the past year.

Okay yes, I get a little jealous of my mother every now and then but that's not the point.

It's Irina she's invited this time. I'm too unprepared. I want to be a good host for her. If only Mom had said something at least five minutes in advance, the situation might have looked a little less hopeless. "Besides, aren't Friday movie nights supposed to be just for the two of us?"

"Oh, we can have a do-over any time," she says, waving a hand dismissively. "Just wait and see, you're going to thank me by the end of the night." I'm about to reply when she cuts me off with a jolly — "Hello dear! Oh my, you look even more beautiful now compared to the last time I saw you, if that's even possible. How are you?"

I spin on my heels and see Irina standing at the kitchen entrance, a polite smile on her face. If she has anything to say about Mom's baby pink swimming goggles, or the kitchen's state of utter disarray, she keeps it to herself. Crap, I took too long.

"I'm doing okay ma'am, have you been well?"

"Oh yes yes, now enough with the formalities, I know they're a bore," Mom replies, getting to her feet. "Why don't you girls get started with the movie? I'll join you in a moment."

This time, it's Irina who cuts me off before I can answer. "Okay," she says with a smile, and takes my hand to lead me out of the kitchen.

"What? But—" I try to protest, but fall short of words.

Once we're in the living room, Irina lets go of my hand long enough to adjust her skirt underneath her as she sits down on the couch, then grabs my arm again and tugs. "C-Can I get you anything?" I fumble as I land helplessly at her side. "We don't have anything nice to drink at the moment, but water—"

"I'm fine just like this," she says, holding my hand against her lap.

"Y-You're sure?"

"Yes," she says, and it might be the most self assured yes I've ever heard anyone say.

I reluctantly relax into the couch, face hot from the embarrassment. "Okay."

"What are we watching?" she asks coolly.

"Making family," I say, then quickly add, "If you want to watch something else, that's okay too."

She shakes her head. "It's alright. I haven't seen it yet."

"It's Mom's favorite movie," I explain with a nervous laugh, even though she didn't ask. "We've seen it ten times over, but it's really sweet so I don't mind. Mom gets hysterical when it comes to new films. She's the type to re-watch old favorites for all of..." I trail off, going quiet when I realise that I've been rambling. Is she bored out of her mind?

"I like your mother," Irina says after a moment, stretching her legs out and tipping her head back. "She's funny."

I smile, relieved. "She's the ray of sunshine of the house," I say.

Irina lets her head fall to the side, so that she's looking straight at me. She never shies away from eye contact. "Then I suppose that makes you the flower."

I blush immediately. How is it that she always knows exactly what to say to make my heart skip with all the joy and elation it has ever known? I look away first, suppressing a smile. I've already resigned myself to her flirtations. I can't escape them. It's all I can do now to take them head on and come out of it still sitting upright.

Mom spares me the trouble of having to answer by picking that exact moment to come waddling into the room. "No girl talk without me!" she warns. I roll my eyes and Irina smiles. "We wouldn't dare."

Mom squeezes into my side so that the three of us are closely pressed together on the couch, the bowl of popcorn that I'd purposely left on the counter back on her lap. It's a tight fit, and I glance uncertainly at Irina, wondering if I should sit on the floor instead to make some more room for her, but she looks comfortable and content this way and I don't really want to move either, so I suppose it's okay.

Mom picks up the remote and hits play.

We're not even five minutes into the film before she starts her unsolicited commentary. I'm used to Mom's relentless munching and her loud remarks, but I'm scared that it might all be a little too much for Irina, so I keep checking to make sure she's handling it all okay. She doesn't seem to mind any of it though, everytime I look I either find her nodding her head in agreement or cracking a small smile, and it's only after I'm sure that she's enjoying herself that I shift my attention back to the television.

Not a second after I feel my shoulders start to relax, they grow tense once again.

Irina is sort of ruining the movie for me.

She's still holding my hand down in her lap, absently tracing patterns on my skin, and it's making the hairs on my arm rise. She threads our fingers together every few minutes, shifting the position of our interlocked hands to fit her convenience, and oh my God it's becoming too much for me.

I consider withdrawing my hand, but dismiss the idea right away because I could never muster the willpower to actually pull it off, so I shift my attention to my mother instead, attempting to hyperfocus on her happy chitter to distract myself from the feel of Irina's gentle strokes.

I feel guilty about enjoying it as much as I am. Why does her touch feel so, so nice? Ah crap, this isn't working.

I squeeze my eyes shut, mentally steeling myself to pull away from her light grip, when her phone goes off in her bag and she ends up releasing me first to answer it. I retract my now free hand from her lap, the disappointment heavier than I anticipated. I sigh quietly, shifting on the couch to give her the space she needs to check her phone — it could be her aunt calling in to ensure she's safe — when my eyes latch on to a name that sucks up all the air in my lungs.

I've been jealous before.

And that's an understatement. I'm jealous nearly all the time. Jealousy — I feel it's grip in my chest every morning when my classmates file into our classroom, a parade of red behind them, and again every night, when I'm curled up in my room that's completely devoid of that very color. The feeling is always there, and I've learned to live with it. It's sort of like the aftertaste you're left with after you eat something spicy. A mild burn in your eyes, a coarseness in your throat, something hot in your lungs. The feeling will go away, you tell yourself, and it does for a bit, right up until you take the next bite.

But what I'm feeling now is different. It's green and bitter and consuming, and I hate it.

Irina lifts the phone to her ear and meets my eyes. "What is it?" she asks quietly, and for a second, I think she's talking to me. A thin tendril of hope swirls in my chest, but it's quickly stomped out when the next sentence leaves her mouth. "I can't talk right now. I'm with Rubi."

After a moment, Irina stands up and excuses herself. I stare after her, wondering if I should pause the movie, if she even cares. In the end, I don't do anything, and wordlessly bring my legs to my chest. I thought Irina hated phone calls. She's never been much of a smartphone person. In fact, she usually keeps it switched off, and carries it only for the sake of emergencies.

Did she have it on today because she was expecting a call from Sayori?

I bury my face in my legs. Why'd she have to go out of her way to leave the room to take the call? Did she not want me to listen in?

What could they be talking about?

I pinch my toes together. It's none of my business, is it?

"Hey," Mom says, pausing the movie.

"What?" I grumble half-heartedly.

She playfully bumps her head to mine. "Don't worry! I don't know who she's on the phone with, but whoever it may be, she likes you better."

I look up. "How can you know that?"

Mom shrugs. "Call it a woman's intuition."

I snort. "Is that supposed to be reliable?"

Mom fakes offense. "Ask Dad if you'd like, you know what he always says."

I smile. "Listen to your mother."

"Damn straight."

"Love you," I whisper, cozying up to her side.

She rests her chin on the top of my head, gently stroking my shoulder. "Oh, I know honey."

When Irina returns, she lies about having to cook dinner and disappears from the room, leaving me with a nondescript wink.

Irina sits down beside me, but doesn't try to take my hand again, and this time, the disappointment is crushing. "Is everything okay?" I ask, without hoping for a real answer.

She nods. "Ah, before I forget again, Sayori says she wants to have a talk with you, if you have time. Contact her when you're free, will you?"

I blink, confused. "Me?"

"Yes. I keep forgetting to bring it up with you, and she's been giving me hell for it."

Irina's speaking about her so familiarly, and it stings.

"Okay," I murmur, and quickly pick up the remote and resume the movie because I don't want to continue this conversation. I don't know how to feel about a one-one interaction with Sayori yet.

We sit on our respective sides of the couch, and watch the rest of the movie in silence.

I've watched Making Family ten times over already, maybe more, but it will never feel the same way again, because the next time I see it, I will remember all the bits that finally got Irina to laugh, the parts that made her frown or roll her eyes, and all the scenes in between that brought a quiet smile to her face. I know she's not a big movie buff, but she seems to be enjoying this one anyway, and it's a relief.

When the end credits begin to roll, the silence finally becomes too much for me, so I blurt, "That was nice, wasn't it?"

Irina looks at me, a slow smile spreading her lips. "You think? Did you watch the movie at all? Because for the most part I just felt you watching me."

My cheeks flush. "I was just making sure you were having a good time."

Irina hums in feigned understanding.

"Irina!" I exclaim, exasperated.

"Okay, I believe you. You're a sweetheart."

I purse my lips together, embarrassed, but still grateful that the tense atmosphere has passed.

As I watch, a wisp of Irina's long hair escapes from behind her ear and falls across her face. She frowns, her nose scrunching up, seemingly irritated as she runs her fingers along the thin strands and tucks them back in place. For a short second, I imagine getting on my knees and touching her face, prompting her to tip her head back while I run a hand along her pretty hair, setting it right myself. However, I try to do none of that.

"You look...different today," I choose to say instead, changing the subject in an attempt to fuel the conversation before it dies out.

"Do you like it?" she asks, resting an arm under her head and watching me, her gaze deep and relaxed. I curl my fingers around the cushion underneath me, a little breathless. I can't seem to have a normal conversation with her.

Do humans like to breathe? "Yeah!" I nod, in an attempt to play it causal. "It suits you. Didn't know you liked dresses though."

She shrugs. "I don't particularly like them or anything, but..." Another dangerous smile. "I knew you would."

I slump in resignation, groaning loudly into my hands. "I hate you."

She shifts closer, speaking directly into my ear. "You love me." I stare at her face as she pulls back, smiling. This is very unfair. I'd been prepping for a lazy weekend at home before Irina got here. I didn't realise that my heart would be running a marathon. A marathon with zero rest stops.

Irina moves away from me, leaning back into the couch, her face softening. "I liked the movie," she says slowly. "It reminded me of home."

I sit up straighter, my curiosity piqued. Irina had to move here when she got to middle school because her countryside village didn't have any well reputed educational institutions. She's been staying with some relatives for a while now, and doesn't really get to see her parents outside of the holidays. I've always wondered if she misses them, but I could never bring myself to pry.

"It's lovely, you know," she says, turning to face me, her eyes lighting up like those of a child talking about her favorite toy. "My hometown. The movies don't do it justice at all."

I feel a rush of warmth when I see her this way, and I smile. "I'm sure it is."

"I wish you could see it."

"I wish I could see it too."

Her eyes widen. "Come with me next time."

"W-What?" I ask, startled.

"Winter break. After the exams. Will you come with me?"

"To your hometown?"

She nods.

"I'll get to meet your parents?" I ask, heart racing.

She smiles. "They'll get to meet you."

I laugh. "I'd actually love that."

"Me too. I'd get to see my favorite person in my favorite place." She closes her eyes and lets out a calm sigh, like she's imagining it all play out, and she seems so honestly happy that it baffles me a little. It brings forth the question — does Irina really have feelings for me?

How?

Why?

"Do...do you have any pictures?" I ask, trying to ignore the seed of doubt sprouting in my chest.

"I might," she says, and I scoot closer as she unlocks her phone to check. Right as I look at it, a familiar face flashes on the screen, and I frown, slowly plucking the phone from her fingers to get a closer look. Irina's mind is still elsewhere, and she releases it from her grip without protest.

It's a picture of a little girl, holding up a large bouquet of colorful flowers and smiling brightly at the camera, her cheeks pink and puffy and her hair split in two bouncy pigtails.

I know that picture.

Mom took it on the day of my elementary school graduation.

It's me.

Oh my god.

I'm Irina's home screen wallpaper.

How...?

Mom. Of course, she must have sent the photo to her.

I stare at it in disbelief.

I'd gone to school with the pigtails from the photograph everyday for the first year of my middle school, until some girls started to make fun of me for it. After that, I started to do my hair just like everyone else did because I didn't want it to become something that'd further alienate me from my classmates.

"There's always a fireworks festival, during new years," Irina is saying now, still going on about her hometown, but I can't tear my eyes from her phone. Holy shit, I think. She likes me.

She actually likes me.

This is such an old picture.

Since when...?

Middle school?

I glance up at her. I see it now. I see it in the way she's looking at me.

It's not that I thought her earlier confession wasn't genuine, I just...didn't think it was possible. I'd assumed that this was something of a phase, that she wasn't being serious, that doting on me had become a fun pass time to her, and that once she actually got to meet and fall in love with one of her soulmates, she'd realise that that was how love was supposed to feel, and what she felt for me was something else entirely.

But I see it now.

Irina likes me so much that she'd get off the train if I didn't make it to the station on time, just so that she could take the next one with me. That she'd join an after-school community, even though she hates school and hates any sort of work even more, if it meant she'd get to spend time with me. That she'd go out of her way and ask a person she only just met for advice on how to treat me right.

She likes me so much that my face is the first thing she wants to see every time she opens her phone.

My heart swells painfully.

Why?

"Next year, I want to go together with you."

"...Fireworks festival?" I repeat, my head muddled and a little numb. "Yeah...sure."

"It would be a date though."

I look at her, expecting to see mischief in her eyes, but they have a quiet seriousness to them as they stay on me, motionless.

"Irina...I don't...I don't think..." I say helplessly.

She takes both my hands in hers, grasping them tightly. "Rubi." The way she says my name rattles me, because it doesn't sound like her at all. Stifled and fragile. Her eyes flash with desperation, and her hands have a slight tremor to them. "Be my girlfriend, won't you?" She's afraid of what my answer might be.

She really, really wants me to say yes.

I seriously consider it for the first time. Saying yes. You'd get to be Irina's girlfriend, I tell myself. And she'd be happy about it too, wouldn't she? But deep down, I know that if I did, I'd just feel like I was filling a spot in her life that wasn't rightfully mine. That I'd be using up time that she was meant to spend with someone else. I don't want to ever hear her say — I can't talk right now, I'm with Rubi, to one of her soulmates again.

Maybe the threads don't have as much weight to them as I think they do. Maybe Irina can date whoever the hell she wants to, soulmate or not, and the cosmos wouldn't give a damn.

Warily, I glance at her red strings as they lie lifelessly behind her, flowing away, away, away from me. Maybe. But when you're so used to constantly seeing a sight like that, it's hard to convince your heart otherwise. I don't want to say yes now and end up becoming nothing more than a bad experience from her past — that first love that never works out anyway.

Irina abruptly lets go of me, and stands up, her eyes shadowed. "I'm sorry for suddenly springing that on you, I shouldn't have." When she raises her head, she's blinking too fast. "I'll wait, okay? So take your time. How much ever you need."

I don't respond.

"I...want to go home," she says.

"Oh...okay, um, I'll ask Mom to drive you."

She nods, and follows me into the kitchen. Mom greets us happily, and asks Irina how the movie was. She tells her what she told me, that it reminded her of home. She looks like she really misses it, now more than ever.

I walk the two of them to the front door, and watch them get in the car, all the while feeling like I'm making a horrible mistake.

END OF CHAPTER