Chapter 72: First Friend
The rest of the week went by smoother than I expected. No chaos, no fires to put out, no melodramatic battles with Celestia’s moods. Just... her. Being herself. Which meant she was even clingier than usual—something I honestly thought was scientifically impossible, but apparently, Valentine’s proved me wrong.
She stuck to me like I was oxygen. If I went to grab a snack, she was behind me. If I dared to sit on the couch without her, she’d throw herself across my lap like a cat claiming territory. And don’t even get me started on sleep—half the time, I woke up with her entire body sprawled over mine like she’d mistaken me for a human pillow.
I didn’t mind, though. Not one bit.
Saturday morning was no different.
I slipped out of bed quietly, trying not to wake her, and padded to the kitchen. A bottle of cold water later, I was halfway back when my phone buzzed on the counter.
Trent.
Yeah, that’s a sentence I never thought I’d say with casual familiarity. Trent and I? We’re friends now. Real ones. Weird, right? My first actual human male friend.
I picked up. "Yo."
"Hey," his voice came through, a little rough, like he hadn’t been awake too long either.
"What’s up?"
There was a pause before he asked, "Celestia still asleep?"
I glanced back toward the bedroom door. "Yeah. Why?"
"Nothing. Just asking." Then he exhaled, the kind of exhale people do when they’re working up to something. "Listen, Kai... you mind if I come over? I, uh, kinda need to talk. Important stuff."
I blinked. "Important stuff?"
"Yeah." Another pause. "Promise I’m not dragging you into anything crazy."
For some reason, that made me more suspicious. But still, I said, "Sure. I’ll text you the address."
"Thanks, man. Appreciate it."
We hung up, and I stood there for a second, staring at my phone like it might give me hints about what the hell that was about. Nothing. Figures.
I pushed open the bedroom door again. Celestia shifted in her sleep, rolling onto her side. Her lashes fluttered once, then she peeked at me through the tiniest slit of her eyes.
"Who called, babe?" she mumbled, voice muffled by the pillow.
"Trent." I set my phone down on the nightstand. "He wants to come over. Says it’s important."
Her eyes opened a little more, still hazy with sleep, but sharp enough to register that. She gave me a lazy smile. "Look at you. Your first friend."
I scoffed, climbing back onto the bed beside her. "Uh, you’re forgetting Marina. She counts."
Celestia smirked, propping her chin on her hand like she was humoring me. "You know what I mean."
Before I could argue, she leaned forward and kissed me—soft, quick, the kind of good-morning kiss that carried no drama, no fanfare. Just her, being hers.
"You don’t look worried," she added when she pulled back.
"I am worried," I said honestly. "Mostly because I have no idea why he’s coming."
Her smirk deepened, and she brushed her thumb across my cheek. "Relax. Maybe he just wants to hang out. Friends do that, right?"
"Do they?" I deadpanned.
She laughed quietly, and then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, she wriggled closer and draped herself against me again. "Guess we’ll find out."
We stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in the kind of silence that didn’t feel like silence at all. Just soft breaths, tangled warmth, and the steady reminder that this—her and me—was my normal now.
Eventually, though, she sat up, stretching with a yawn that made her look like a sleepy cat. "Come on, husband. If someone’s visiting, we should at least look alive."
"Right," I muttered, dragging myself up too.
We both moved through the motions of getting ready—her humming in the bathroom while I changed, me muttering at my reflection while she teased from behind the door. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t chaotic. Just slow, unhurried, like the world could wait while we did things our way.
And somewhere between her playful commentary about my bed hair and me pretending I wasn’t nervous about Trent’s mysterious "important talk," I realized something.
Life with her had started to feel... settled. In the best way.
---
By the time Trent showed up, it was well into the afternoon. Three hours after breakfast, the house had gone through its usual rhythm: Celestia insisting we watch something on her laptop while she curled against me, me trying and failing to pay attention because she kept pausing to comment on every little thing. Then lunch. Then her declaring she’d "make snacks for when Trent gets here," like she owned the place.
When the doorbell finally rang, I took a breath and got it.
Trent stood there in casual clothes—grey hoodie, jeans, hands shoved in his pockets. No football field, no roaring crowd, no "Cannon" aura. Just... a guy.
"Yo," I said, stepping aside.
"Yo," he echoed with a small grin. We exchanged a firm handshake—one of those slightly too-long ones where you’re both making sure you don’t let go first.
I raised an eyebrow. "You always greet people like you’re about to negotiate a peace treaty?"
He laughed. "Nah, just making sure you don’t crush my hand."
"Funny," I muttered, but I was grinning.
We’d barely settled into the living room when Celestia appeared, balancing a tray like she’d been waiting for her cue. Glasses, bottled drinks, and a pile of snacks—chips, cookies, even some cut fruit like this was a proper sit-down.
"Guest snacks," she announced, setting the tray down before flopping beside me on the couch like she belonged there. Which she did.
Trent smirked. "Man, you’re lucky. I don’t get this kind of welcome when I go over to a teammate’s place."
"That’s because their girlfriends aren’t me," Celestia said breezily, reaching for a chip. "You want?"
Trent chuckled and took one. "Yeah, sure."
For a while, it was just light conversation. Random jokes about school, small talk about assignments, even Celestia casually roasting Trent for losing at Mario Kart once during some party. The laughter flowed easy. Easy enough that I almost forgot he’d said he wanted to talk about something "important."
Then, slowly, he leaned back against the couch and got quieter. "So, uh... here’s the thing."
I looked at him. "The thing?"
"Yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking between me and Celestia. "It’s about Marina."
Ah.
Celestia’s brows arched in immediate interest. I groaned internally.
Trent continued, words careful. "I... like her."
"Like-like her or like her?" Celestia asked instantly, leaning forward like an interviewer.
He laughed nervously. "Like-like. Definitely."
I blinked at him. "Wait. You—you’re serious?"
"Dead serious."
""Bro," I said, staring at him. "You’re The Cannon. Star quarterback, all that. Girls throw themselves at you. So... why Marina? What makes you look at her like that?"
He sighs then his head. "See, that’s exactly the problem. Everyone assumes I want ’anyone.’ But Marina’s... different. She’s smart, grounded, doesn’t care that I play football. She just talks to me like a person, you know? Like she’s not impressed by any of it."
That... made sense. Still threw me off.
"Okay, hold up," I said quickly, raising my hands. "You’re asking the wrong guy for girl advice. I—I don’t know these things. At all. You should ask Val. She’s... uh..." I trailed off, gesturing helplessly. "She’s got that brain for this."
Celestia smirked triumphantly. "Finally, some respect."
"Respect? More like passing the responsibility," I muttered, earning myself a poke in the ribs from her.
Trent laughed, shoulders relaxing. "Alright then. What do you think, Celestia? How do I... y’know... not mess this up?"
She tapped her chin dramatically. "First, don’t treat her like a conquest. You already got that right—you like her because she’s her, not because of what she does for your image. Second, be patient. Girls don’t fall easy. They’ll test you without even meaning to."
He nodded seriously. "Got it. Patient."
"And third," she added, "be genuine. None of that flashy stuff. No big quarterback ego. Just... Trent."
"Just Trent, huh?" he repeated softly.
> "Exactly."
I leaned back, watching this unfold. It was weird, surreal almost, seeing "The Cannon" sitting in my living room, listening intently while Celestia dispensed wisdom like some kind of terrifyingly cute oracle.
"You’re... actually good at this," I admitted.
She gave me a smug smile. "Of course. Who do you think taught you how to treat me properly?"
"Debatable," I muttered.
Another poke in the ribs.
Trent laughed again, shaking his head. "Man, you two are... something else."
"Tell me about it," I sighed, though I couldn’t hide my grin.
The conversation drifted after that. More jokes, more laughter. Trent asked about random things—music, food, even some ridiculous debate about whether pineapple belonged on pizza (Celestia and Trent ganged up on me for saying no). The serious talk had happened, but it didn’t weigh heavy. It just folded into the rest, natural and easy.
By the time he finally stood to leave, it didn’t feel like some awkward "thanks for listening" visit. It felt like... hanging out.
At the door, we exchanged another handshake. This one was quicker, less forced.
"Appreciate it, man," he said. "Really."
"No problem," I replied. Then, after a beat, added, "Guess this is what friends do, huh?"
He grinned. "Guess so."
And as I shut the door behind him, Celestia leaned against my shoulder with a little hum.
"See?" she said softly. "First friend."
And for once, I didn’t argue.
---
To be continued...