The same brief touch
happened everyday.

The bell echoed through every sleepy-student-filled class
right when pupils had given up on their class work for the day.
Headphone filled ears and sluggish bodies
no longer scattered in the halls
they clung to the same black top.
And two people, always so in-sync, were headed for the same destination
the other's hand.

The younger girl,
black shirt and black pants,
stood beside her curly haired friend as the two strolled,
occupied in conversation.

The older girl,
a little more color yet still draped in black,
clung to a childish boy and stared at the gravel
before it sunk beneath her feet.

They had separate ways to go.
Both their bodies slid to opposites sides,
just at the glance of the other's feet.
One hand no longer occupied with a phone
or the strap of a backpack.
Fingers spread slightly for the pieces of the puzzle
to fit just right.
Smirks.
Light, unnoticeable smirks pulling at pale lips.

Their fingers collided with grace,
eyes never leaving what they were initially watching,
and their bodies leaving a gap of at least a few inches.
A thumb, belonging to the younger girl, rubs against an index finger.
The finger doesn't feel foreign.
It sends surges of lust through the girl's mind,
fogging up every thought other than the one's that included
the fingers she was wrapped in.

It ends as quick as it began.
Fingers stretch as far as they can
until there is no physical way to still be touching.
They keep going.
No stopping.
No turning to give the other one
a last glance of the day.
The touch lingers.
The thoughts continue to blur.
And the smirks become wide smiles,
curling up to temples.