Kekoa Reyna

"it's arachnid like, not spider like. taxonomy matters," shreya countered automatically, though her voice lacked its usual corrective bite. she reached out and gingerly placed the small cylindrical plastic tube into his outstretched hand, ensuring his fingers fully closed around it before she let go. she turned back toward the main path, her heavy boots marking a audible crunch against the gravel as she led them slowly away from the deepest shadows of the family plots. the glowing river of green light was still pulsing overhead, casting long shadows across the grass, but her focus had shifted entirely back to the clinical parameters of her evening.

"the study is a comparative data mapping project," she explained, lifting her clipboard slightly to check her previous barometric annotations under the faint moonlight. "i'm cross referencing the exact atmospheric humidity and ambient ground temperature of the cemetery against the county's historic migration logs from the nineties. urban development and micro climate shifts in pinehaven have altered the insects' flight altitude over the last decade. if the swarm drops too low due to a sudden drop in temperature, they risk velocity collisions with local traffic on the northern highway."

she glanced sideways at him, her dark curls bouncing slightly with her stride as she caught the easygoing expression on his face. she was acutely aware that her chosen pastimes, spending a thursday night tracking nocturnal beetles in a graveyard with a clipboard, came off as entirely bizarre to normal people. but kick didn't look at her like she was a freak, and he didn't try to joke her out of her hyper fixations. he just accepted it with that trademark, uninhibited casualness, instantly grounding her and making her feel entirely secure in her own eccentricities.

"and you don't have to worry about them landing on you anymore," she added, her delivery dropping into a dry, matter of fact reassurance. "your cologne has a heavy synthetic base note. biologically speaking, the chemical compounds act as a natural deterrent to the junewings' olfactory receptors. you're essentially a walking no fly zone to them. so just keep a firm grip on that container and keep moving. we have two more humidity sensors to check near the old mausoleum before the midnight dew sets in."

"Hell yeah," Kick pumped a fist into the air. Not only did he smell good, but his cologne was also warding off any bugs from landing on him? That was a win-win in his book. Shreya hadn't asked, but he felt the need to tell her about what he was wearing. "Last week me and the girlies," The girlies being Ginger and Davie, of course. "Went to that big mall that's, like, forty minutes away and I got this tiny little sample of..." He tried to remember what the brand was. All he could remember was how expensive the smallest bottle was and how he'd had to settle for one of those testers. "Le Labo? Yeah, that's it! This one smells like citrus and figs and the woods, apparently." Kekoa brought his wrist up to his nose and sniffed. "I sprayed it on this morning and it's still there... that's crazy!" Made him want to invest the $110 plus tax.

Kekoa tightened his hold on the container, make doubly sure that it wasn't going to slip through his fingers and potentially ruin Shreya's whole experiment thing. "I got it," He confirmed. "Nice and tight, don't you worry!" He kept a steady, loping, pace behind her, his gaze moving up to the glowing bugs above them every now and then. They were cool, even if they were too creepy crawly for his liking.

"wisconsin wouldn't know what to do with you," saffy murmured, leaning back against the old register as the post hit warmth kept their limbs delightfully heavy. "you’d try to surf a wave of melted provolone, cause a multi county emergency, and get yourself banished. stay in the evergreen state, harbor master. our ecosystem has already adapted to you." they watched with a slow, internal amusement as kick dramatically shook his head, waving a dismissive hand toward the front doors. "go, flee. protect your delicate auditory canal. but the experiment proceeds with or without your supervision."

as kick got the pizza parlor on the line, saffy systematically began feeding a fresh roll of sticky labels into the archaic price gun, the clicking of the plastic teeth matching the low, underwater hum of the shop. they listened to him negotiate the specific level of char needed for the fruit toppings, a tiny, approving twitch of their lip showing. this was the mid afternoon sweet spot of a spin cycle shift; the golden lull where the outside world ceased to exist, and the store became an island of beautiful, pointless routines.

saffy lifted the price gun again, aimlessly clicking a couple of stickers onto the edge of the glass display counter, their left ear tracking the high notes of his impromptu performance. "the hook on this track is absolutely lethal, the synth production has no business being that clean." as kick kept belting out the chorus from the aisles, the infectious rhythm of the track finally bypassed saffy's usual blase nature. the live resin stupor made the bassline feel like a physical pulse against their ribs. letting out a soft huff, saffy finally abandoned the price gun on the counter.

they picked up a small stack of used disco arrivals that needed sorting into the discount bins. with the stack balanced against their hip, saffy started moving; a slow sway of their shoulders that perfectly matched kick's goofy energy. their boots slid in a lazy, syncopated two step across the old linoleum, a loose grin breaking across their face as they thumbed through the sleeves. they were completely in sync, two stoned friends floating through a shift, transforming the dusty corners of a ninety something record store into their own private kingdom. "you're flat on the bridge, by the way," saffy called out, their voice carrying a lazy, teasing edge over the crooning.

"That girl has got her sound figured out," Kekoa agreed, nodding his head. "And Chappell is a kick ass name." He thoroughly enjoyed when musicians had a cool stage name. Like some guy named Blaze Typhoon could be rocking out on a stage and then introduce himself as Brian. It was hilarious. 90% of the time when he introduced himself to someone after a show, they always asked if the nickname Kick came from the fact he played the drums. And he'd excitedly get to tell them that it sure did not! That was divine destiny, baby!

"I'm not flat, you're just going deaf," Kekoa called back, an overly obvious teasing lilt to his tone. He caught Saffy's eye and tapped his own ear, giving them a playful wink. In reality, he was flat. There was a reason he only sang backups in the band. He could carry a tune, but not for long. But where was the fun in admitting that? "Adjust that hearing aid, baby, you're missing the good stuff..." With that he launched into another spectacular rendition of Red Wine Supernova as he finished unboxing the vinyls from the box he'd brought out.

Kekoa kept one eye on the time, counting down the minutes until their pizza arrived. When they were likely only five minutes out, he found Saffy in the aisles and tapped his watch. "If you're gonna torture a poor kid, you better get it set up... it's almost eatin' time!"

⸻ Kekoa’s easygoing nature makes him a perfectly adaptable partner, Alice’s fingers anchor against his shoulders. He doesn't press her boundaries or rush the moment; instead, he stands as a steady, unbothered pivot point, giving her the space to recalibrate her equilibrium against his massive frame. But as the heavy bass line shifts, Alice makes a deliberate, highly uncharacteristic recalculation of her own. Sliding her palms lightly across the fabric of his shoulders, Alice fluidly guides one of Kekoa’s hands downward, placing it firmly against her waist while her other hand maintains its anchor on his shoulder. It is a silent, seamless protocol a rare clearance code allowing him into her immediate personal perimeter for the duration of the dance.

❛ It is a happy celebration, so of course, the local population is excited, ❜ She notes, a genuine, albeit small smile softening her sharp features as she acknowledges the matrimonial occasion. She glances past his shoulder at the surrounding chaos of the reception, watching a few over-served guests stumble heavily into one another. There is absolutely no denying that she and Kekoa possess an entirely superior baseline of coordination compared to the rest of the room ( not counting the bride and the groom, obviously, only the people within the area near them ). A subtle, highly amused expression crosses her face, her nose crinkling in a brief, silent “uhh” of aristocratic distaste as she watches a particularly sloppy drunk nearly upend a nearby table with their uncoordinated motions.

He tightened his hold on Alice's waist and pulled her in slightly closer. Not enough so that they were pressed together, but close enough that no one could shimmy in between them if they wanted. He slowed his movements, his hips moving in perfect rhythm to the song being played. Kick knew the song and couldn't help but sing it softly under his breath. He'd told her before that music ran through his veins, and that truth was shining loud and true tonight.

"If I ever get married," Kekoa mused, speaking aloud the thought that had just come to his head. "Me and mine are gonna have a choreographed dance for sure..." He grinned. "It's cheesy as hell but every video I've ever seen the couple just looks so damn happy..." And he wanted that, one day. Someone to dance through life with.

                    the   fact   that   loulou's   had   a   vendor   booth   at   the   carnival   simultaneously   did   and   didn't   surprise   nyoka   .   on   the   one   hand   ,   it   made   sense   that   local   restaurants   would   want   to   get   their   food   in   the   mouths   of   tourists   by   posting   up   in   the   park   any   chance   they   could   ;   on   the   other   ,   it   seemed   like   extra   work   for   rocky   that   she   was   sure   he   didn't   love   .   still   ,   she   had   graciously   volunteered   to   run   said   booth   for   an   opportunity   to   not   be   stuck   inside   the   diner   for   three   weeks   straight   .   other   than   the   sweltering   heat   ,   she   was   enjoying   herself   .   any   heat   was   better   than   texas   heat   .

                    “   care   to   try   our   hot   honey   donut   bun   chicken   sandwiches   ?   ”   she   asked   to   no   one   in   particular   .   she   had   learned   that   calling   out   their   items   got   more   people   at   the   booth   ,   and   more   people   meant   a   bigger   profit   ,   and   a   bigger   profit   meant   they   were   a   larger   success   .   “   we   also   have   our   caramel   apple   pie   ,   and   a   seasonal   strawberry   strudel   that   will   melt   in   your   mouth   !   ”

"Yo, yo, yo, Nik," He greeted, gliding up to the LouLou's booth. Kekoa gave Nyoka the same goofy grin he gave every time he went into the diner. "Tell me more about this fucking sandwich, girl, I'm salivatin' just thinking about it..." Did he need something else to eat? No, absolutely not. Would a hot honey donut chicken sandwich likely make him sick to his stomach? No doubt. Was that going to stop him from dishing out whatever it cost to get one? No chance. "Are we talkin' a regular glazed donut? Is it two of them smushed together? Or one cut in half? I need the details..." Kekoa leaned in on the booth. "And go ahead and start the prep, because I'm getting one for sure."

"it's literally a textbook psychological operation, keeks, don't try to sugarcoat your villainy," she snickered, staying firmly planted on the mattress for a second longer as she watched him roll onto his feet with that effortless, bouncy momentum he always seemed to possess. when he launched into the mental image of exposing his backside to every stranger inquisitive about their body art, she buried her face in her hands, a loud groan vibrating through her palms. "i am begging you to keep your trousers secure for the duration of this weekend. the pinehaven scene is fragile enough without the threat of you turning every post show parking lot encounter into an exhibition," she muttered through her fingers, his good boy pose paired that expression so cartoonishly solemn it made her want to hurl a stray sneaker at his chest. "oh, absolutely. a pure, innocent lamb. a total saint who definitely didn't just concoct a digital memory wipe scheme two minutes ago. the peroxide fumes will definitely complement your natural deceptive aura."

she finally pushed herself up from the sea of discarded shirts, her boots hitting the floorboards with a solid thud just as he swarmed back into her personal space. when his arm hooked over her shoulder and his cheek pressed into her hair for the second time that afternoon, she didn't even try to wiggle out of the hold, merely leaning her weight against his side with a quiet snort. the sentimental truce lasted exactly until his foot swung up behind her, clipping her backside in a blatant declaration of war. "hey! absolute foul! referee, red card!" she shrieked, instantly spinning out of his grip with a lightning fast pivot, her hands coming up in a defensive boxing stance as she bounced on the balls of her feet. "if a single drop of that neon pink mixture touches my scalp, kekoa, i will personally ensure your precious drums are tuned to sound like hollow plastic buckets for the rest of the summer."

she uncrossed her arms, dropping the mock fighting stance to swipe the chemical kit off his dresser, giving the cardboard box a firm slap. ten minutes later, the cramped, poorly ventilated bathroom was thick with the sharp, clinical sting of peroxide and developer. kick was dutifully perched on the closed toilet lid, a plastic trash bag draped over his shoulders like a makeshift cape, while ginger sat cross legged on the edge of the sink counter. she had a plastic gloved hand steadying the crown of his head, her fingers buried in his short buzz, while her other hand meticulously worked a tint brush through his roots, painting the thick pink mixture onto the dark hair peeking through. "hold still, you're tilting."

Kekoa brought his hands up, too, ducking and dodging and huffing out his breath like they were in a boxing ring. "Messing with my kit is a declaration of war, you know that Ging..." That was in the friendship bylines. The ten commandments of being Afterglow! Against the very foundation they'd built their friendship house! Even joking about it was blasphemy. "Imma let that slide for tonight because you're about to be doing my hair but..." Kick dropped his hands and raised two fingers to his eyes, motioning between himself and Ginger. "I'm watching you, Scrappy doo!"

In the bathroom, his chest sweating from the proximity and the trash bag wrapped around his shoulders, Kekoa was on the verge of falling asleep. Or, perhaps, the fumes were making him pass out. Either way, his eyes were getting droopy and he was leaning in the opposite way he was supposed to. When Ginger spoke up, he snapping back to attention, straightening his back. "I'm sleepy," Kekoa yawned. "Being a natural pink-head makes me sleepy!" And having someones fingers running through his hair, too. "And hungry... should we get Thai food?"

shreya rolled her eyes, though the gesture was entirely fond. "you're supposed to let them land on you, kick. it's a test of patience, not a game of dodgeball. and for the record, your hypothetical entomological demise is highly accurate. your spatial awareness is far too compromised for a creature with a high surface area to mass ratio." she watched his hand chop through the air, a small, involuntary twitch of a smile threatening the corners of her mouth. he really would make a terrible insect. he was entirely too large, too loud, and too fundamentally incapable of staying still in a hiding spot. "i don't think i'd fare much better as a beetle, i'm more inclined towards trapdoor spiders," she stated matter of factly, tilting her chin up. "i'd construct a perfectly fortified subterranean burrow with a camouflaged lid, stay entirely inside my designated perimeter where it's quiet, and only emerge when absolutely necessary to handle calculated tasks. zero unnecessary socializing."

she looked at the crisp, clean lines of the freshly placed flag, the fabric completely still now that the wind had died down. she knew exactly how much weight rested on those broad, relaxed shoulders of his. vance mortuary had handled the arrangements for his grandfather's funeral all those years ago, she'd scarcely been fourteen years old at the time. he had looked so small in the prep room, staring blankly at the paperwork that would tie him to pinehaven forever. she hadn't known how to offer normal, soft condolences; death had become too objective for her by then to wrap it in platitudes. so instead, she had stayed with him for three hours, manually sorting through the floral delivery slips just so he wouldn't have to sit alone in the roaring silence of his grief.

"you don't need to justify the hour. my father always says a graveyard is the only place in town where the clock doesn't actually matter." then came the sideways glance, the lazy, teasing smirk that always seemed to target her meticulously constructed armor. shreya stiffened for a fraction of a second, her arms crossing a little tighter over the front of her leather jacket as if she could physically shield herself from the accuracy of his question. kick knew precisely who her usually companion in most outings was, she narrowed her eyes in heatless warning at him, daring him to speak the name.

"i'm conducting a local ecological survey, which requires absolute isolation to prevent data contamination from human heat signatures and noise pollution," she informed him, her tone immediately retreating into its familiar, lofty academic defense mechanism. she looked anywhere but at his eyes, focusing instead on a particularly bright cluster of beetles drifting past a marble obelisk. "bringing a companion would completely compromise the integrity of my humidity readings. besides, nobody else in a five mile radius possess the specific brand of insanity required to navigate unlit terrain at ten o'clock." she paused, her shoe twisting slightly in the moss, before she let out a quiet, defeated huff that gave away the entire lie.

"but...since you're already here, and your presence has already corrupted the migration..." she glanced back at him through her peripheral vision, her expression settling into a dry challenge. "you can carry the spare specimen container, if you'd like. just try not to drop it."

If asked, Kekoa would likely claim that the day his grandfather died was the day he grew up. Even though he was in his 20's and had been an adult for a handful of years, he was still carrying around the boyish easiness. Even at 30 he would probably be called boyish but only in personality. He had far too much responsibility to live his life as free and easy as he once had. And part of his newfound adult responsibility was taking care of as much as he could when his grandfather died. There was a will in place, and instructions left behind, but still mountains of paperwork that had to be filled out and sorted through. Kekoa could vividly remember a newly teenage Shreya sitting quietly across the room while he did his best to get through the papers without breaking down. And when he did ultimately breakdown, she brought of a box of tissues and a water bottle. She hadn't said anything, and Kekoa had actually appreciated that. He'd always been a kid who could never shut up, but that was one point in his life that he didn't have anything to say.

Kick saw Shreya as a kid cousin these days. Someone who he saw around enough to tease, but likely wouldn't put anything heavy on if he could help it. "Mhm mhm mhm... sure, sure, sure..." Kekoa agreed, chuckling softly to himself. Experiment this, experiment that, they both knew (the whole damn town knew) there was a redheaded kid somewhere in this town right now probably thinking about Shreya and wondering where she was and what she was up to.

"I do not have butter fingers, Ms. Vance!" Kekoa defended, holding out a steady hand. While not entirely a lie, he had been known to drop a thing or two in his day. But he wasn't gonna now! He could be careful! "So, okay, what exactly is this local ecological study? Is it the bugs? I really don't want bugs to land on me..."

⸻ Kekoa does not seem to mind the skin-to-skin contact, nor does he harbor any of the calculation or social anxiety that dictates the rest of Alice's life. When she loses her footing, he doesn't hesitate, he steps right into her orbit, offering his massive shoulders as a stable, unbothered anchor, grounding her with an easy chuckle. But for Alice, breaching that physical distance is a complex, high-stakes negotiation with her own deeply hardwired instincts. In this specific geography, ignorance is an absolute luxury. One of the rare, redeeming qualities of a provincial thumbnail like Pinehaven is that the local population remains completely oblivious to her corporate lineage and the international media firestorm currently burning through Europe. Out here on the floor, she isn't an asset to be leveraged or a pariah to be avoided. Kekoa’s interest carries no underlying transactional motive; he is genuinely invested in her presence, not what her family's empire can provide.

Because Alice is inherently hyper-aware of boundaries, she treats personal space with a severe, clinical respect. Asking for permission wasn't a coy tactic; it was a necessary protocol to ensure she wasn't invading his parameters. The moment he gives clear, unbothered consent and steps closer, Alice reaches out, her long, manicured fingers settling firmly against his shoulders to secure her balance. Her touch is precise and deliberate. She was raised in an environment where physical affection was a heavily regulated currency, reserved only for a highly selective inner circle. Hugs, casual touch, and unprompted warmth are not part of her baseline vocabulary. Yet, anchoring herself against his chest, she forces her controlled germophobia to take a backseat to the immediate structural necessity. His warmth is entirely counterintuitive to her usual defense mechanisms, but it is undeniably solid.

"People are just excited," He laughed, shrugging casually. Kick glanced around the floor, seeing how crazy and uncoordinated some of the other partygoers were being, and added, "And some of them are definitely too drunk for their own good... which means, yeah, lacking proper spatial awareness for sure." Kekoa grinned, his eyes crinkling almost fully closed. "Can't blame them, though," He went on. "I don't think I've ever been fully sober at a wedding... I think it's legally required that everyone get a little tipsy." Kekoa was just barely tipsy, like, enough to let a little loose and get a little silly, but not nearly enough to cause any issues for the bride and groom. The sloppy drunks at weddings were embarrassing.

When the song changed, and the beat slowed down, Kekoa raised a brow. "Need a break?"

saffy didn’t venture to argue with the generous valuation, though they definitely track skipped right past the unexpected tenderness of the comment with a faint, almost imperceptible softening of their shoulders. "if you got paid in cheese, you'd be a notorious black market dairy mogul within a fiscal quarter, garun fucking teed." saffy murmured, their lazy, half lidded eyes drifting down toward the general vicinity of his covered shin where the infamous, permanent tribute to cheddar resided. "and don't try to manipulate me with the productivity threat. we both know you're going to hyper fixate on the new punk arrivals at four pm. the cheese is just a catalyst."

they watched him eagerly add the crinkled bills to the growing midday munchie pool, their left ear catching the distinctly sweet pitch in his voice the exact second he mentioned his grandmother. "bet your tail was wagging and everything when she handed it over," they teased softly. despite the dry sarcasm, they deeply respected the daily hustle, but more than that, they respected the absolute, unshakeable devotion kick possessed for the woman. it was an immensely heavy gig for a guy his age, being a sole caretaker, but kick carried it like it was as light as a shortboard under his arm.

"if he actually spits in the pizza because of the plunderphonics, it’ll definitely be during that particularly aggressive, looping sample of the 1950s laundry detergent commercial," saffy noted with a quiet, lingering impishness. high effort antics of this sort, whether carefully orchestrated by them or chaotic spur of the moment operations cooked up by the entire spin cycle crew, were common, daily occurrences. the metallic cascade of quarters and dimes seemed to be heightened their appetite further. "and please, give some credit to my curation. it's a psychological evaluation, not an execution." it was delightful mischief at it's finest, is what it was, and a integral part of the core of their ragtag crew.

soon enough the chaotic sea of coins was perfectly sorted, saffy watching the grand total climb with a hazy sort of satisfaction. thirty two bucks standing strong, including the generous granny-subsidy. it was a veritable fortune in independent retail currency. "sick," saffy murmured approvingly, drawing out the syllables. "yeah. the usual. but tell them to bake it until the pineapple gets those little charred edges," saffy instructed, reaching over to flip the price gun back into their palm with a lazy click. "if the fruit isn't caramelized, the entire flavor profile is compromised."

"Jeez," Kick wrinkled his nose at just the mention of a looping 1950s laundry detergent commercial, he shook his head aggressively as if to shake it out of his head. "I gotta go outside for a break before you turn that shit on," Kekoa laughed. He was totally down to play a few harmless pranks on the innocent youths of the Pines, but in this specific instance he would need to spare his own ears. "If anyone can pull this off, it is you, my friend."

"Lemme call them," Kick pulled his phone out of his pocket and found the pizza place in his contacts. He held the phone between his ear and shoulder while it rang and scooped the coins into his palm. "What's up, Ralpie it's Kekoa..." He said when someone answered the phone. He put in their order while he sorted the coins into the cash register and pulled out the bills to match. They'd probably actually spit on their next pizza if they paid in a bunch of quarters and dimes. "Not, like, burnt, dude but charred slightly... yeah... and lava cakes... yep, exactly... cash... sick, brother, thanks!" He gave Saffy a thumbs up as he wrapped up the call and put his phone back in his pocket.

"We're 30 minutes or less from happy bellies, my friend..." Kekoa told Saffy, swiveling his hips around. "And check me out..." He kept dancing but moved backwards towards the back room they took delivers in. "Getting a box! Being a productive member of the crew!" He disappeared fully from their view and scooped up one of the boxes at random. Taking it back into the front of the store, Kekoa found a box cutter and sliced through the tape.

"Chappel Roan!" Kick exclaimed, pulling out a vinyl and holding it above his head. "Baaaby... why don't you come ooovvverrr... red wine super nooovvaaa..." He sang, swaying his arms around. He pulled the other copies of the album out of the box and carried them over to the pop section of the store. Kekoa used his fingers to comb through the R section until he found the right spot and dropped the vinyls in.

she let out another snort, a slow grin spreading across her face as she watched him practically vibrate with excitement over his self concocted scheme. "kiki, that is a textbook gaslighting strategy, and i am profoundly impressed by the audacity," she laughed, leaning her chin on her palm while her gaze tracked his frantic hand gestures. "it's like a inception level type rewrite their actual memories just to avoid a lecture about the bylaws. it’s beautifully unhinged. if they catch on, we’re dead, but the risk to reward ratio is too good to pass up. count me in on the digital manipulation."

her eyes softened a fraction as he laid out his medical theory about the organ's chambers. it was typical for him to mask something so deeply sentimental with a goofy, pseudo-scientific explanation, but the core of what he was saying hit her right where it counted. they were entirely codependent as a unit, completely reliant on the specific noise each of them brought to the garage every week.

"look at you, getting all poetic and anatomical on me," she teased softly, using her free hand to loosely swat at his shoulder. "but you're completely right. a broken pump doesn't do anyone any good. we'd just be a bunch of flatlined musicians wandering around the pacific northwest." when he abruptly pivoted, declaring his sudden allegiance to an arm placement instead of his thigh, she rolled her eyes though her smile remained firmly intact. "unbelievable. the ink hasn't even been mixed yet and you're already fracturing the symmetry of the vision," she sighed, giving a flick of her wrist to playfully dismiss his treachery. "fine, put it on your biceps so you can flex at your reflection you egomaniac. as long as it's crimson, i'll allow the deviation."

she tapped the flat of her palm against the mattress, pushing herself up into a sitting position amidst the sea of wrinkled fabrics. "now, enough stalling, you glorious menace. the clock is ticking down to showtime, the group chat needs to be properly manipulated, and you still have visible roots. grab the bleach kit and let's get to work before i change my mind and leave you to perform looking like a checkerboard."

"I could put it on my ass," Kekoa pointed out, raising a finger. "That is very poetic and every time someone asked to see our matching tattoos I'll have to pull my pants down... poetic and anatomical, I'm pretty sure." But, alas, no, this specific new ink belonged somewhere that he could admire it without needing to take his clothes off. "Definitely in red, that's the non-negotiable..." Maybe they'd give the guys final say on the size of the heart. That would be like they were involved in the decision making process.

Kekoa rolled off the bed and onto his feet, stretching his arms above his head and letting out a yawn. "Oooh, good plan, I think the chemicals absorbing into my brain will make it easier for me to gaslight..." He put his hands on his hips and looked at Ginger with his most serious expression. "You might not know this but I am a very good and honest boy... so I really have to get into the right headspace for deception." While that technically was true, this was a special circumstance. A new tattoo was for the good of the band, naturally.

"Let's do it, gingy bean," He hooked an arm over her shoulder, resting his cheek against the top of her head. "You can go first, you'll be a pinky in no time just like me." Kekoa teased, kicking his foot up behind him to swat her backside.

⸻ Kekoa’s natural rhythm is undeniable, she could tell. He is a creature of the beat, completely intoxicated by the music and the attention, and he moves with Alice, instinctively reading her boundaries as he keeps his hands to himself, matching her tempo without ever breaching her personal space. But Alice is not just some corporate spectator mimicking the rhythm. She possesses an innate baseline of coordination, a product of a childhood spent caught between two completely different worlds. Though her life is now defined by the rigid, clinical architecture of international finance, Alice was born in Rio de Janeiro. Before she could even articulate her first words, her body was already reacting to rhythm. Her childhood holidays in Brazil were a masterclass in organic movement; she didn't need formal training to absorb the complex, syncopated footwork of samba, the heavy, aggressive baseline of Brazilian funk, or the sensual, shifting cadences of forró. She tracks the tempo with mathematical precision, her hips moving with a sharp, hypnotic isolation that perfectly translates her high-society elegance into raw, physical grace. When she told Kekoa she loved to dance, it wasn't a casual line to fill the silence; it was an absolute fact.

As he easily boasts about never resisting a partner's attention, a perfectly manicured brow arches in genuine, amused curiosity. ❛ How so? ❜ She asks, her voice cutting through the swell of the music, a slightly confused but thoroughly entertained smile playing on her lips. When he tuts his tongue and playfully penalizes her for bringing business to the dance floor, Alice lets out a low, smoky laugh. She holds his gaze, her dark eyes flashing with that dangerous. ❛ I don’t follow rules, Kekoa. I break them. ❜ She teases back, delivering a sharp, playful wink as she fluidly drop-steps to match his next movement. For a split second, the word wedding sends a cold, heavy ripple through her chest. The last ceremony she attended, the Duke's ruined wedding, had resulted in her absolute exile. She glances past Kekoa’s shoulder, confirming that her bodyguard is still seamlessly executing his perimeter watch under the guise of an elite plus-one, before forcefully locking the memory away. Tonight is about burning off volatile energy.

The rhythm flowed through Kekoa easily, naturally. This might even be his natural habitat, dancing without a care in the world. He wasn't someone who would police anyone who loved to dance, even if they weren't the best at it, it was an excellent way to express yourself. But he did look good. Kekoa was too lost in the music to even realize that the crowd shifted and knocked into Alice from behind, but he did open his eyes again when she spoke to him. Chuckling, he nodded and stepped in slightly closer so that she could comfortable rest her hands on his shoulders. Consent was key, he knew that, but Kick frankly didn't care if someone touched him. He was affectionate, he didn't mind a little skin to skin connection. Or, rather, shirt to skin, considering it would be frowned upon to take his shirt off at such a fancy wedding.

"You good?" He asked, glancing down at her shoes to make sure she'd regained her balance fully.

the weight of his arm slung over her shoulders instantly disrupted shreya's carefully calculated center of gravity, but her body adjusted to the intrusion with a practiced ease. she was far too used to his specific brand of uninhibited intimacy by now, hardly reacting at all, like someone who had long since grown numb to the casual, space invading affection of an older sibling. her eyes remained transfixed by the iridescent green fracture pattern of the bioluminescent swarm shifting above them in the dark, at least until she caught him swatting at the air through her peripheral vision like a frantic baseline tennis player. "kick, wait, don't squeeze!" the sharp, undiluted panic in her voice was instantly cut off by his sharp squeal. shreya winced, startled, before lunging forward. instinctively grabbing both of his wrists to anchor his hands in place before his relaxed coordination accidentally crushed the delicate exoskeleton inside.

"this isn't a disney movie, you'll suffocate him. loose fingers," she chided, though there was zero venom in her tone. her fingers tightened just enough around his skin to keep his hands from opening too quickly. "they have incredibly fragile thoracic structures. if you coop them up for more than ten seconds, their metabolic rate spikes from the stress and they can quite literally exhaust themselves to death." slowly, meticulously, she used her thumbs to pry his fingers apart, millimeter by millimeter, until a tiny, pulsing emerald light peered out from the shadows of his palms. the little beetle scrambled over the ridge of his thumb, its wings humming a rhythmic vibration against his skin before it caught the summer breeze and launched itself straight back into the glowing river heading north.

"you just nearly interfered with an annual migratory pattern," she muttered, finally letting go of his hands in favor of crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "you'll have to become one of them now, that's the penance." her jesting delivery was admittedly very dry, but she was entirely sure he'd pick up on the flat, academic joke. "but...theoretically, yes. the local folklore dictates that a peaceful contact constitutes good luck. though i highly doubt the universe factors in human entrapment when designing the mythos."

she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the wet grass crunching beneath her soles as she glanced toward the southern ridge of the cemetery where his grandfather's plot rested, perfectly manicured and freshly decorated. "you're out here late," she noted, her voice dropping into a softer register, the sharp edge of her inner hermione completely melting away into the quiet graveyard air. "the flowers look good from the path. i noticed them when i was calibrating my humidity sensors earlier. you forgot to change out the water container on the left basin last week, but...the presentation tonight is anatomically correct. miss lou will love it."

"I think I'd be a terrible bug," Kekoa decided, actually thinking about it. "Like... I'd buzz around people's heads trying to see what's up and they'd swat me down..." He cut a hand through the air to demonstrate what his tragic end would be if he were a bug. He'd be a much better dog. People loved dogs, and dogs loved people. A Weimaraner. That's what kind of dog Kekoa would probably be. Thinking about how lucky catching the junewing was supposed to be, his grin widened. He'd gotten one, so that must mean he had good luck now. Kick liked the idea of that.

"Thanks," Kick smiled, following Shreya's gaze to where his grandpa rested. He took pride in making sure it looked nice, not only for his grandma, but for anyone who happened to be walking by. When he was alive, Kick's grandfather had been a beloved staple in the community. Many people missed him, so Kekoa wanted the grave to look nice if anyone stopped by for a visit. "I forgot to come earlier to change the flowers out and put up the new flag Granny got... I've got some band things this week so I wasn't going to have time to get out here before Sunday so..." He raised his arms. "Late night cemetery run."

"Kinda peaceful out here at night..." Kekoa mused, looking around and offering a small salute towards the graves they were nearest to. He was pretty sure the last time he'd been out here this late he was in high school and up to no good. But it was nice, especially with the junewings flying over head. "What are you doing out here all by yourself? No one you wanted to be out here with besides ya boy?" He cut his eyes sideways at her, a small knowing smile on his lips.

OPEN EVENT STARTER FROM: SHREYA @pinehavenstarters WHERE: PINEHAVEN CEMETERY

the nocturnal air of the pinehaven cemetery was thick with the scent of damp cedar, crumbling slate, and the bitter, comforting heat of the hot beverage radiating from shreya’s thermos. it was exactly nine forty seven in the evening. according to the meticulous charts she had spent three days compiling from old county agricultural logs, the barometric pressure and atmospheric humidity were at the precise intersection required for peak activity. her mood ring was presently glinting a deep, anxious shade of blue under the moonlight, mirroring the hum of anticipation vibrating through her chest. most people avoided the graveyard after dark, but to shreya, this place was just an extension of her childhood backyard. everyone else in the town associated summer migrations with birds heading south, a predictable, evolutionary monotony that bored her to tears. but the junewing beetles were a beautiful, defiant anomaly and shreya respected the absolute, stubborn determination of the species.

"watch your step," she muttered absentmindedly, her hand automatically reaching backward to grasp her companion's hand, tugging them along the narrow gravel path between the family plots without looking away from the canopy. "the soil settling over the older vaults makes the terrain completely unstable due to the recent rainfall, and if you twist an ankle, i am not filling out the county incident report." she clicked on her flashlight, the beam cutting through the gloom and illuminating the etched marble obelisks, but she kept it pointed firmly at the ground so as not to disrupt the phototaxis of the impending swarm.

she had been listing off the exact genus and species of the beetles for the last twenty minutes, unapologetic in her ramble. then, the cemetery went completely silent. the breeze died, the rustle of the surrounding pines ceased, and a collective, bioluminescent glow began to ripple through the ivy covered stone walls. shreya froze, her breath catching in her throat. thousands of tiny, incandescent sparks rose from the graves and the old ornamental flower beds like a spilled chest of gold leaf, ascending toward the sky in a massive, swirling helix.

it was a breathtaking, the sheer scale of the phenomenon sent a thrill straight through her analytical brain, every neuron firing as she watched the beetles navigate by the stars above the resting place of the town's ancestors. a soft, involuntary smile broke across her face, entirely erasing the tense, hyper focused frown she had worn all evening. her eyes wide and bright with a childlike wonder that she rarely let the world see. "they say catching one is good luck. biologically speaking, it’s just a statistical probability given the density of the swarm, but..." she trailed off, her gaze rising as one of the tiny creatures fluttered past. she watched it go, her hand half lifted but ultimately hanging in the empty air, feeling the sudden, overwhelming urge to reach out and hold onto something permanent before the night could slip away.

Tonight he was out here late and it was entirely an accident. Kekoa had meant to swing by before work, but he'd lost track of time and forgot. But he needed to change out the flag and the flowers on the headstone before he brought his grandma out here on Sunday and he wouldn't have time any other day. So, he was out here now, after 9 PM. Kick dutifully changed the flag and flowers, and then headed back towards his car. That's when he saw Shreya trudging through the cemetery like she was on a mission. Obviously, Kick caught up to her to see what she was up to.

"Whoopsie..." Kekoa said, quickly sidestepping the problem area and letting Shreya guide him. "If I twist an ankle you're gonna have to drag me out of here..." He laughed, keeping his eyes on the ground even though he could hardly see it. When they finally reached where they were going, Kekoa slung an arm around her shoulders, turning his head up to watch the gross little bugs fly over them. He wasn't a bug person, but he liked to see someone so excited about something. And the smile on Shreya's face was contagious. Kekoa let his arm slip down, readying himself for catching one of these little buggers. He cupped his hands, reached up, and closed them quickly.

"Oh shit," He practically squealed as the bug flapped around in his closed hands. "Now what? Do I make a wish or something?"