125.)

Like every other Friday since winter started, Blossom and I were huddled up under the comforter on the couch together. But this time, it felt different. This was the first time since we had kissed that we had been so close together. Touching. Shoulders against one another. I felt a little sick. It was even too cold to distract myself with my phone.

"I wanna kiss you, would that be okay?"

Blossom hadn't asked it immediately, but she also hadn't waited all that long to ask, either.

Asking sure didn't help. A part of me thought it would, that if we just brought it up everything would be fine. We could talk about it. But she wanted to kiss me and I felt like I was going to have a panic attack again.

"I... don't know..." I muttered, shivering a little bit.

"Then we don't have to. It's just that simple, cupcake."

Blossom shifted to put her head on Amy's shoulder and cuddled in a little bit closer.

We didn't kiss. I should have just kissed her. I wanted to! But I was cold and scared. It didn't feel right. It didn't feel like New Years. Was I supposed to wait for moments like that every time? I was starting to pull at my fingers under the blanket when Blossom sat up quickly.

"We're supposed to go out for dinner!" Blossom said suddenly.

"Oh... we don't have to," I said quietly. "I forgot too."

"Yeah, but we don't have any food here."

Blossom kicked off the blanket and got to her feet. She was dressed like Blossom Brixley; i.e. ill-equipped for January in Maine. I still had my coat and scarf on.

"I'm not super hungry," I lied. My anxiety made me not hungry, but I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast.

"Well we need to go grocery shopping anyway," Blossom said. "And it's warm in the car."

Warm in the car. That was a good point. So I nodded my head and got to my feet.

"We can leave the heat and power on so it's toasty here when we get back, and it'll be great."

And besides, the segue would be a good opportunity to perhaps let Amy's building anxiety settle down enough for the two of them to talk about things like kissing.

The car was still warm from when we were in it the first time. Blossom turned the heat up all the same and I put my hands against the vent again. I had barely spoken since she asked about the kiss, and I couldn't stop wondering what I did wrong.

I should have said yes. But saying yes to things I don't want to do is wrong, especially when it came to kissing stuff. But I wanted to do it. But I didn't want to have a panic attack. But Stephanie told me not to focus so much on not having a panic attack. But it didn't feel like the right moment. But what was the right moment going to be? And if we kissed once, would we kiss again? How many times? Where would she put her hands? Where did she put her hands the first time? I couldn't even remember... the scene was a magnificent and terrifying blur in my brain. My chest felt tight and I pulled at my fingers as Blossom drove down the beach street.

"There's some pennies in the console there; please take one and then tell me what you're thinking, cupcake?"

Blossom knew what Amy's anxiety was all about; it was about the kiss. Blossom should have just kissed her. But consent was important.

"I don't know how to do this," I said honestly, trying not to cry. I felt stuck. It felt like playing a game of chess and all my moves would put me in checkmate. It was overwhelming. It was exhausting.

"This is about the kissing, right? Was I wrong to ask first? Do you think you'd have felt better if I just kissed you? I know I've got more experience than you, and I don't wanna like… overwhelm you."

I shook my head. Just doing it would have been way worse. She did the right thing. Why was Blossom so good at doing the right thing and I was so bad at it? I closed my eyes and sunk down in my seat. I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the little magnet rings. Stephanie said I could keep them; she had others.

"I know it's not a big deal... I know it's nothing. I know I suck at it, and you don't care, and it's fine. But every time I think about it, everything in me just knots up and I feel nauseous."

"Well, when I get anxious like that, it's because I'm afraid of an outcome. I'm afraid of failing at an exam, or making a social faux pas, or like… disappointing someone? And I start with that fear, and work my way backwards from there. Do you think that would help?"

"There's no reason," I said quietly. That was half the trouble. If I had a reason, I could argue with that reason, but I didn't. It was just feelings. Feelings that fed into feelings that fed into feelings. It was cyclical and inevitable.

"It's like when I take a test," I said quietly, trying to speak instead of think. "The grade doesn't matter. If I get an 80% or whatever, I'll still pass the class. Nobody is going to laugh at me. My mom never cared what I got on report cards, because she knows I am bad at tests. I don't even care, really. I've failed tests before, and there were never any consequences. But then it comes time to take the test, and I'm just so... scared."

"So you're scared of the test, but then you do the test, and once you do… hmm, how do you feel? Is it a "I'm glad I did that?" Kind of thing? Because if it is, then we should absolutely kiss because it means you really enjoy it, you just don't deal with the anticipation?" Blossom was no therapist, but she sure was trying her best.

"I dunno..." Usually, when the test was over, I realized rather quickly it was out of my hands. It was something I no longer had control over, and if I failed then I failed. The terrible part about being bad at something isn't the outcome, but all the chances you have to not be bad at it. That being said, my anxiety was worse during the test. Translated, it would be the worst while kissing Blossom. I didn't want to be having a panic attack while kissing Blossom.

"It's not a good idea," I mumbled.

Talking was helping with one thing but hurting another. I was less afraid of doing something wrong, because we weren't doing anything at all. But the more I said about my brain, the more broken I felt. Anxiety transmuted into depression.

"How was learning to drive for you? Were you anxious about it, at first? And did that clear up?"

It was a point of comparison she was doing her best to make.

"Um..." It wasn't that long ago. I didn't take driver's training until I was sixteen, and I didn't get my full license until I was seventeen. "I was definitely anxious at first... but I think it was normal anxiety? Like, um... I got over it kind of quick. And I don't think I had any panic attacks..." I came close, when I had to merge onto the freeway and a truck sped up so fast it almost hit me. That brought up another memory.

"Actually, I did. The first time I took my driver's test. The parking part, not the driving part." I was really bad at parallel parking and I faked being sick to leave early. I had to go back and take the test again a week later.

"Oh my gosh the parking. I spent literally an entire weekend figuring out how to do it until it clicked, and now I'm awesome at it." Blossom laughed, happy to have something to bond over, and then swung back around. "So… you were anxious about something, but you're not really anymore, right? So that means it's possible, I'd say~"

"No, I still don't parallel park," I said quietly, spinning the little magnet rings around my fingers. "Even the thought of needing to freaks me out..."

Parallel parking could be avoided. Tests? Not in college. Kissing? Well I'd managed for twenty years, with a few exceptions.

"Well, let me tell you this: kissing isn't nearly as challenging as street parking. So I think you're capable, cupcake.".

I knew Blossom was trying to reassure me, but it wasn't really working. Things came so easy to her, so naturally. Even the things that didn't didn't seem to bother her. She drove us into the town and picked a quiet Italian place. I think we had ordered food from there once, actually. There weren't a ton of options unless we wanted to drive half an hour away.

I was quiet. I had stopped playing with my fingers and the magnet rings were safely in my coat pocket again, but I felt awful. My skin wasn't cold or hot or anything. My head hurt, just behind my eyes. And more than anything, I just wanted to turn into furniture for Blossom to leave behind at the restaurant. A chair. Or a water pitcher. Something useful.

"You know a lot of stories have scenes with people eating at restaurants, or diners?" Blossom picked up that new topic once they were seated, because she felt utterly thwarted. "I think maybe it's just because it's a good way to do exposition, maybe? Or maybe everyone wants to write Pulp Fiction?"

"They aren't good for anything but talking," I shrugged. "I guess it makes sense." Unless you were worldbuilding, it really didn't matter what people ordered at a restaurant. Blossom was right: they were good for conversation and changing the environment.

"Do you ever have trouble finding situations for people to talk in your writing?" Blossom looked at the menu with consideration, trying to decide what she was going to get. She hoped Amy planned to eat.

"I dunno... not usually. I think my biggest writing issue is filling time." Most of the Academy stories took place over just a few days. That always felt weird to me. Sometimes I could write a time skip or something, but those had to be used sparingly. With regression stories, people change fast; skipping a week ahead was like having an entirely new character. Unless they were already mostly regressed, like the Candies in Academy T or Academy A. Regression has diminishing returns. That might also be a good math joke, but I don't know enough about math to be sure.

"Huh, I didn't consider that. There's that one about the girl who gets taken by the abusive couple and she works for them? And her best friend comes to live with them too, and I feel like that one takes place over like a year, but I bet if I counted the nights it would probably be less than a month."

We ate. We talked. It was wholly uninteresting, and I only had half my pasta. The serving sizes weren't huge like most Italian places, but I wasn't very hungry. In the end, the restaurant didn't prove to be either romantic or a good venue for conversation. The former seemed to correspond best with diapers, and the latter with Blossom's car.

We were in Blossom's car, parked in front of the beach house, when Blossom turned to me.

"I don't know what to do," she said.

"Uhhh..." I didn't know what to say. I felt like she stole my line.

"I know you're anxious, and that this kissing thing is a big deal for you. I'm trying to understand and help you be more comfortable. But like, I don't know the answer here."

"There isn't one?" I offered, like I hadn't been trying to solve this puzzle for the past five years of my life.

"That's not acceptable to me," Blossom said sternly.

I sighed and leaned on the car door, so I was both further away from Blossom and facing her. This conversation was stupid.

"Why does it matter?" I asked rhetorically, ignoring all of Stephanie's advice. I didn't realize it, but I was trying to hurt myself. "Just hook up with someone else."

"Do you think that lowly of me, Amy? Do you think people are just interchangeable to me? Because they're not. You're not replaceable. Nobody is. I'm not here trying to just kiss someone; I'm here wanting to kiss you. Wanting to be closer with you. I like you."

"I didn't say I was replaceable," I said sharply, matching Blossom's irritation. It's not like either of us liked how broken I was. "I can write stories and dress up in baby clothes with you and stuff, but this just. Isn't something I'm good for. I know you're into me because I wear diapers for you and do roleplays—"

"No!" Blossom's tone cut through Amy's words and she froze in place. She didn't raise her voice, but it was a tone Amy had never heard.

"No. I said no. I like you for you, Amy. I like you. I like your smile, I like your pretty lips, and the way your eyes sparkle when you have an idea. I love your commentary when we watch Bluey. I adore the way you think, and the ideas you have, even outside of writing. I like how kind you are, and how close you and your Mom are. I love that you dress in a way that's you and you don't compromise on that. I love that you're patient with me, and you're excited to try new things, even if they make you nervous, like tanning with me. I love laying with you at night, I like going on adventures with you, I love the drives to and from the beach house even when we talk about nothing at all. I love that you handled Becky well. I love you enough to want my spheres to touch and I've NEVER actively wanted that. I didn't invite you just to invite you: I invited you because I want you in my life and not just one part of it."

Breathe. Breathe.

"So just. Don't try to minimize who you are, or what you mean to me, okay?"

I stared at Blossom for what felt like forever. Part of me was awestruck. A bigger part of me was looking for a tell, like we were playing poker and she went all in. But the biggest part of me was absorbing her words like osmosis. They filled me up and sat in a queue, and my brain took a look at them one by one like Peter at the gates of Heaven. And I couldn't turn any of them away. I couldn't send any of them back. I felt tears in my eyes, but I didn't cry. I wasn't really that sad. I might not even have been sad at all.

"I think… now is an okay time to kiss me…"

Blossom looked at me for half a second, eyes wide with surprise, but then she moved. She moved toward me and then stopped dead still when I said the next word. Fast, like a panic response.

"Once."

That same stillness, that same surprise, and then she nodded. Once. So Blossom had to make that one kiss count.

Unlike the New Years Kiss - which had been a product of drunkenness and want and desire, a purely selfish move from Blossom - this time she made it matter. She put one hand on the back of Amy's head, fingers sliding up into the nape of her hair, and the other in her own lap as she pulled herself closer to Amy and Amy closer to her. Then she pressed her lips to Amy's. Sweet like cupcakes. Soft like love. Tender like a heart wincing in expectation of the world. And then passionate like the same heart once the trust had been earned. Blossom kissed Amy like the sun kissed the ocean horizon during sunrise: warm, bright, and magical.

There was no real way for me to describe it. It was completely different to New Years, and exactly the same. The best compliment I had for Blossom in that moment was, afterward, we went inside and I didn't have a panic attack.