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The morning sun filtered through Miki's thin curtains, casting golden lines across the wooden floor. The air still smelled faintly of red wine and cheap wax from the candle that had burned out sometime during the night.
Miki lay still on her bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.
Her heartbeat felt annoyingly loud in her ears.
She had kissed Celeste.
Twice.
And Celeste had kissed her back.
Not out of pity, not to play pretend — but like she meant it. Like she wanted her. Like she had been waiting for it far too long.
Miki sat up quickly, brushing her hand through her sleep-mussed hair. Her shirt was wrinkled from the night's chaos, her lips still a little tender, and her thoughts were a scrambled mess.
What the hell did she even feel?
She got out of bed and peeked into the living room.
Celeste was curled up on the couch, a blanket half-fallen off her body, one arm lazily thrown over her eyes. She looked almost… human like this. Vulnerable, even. Her long hair had slipped out of its usual elegant bun and was spilling over the cushions in soft waves.
Miki hesitated.
She didn't want to wake her.
But also — she didn't want to face her.
She turned to head back to the kitchen, only to hear a soft voice behind her.
"You're awake," Celeste said, sitting up slowly.
Miki paused. "…Yeah."
Celeste stood and stretched, the blanket falling off her shoulders. She looked like she hadn't slept much either.
"I made a mess last night," Celeste said, her tone light but guarded.
Miki crossed her arms. "You weren't alone."
They both fell into silence.
The kiss hovered between them like an invisible ghost, present in every glance and pause.
Celeste exhaled. "Look, Miki… I don't want you to feel like I took advantage. You were drinking. I should've had more control."
"You did," Miki replied quickly. "I kissed you first."
Celeste blinked.
Miki bit her lip. "And you kissed me back. That wasn't the alcohol talking. That was… something else."
Celeste's eyes softened.
She took a careful step forward but stopped herself from getting too close. "You're right. It was something else."
They stared at each other again, this time not with hunger or heat — but with something quieter, deeper. Confused affection, unspoken longing.
"You shouldn't sleep here again," Miki muttered, looking away.
Celeste tilted her head. "Why?"
"Because I can't keep pretending this is normal. That I don't—" She stopped, biting the inside of her cheek. "That I don't feel something when you're around."
Celeste didn't answer right away.
Then she said quietly, "I wasn't pretending, Miki."
Miki looked up.
"I've lived longer than anyone should," Celeste went on, her voice low. "I've fed, ruled, fought, and fled. I've seen the worst of humanity and the worst of my kind. And then… I saw you. You, with your tired eyes and your sarcastic mouth and the way you keep everyone at a distance because you're scared they'll leave."
Miki felt her throat tighten.
"I didn't expect you to feel the same," Celeste said. "And I don't want to rush you. But I need you to know... you're not just a snack to me. You never were."
Miki looked down at her hands. "Then why does it scare me so much?"
"Because it's real," Celeste said gently.
They stood there for a long beat — unsure what to do, what to say, what the rules were now.
Then, like an awkward truce, Miki walked past her to the kitchen and muttered, "You want coffee or are you still living off blood and arrogance?"
Celeste smiled, slow and amused. "Coffee. Extra bitter."
"Figures."
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