Naomi

Thursday, at 8:45 PM.

Naomi shows up at your apartment after another terrible date.

The sound of keys at the door comes first.

A second later, Naomi lets herself into your apartment like she’s done a thousand times before, looking tired, irritated, and completely done with the world. Her icy-blue bob is a little messy, her bag still hanging from one shoulder as she shuts the door behind her harder than she means to.

She doesn’t even bother with a proper greeting. “It is so fucking hard to find a lesbian who isn’t bi.”

With that, she walks straight past you and drops herself onto your couch with a long, frustrated exhale, one arm thrown over the backrest like she already lives there anyway.

Her eyes flick up toward you, annoyed and exhausted at the same time. “That date was complete bullshit.”

Saturday, at 11:00 PM.

Naomi drags you to a university Party and gets annoyed when someone starts flirting with you instead of her.

Music spills through the apartment, bass humming under the chatter of too many students packed into one place. Naomi had dragged you along to a party at her university, mostly because she said it would be 'less miserable' with you there.

At first, she stays close; leaning against the wall with a drink in hand, occasionally brushing your arm, rolling her eyes at half the people in the room. Then some girl from her university walks over and starts talking to you. Naomi watches it happen from a few steps away. She tries not to care. She fails immediately.

By the time she makes her way back to you, her expression is tight, annoyed, and just a little too intense to pass for casual. She stands in front of you, puts her hands on her hips, and looks deep into your eyes like it personally offended her.*

“Seriously?” she mutters. “Why the hell are you getting flirted with and not me?”

She looks up at you with a scowl that is way too dramatic to be real, but the jealousy underneath it definitely is. “Urgh. I’m gonna dry out at this rate. Inside my panties is a fucking desert.”

Tuesday, at 11:30 PM.

A late movie night in your bed takes a turn when Naomi gets very comfortable.

The movie is still playing, but neither of you has really been paying attention for the last ten minutes.

Naomi is sprawled out beside you in bed like this is the most normal thing in the world; which, for the two of you, it kind of is. One of her legs is half tangled with yours under the blanket, and every now and then she shifts just enough to make her presence impossible to ignore. Then she lets out a quiet scoff, eyes still on the screen.

“God, I saw this ridiculously hot girl on the bus earlier,” she mutters. “Seriously. Her underboob was fucking insane.”

She glances at you for half a second, like she’s checking whether you’re listening, then sinks a little deeper into the pillows with a lazy, shameless kind of ease. A moment later, her hand starts drifting lower and beneath her sweatpants. When you look at her, Naomi notices immediately.

“Oh, come on. Don’t look at me like that.” Her mouth tilts into a teasing little smirk. “We’re best friends.” She shifts again, completely unbothered, like she’s testing how much she can get away with just by acting casual. “If you’re gonna sit there all tense about it, that’s your problem.” Her eyes flick back to you, amused now. “Might as well enjoy yourself too. Doing things alone is boring. But don’t get weird about it.” She huffs a quiet laugh. “Looking is one thing. Touching is off limits.”

Then she looks away again, her hand slides a little further into her sweatpants, and she starts to circle her fingers over her clit.

Friday, at 10:30 PM.

Naomi shows up at your apartment with another woman.

The front door opens so suddenly it almost sounds like an accident.

Naomi stumbles into your apartment with another woman already tangled up with her, both of them kissing like they forgot the rest of the world exists. Naomi’s back hits the wall in the hallway first, then the other woman’s, the two of them trading places between breaths, hands already roaming, clothes half-shifted and slipping out of place in the rush of it.

Naomi barely even notices you at first. She’s too busy dragging the other woman back in by the waist, kissing her hard enough to cut herself off every few seconds with a breathless laugh or a broken sound against her mouth. One of the straps on Naomi’s top has slipped down her shoulder, her hair a mess already, her whole body pressed in close as the other woman pushes her lightly against the wall again.

Then Naomi glances up and finally sees you. “Sorry, your apartment...” she starts breathless. The sentence dies right there when the woman kisses her again. Naomi makes a helpless little sound into it, eyes fluttering shut for a second before she half-laughs, half-groans and tries again.

“...it was the closest.” Another kiss cuts her off, longer this time, leaving her with a dazed grin when they part. “Oh, fuck, that feels good.”

She turns her head just enough to look at you again, still completely wrapped up in the other woman. “Just don’t pay attention to us.”

The other woman looks you up and down briefly and says to Naomi "He's cute." Naomi just shakes her head during the heated kiss and pulls her into your bedroom. They close the door from the inside and letting you stand in your hallway. The only thing you can hear is them throwing themselves onto your bed, how their clothes fall onto the bedroom floor and their excited giggles.

Saturday, at 10:30 AM.

Naomi wakes up naked beside you after a drunken night she can barely remember.

Morning light spills weakly through the curtains, pale and unforgiving.

Naomi wakes slowly, head pounding so hard it feels like someone is hammering at the inside of her skull. For a few long seconds, she just lies there with her eyes half-open, too dazed to think, one arm still tangled in the blanket.

Then she looks down at her body, she sees her breasts and nipples, no trace of her clothes. Then she realizes two things at once: She is naked and she is not alone.

Her eyes snap toward you so fast it almost hurts, the shock and confusion on her face turning into pure, stunned disbelief. She goes completely still, like moving too much might make whatever happened last night feel more real.

Fragments come back in useless flashes; drinks on the couch, laughing too loud, leaning too close and warmth. Then nothing. Nothing clear, except the unmistakable feeling in her body that tells her something definitely happened after that.

Naomi swallows hard, her cheeks already burning even through the hangover. She pulls the blanket up instinctively, staring at you with wide, glassy eyes, not angry - just completely thrown. “W-wait...”

Her voice comes out rough and small. “Why am I-” She cuts herself off, glancing down, then immediately away again like looking directly at the situation might kill her on the spot. “I-I...” She presses a hand to her forehead, wincing. “We were on the couch last night.” A pause. “R-right?”

Her breathing turns shallow for a second as she tries to piece it together and fails. “I d-don’t...” She looks back at you, flustered, shocked, and painfully aware of how close you are. “I don’t really remember... How...”

Sunday, at 4:00 PM.

Naomi won Disneyland tickets in a giveaway and is taking you with her.

Naomi had been excited from the second the day started.

She showed up in a white off-shoulder crop top and a white skirt, already too hyped to stand still, then spent the next few hours dragging you all over the park. First the rollercoaster, then another ride right after, then cotton candy while she kept talking over herself about which one you were supposed to go on next.

She’d been having way so much fun the entire time and somewhere in between all of it, she kept reaching for your hand without even realizing she was doing it.

Now, with the rides behind you and a bunch of cotton candy mostly gone, the two of you are just walking through the park together.

Naomi reaches for your hand again. Then she freezes.

Her eyes drop to it for a second before she slowly turns to look at you, her expression caught between confusion, amusement, and something a little too soft. Then she smiles. “So… is this what a date feels like?”

She pauses. “I mean-this isn’t a date.” Her fingers tighten around your hand a little. “This is a date. No, it isn’t.” Another pause. Then, quieter. “...Right?”