other visitors have gathered along the rail in clusters, awed by the spectacle. AALI and YUUJI stand a little apart near the far end of the pane, where the light pools deepest and the blue washes their faces in shifting, aqueous bands.

aali is pressed near the glass, one hand lifted toward it, not quite touching. her face is turned up—sweet, dark eyes wide with a sort of reverence she doesn’t attempt to conceal. YUUJI stands a half-step behind her shoulder, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, watching her.

AALI (softly, as though loath to break the spell) she’s a female! you can tell by the claspers—or, i guess, the absence of them. the males have these modified pelvic fins, here, near the base of the tail—

she gestures vaguely at the great pale belly drifting past. yuuji’s gaze follows her hand for a polite few seconds and returns at once to her profile.

YUUJI (quietly) yeah?

AALI mhm! and their spot patterns—every individual is unique. it’ like a fingerprint! researchers photograph the flanks and run them through pattern-recognition software to track their migration. there’s a whole open-source database where you can upload a photo and contribute!

YUUJI (smiling) that’s amazing.

AALI (warming, gesturing more freely now) and she’s a filter feeder... which is extraordinary, if you think about it, because she’s the largest fish in the ocean, but her throat is only about the diameter of grapefruit.

she turns her head toward him mid-sentence, to share the wonder of it. her eyes find his.

yuuji flinches faintly at that, caught. he laughs and ducks his head, lifts a hand to the back of his neck.

YUUJI sorry, i—

AALI what?

YUUJI (sheepishly, eyes everywhere but her face) nothin’, keep going. one-of-a-kind spot patterns, filter feeder, i’m with you.

she only tilts her head at that. the fish passes behind her, an entire universe in slow motion, though she doesn’t seem to have whale sharks on her mind anymore. aali regards yuuji with tentative curiosity.

YUUJI (a small, helpless laugh) ah, it’s just—

he scrubs at the nape of his neck, looks at her, properly, for an instant, and quickly looks away.

YUUJI (CONT’D) you, uh.... you make it really hard to pay attention. when you’ve got—

he gives up, and vaguely gestures at her face.

YUUJI (CONT’D) when you look at me like that. with those eyes.

the corner of her mouth lifts—something like a private smile.

AALI (gently, teasing) i was telling you something important, yuuji.

YUUJI (that crooked, helpless grin) i know, i’m a terrible student. i thought we all knew this!

she regards him for a long moment. the blue light moves over them both; over the dark fall of her hair and the flush rising at the tips of his ears. shyly, she reaches and takes his hand from the back of his neck. folds her fingers between his and returns it gently to her side.

AALI (turning back to the glass, voice soft) pay attention?

yuuji exhales a barely there laugh. he steps in closer behind her shoulder until she can feel the warmth of him at her back, and his thumb strokes tenderly along the side of her hand.

YUUJI (murmured, near her ear) yes ma’am.

the shark passes by once more, and aali resumes, flushed with heat and her little heart beating a little faster.

PANTALONE: [voice thick as caramel] you're tormenting me.

LILITH: [innocent] it's my birthday, am i not allowed to enjoy my cake?

she takes another bite, slowly and obscenely. the fork tines catch the candlelight.

he is losing the war against his own eyelids. she sees the way his head dips, catches, dips again. a sated cat drowsing while his bride devours confectionery in his marital bed.

lilith sets aside the plate.

THE DRESSING ROOM--MOMENTS LATER

silk and lace, pale as the inside of an almond. she slips into the nightie, and it glides over her, smooth as water. the mirror shows her a creature she barely recognises. bridal, of course, but something hungry, too.

THE BEDROOM--CONTINUOUS

oh, the sound pantalone makes when he opens his eyes to his bride. a sharp intake, a syllable that might have been her name, and then his composure shattering like sugar glass struck with a spoon. his hands reach for her, greedy, needy.

she laughs. never the cruel kind, but delighted, eager to climb into his lap to kiss his heated mouth and relieve the throbbing ache in his slacks.

THE BATH--LATER

the steam curls around their embraced limbs, the water perfumed with something floral and clearly expensive; the harbinger would accept nothing less. she leans against his chest, his arms draped around the most luxurious of his debts, and he presses his lips to her damp hair.

PANTALONE: [a murmured confession] happy birthday, my little bride.

to that, lilith hums. content, replete, and married.

the bedroom door stands ajar and the sheets within are in considerable disarray. a trail of evidence leads from there to here: ENJIN's shirt slung over the back of a chair, ROMA’s stockings forgotten on the hallway floor, her hair-ribbon abandoned upon the kitchen counter where it has no conceivable reason to be.

roma pads in barefoot, wearing the shirt that belongs to him—too large, sleeves cuffed twice, the hem skirting her thighs. her hair is a riotous, unbrushed cloud about her shoulders. she’s humming to herself, dreamy and dazed and so, so in love.

enjin stands at the stove with his back to her. he’s put his trousers on but not bothered with a top. the long line of his spine is illumined in the morning sun, the muscle of his shoulder shifting indolently as he tilts the pan. a cigarette smolders forgotten in a saucer at his elbow.

she approaches behind him, slides her arms about his waist. presses her cheek between his shoulder blades, shifted slightly off center to dovetail his heart. he doesn’t startle, for he has been listening for her.

ENJIN (without turning) morning, birthday girl.

ROMA (muffled against his back) mm—mornin’.

ENJIN sleep well?

ROMA (a slow, scandalous laugh) i scarcely slept at all.

ENJIN (a low laugh of his own) wonder whose fault that’d be.

he turns within the circle of her arms and looks down at her, stars pooling in his eyes when his eyes land on her face. his hand comes up to cradle her jaw—thumb tracing the pillow-crease along her cheekbone.

ENJIN (CONT’D) you look real pretty today, y’know...

ROMA (tilting her chin up, smiling sleepily) look like yours.

he kisses her, then. slow and languid, it’s a kiss with no destination. the sort someone bestows when they have all morning, and all afternoon, and all night, and all the days thereafter. when he draws back, it’s only to study her face. his thumb has not left her cheek.

ENJIN sit.

ROMA (reluctant, still curled into him) but—

ENJIN (firmly, with affection) sit. you need to eat breakfast.

ROMA ihad cake at midnight.

ENJIN (a single, amused arched brow) cake at midnight is not breakfast.

ROMA it is on my birthday.

ENJIN sweetheart.

she sighs theatrically, an elaborate, put-upon sigh that fools neither of them, and disengages herself from him with great reluctance. perches upon one of the little stools at the counter and draws her knees up beneath the hem of his shirt.

roma’s gaze is tender and watchful as her lover returns to the pan. he cracks an egg one-handed against the rim, with a practiced charm that she has always found unreasonably affecting. salt, pepper. a hefty amount of butter. he toasts the bread in the same pan, in the gilded fat, the way she has watched him do a hundred mornings before this one. and the way she hopes to watch him do for a hundred mornings still.

on the other side of the stove, the kettle begins to whistle softly and enjin attends to it without looking. pours, presses, sets her tea before her in the chipped mug she favours.

she takes the cup in both hands and continues to watch him over the lip.

ROMA (softly) you spoil me so.

ENJIN (not turning, smiling) well, it’s your birthday.

ROMA you spoiled me yesterday, too.

ENJIN (a moment of silence) yesterday... wasn’t your birthday. see what i mean?

she laughs quiet and helpless, into the curl of steam from her tea.

finally the egg sandwich is plated and slid across the counter to her. her man with a heart the size of the sun. he leans upon his forearms across from her, watching her take the first bite.

ROMA (through a mouthful, indignant with pleasure) this is unfair.

ENJIN (grins) what is?

ROMA that you’re this good at this, cariño!

he reaches across the counter and tucks a chocolatey curl behind her ear. his hand lingers at her jaw, it’s favourite place.

ENJIN (softly) eat your breakfast, doll.

while she eats, the morning unfurls slowly through the window. somewhere in the building above them a door closes; somewhere outside a bird begins to sing. all the little delicacies of their beautifully simple life. 

KORA reposes on the floor in a pool of diaphanous fabric, legs folded beneath her and ribbons of her pointe shoes loosened but not yet untied. her hair has come undone from its chignon in pieces, ginger strands adhering to her temple. a sigh, as she tilts her head against the leg of the piano bench.

SUGURU sits above her at the baby grand; sleeves furled to the elbow and hair tied messily at the nape, a few errant pieces falling forward as he inclines into the keys. he’s improvising, kora can tell, something in a minor key that’s seemingly always on the verge of resolution.

he plays a phrase, pauses, plays it again an octave lower.

KORA (eyes closed) please, don’t stop.

suguru hums, honey in his throat. the successive phrase meanders somewhere more languorous now, like he’s adorning it for her. she can sense him glance down her way, but still her eyes do not open.

SUGURU you’re weary.

KORA mm.

SUGURU (pausing, reaching down to tuck a curl behind her ear) you ought to go home.

KORA (an weary smile) and miss this?

the melody resumes again, more softly now. quite softly indeed, as though loath to startle her from whatever reverie she’s sunk into. kora lets her head loll sideways until her cheek rests against the cushion of the bench, not a few inches from his thigh. she can feel the warmth of it through the thin fabric of his trousers. her heart rabbits gently in her chest.

SUGURU come here.

her eyes open.

KORA what?

SUGURU (patting the meager space of bench beside him, not yet looking at her) come here. i’ll teach you.

she regards him.

the line of his shoulder, the cascade of hair at his nape, the small curve of his mouth that he is feigning isn't there, and then she rises slowly, settling onto the bench. conscious of every place her body aches and how he observes her in the mirror without seeming to.

there’s insufficient room--her hips press into his, and her thigh, bare beneath the chiffon of her practice skirt, aligns against the dark wool of his trousers. neither of them withdraw.

SUGURU (taking her hand, turning it palm-down over the keys) this one... and then this one, together.

her heart does a funny little thing in her chest--she notices his hand is awfully warm. even more so are his fingers, which fold around her knuckles with an absent, proprietary ease. he has done this a hundred times in his imagination. he first guides her index finger to a key, then her ring finger to another. presses, gently, through her hand. the chord blossoms. and then the next, and then the next. a dance of four hands.

KORA (careful) what is it called?

SUGURU hm?

KORA the song.

SUGURU (a beat passing, playing the chord again, alone this time. his mouth is very close to her ear.) it... has no name yet.

kora swallows thickly, her thighs pressing together. she hopes he does not notice.

KORA what are you waiting for?

suguru turns his head at this and looks at her properly for the first time. his eyes are very dark and very amused--

SUGURU (softly, with acceptance. like he has found what he has been waiting for) inspiration, perhaps.

he crosses to them, each footfall swallowed by the burgundy carpet. crouches beside the chair until his eyes are level with their sleeping face.

DAN HENG: [barely a whisper, testing] cee.

nothing. only the slight whistle of their breathing through the awkward angle of their neck.

his hand reaches--stops--reaches again. fingers threading through their hair with the delicacy of defusing something precious. they don't wake. only sigh, some dream-sound of contentment, and his chest does something complicated.

the gloves come off first. then his hands return, bare and warm, cupping their face softly. so, so softly. like they're made of spun sugar and wishes made on stars.

DAN HENG: [to the quiet, to them, to himself] you shouldn't study yourself into oblivion.

he traces the ink smudge on their cheek and the slight crease the textbook pressed into their skin. commits these small violences of overwork to memory so he can prevent them next time.

when he lifts them, they curl into his chest with the automatic trust of flowers turning sunward, their fist catching in his suit and holding. even unconscious, they reach for him.

something behind his ribs cracks open. blooms.

the bed receives them both tenderly. he should leave, he thinks, patrol isn't finished, the city never truly sleeps--but neither does he, apparently. not when they're like this. vulnerable and soft and his to protect.

he arranges the blanket with careful precision and smooths it over their shoulders, makes sure their feet are covered, that no draft can reach them bundled amidst this warm cocoon. his fingers linger at their temple, pushing back the hair that falls across their face.

CEE: [surfacing briefly, voice thick] dan heng...?

DAN HENG: [immediately] shh, i'm here.

CEE: [barely coherent, nuzzling cheek against chest] missed you... tried to wait... study group went so late...

their words dissolve back into sleep but their hand finds his wrist. holds. refuses to let go even as dreams reclaim them.

dan heng can't help but look at their joined hands, his own scarred from web-fluid burns and rooftop landings, theirs soft and ink-stained from pursuing knowledge, and he begins to think about complementary forces; how opposites don't always repel and sometimes, often times, complete.

the web-shooters come off. set beside their phone: i'm staying.

DAN HENG: [settling beside them, allowing himself this] just for a little while.

but when they immediately burrow into his side, head finding the hollow beneath his jaw, arm draping across his ribs, he knows it's a lie.

his arms come around them. tight and sure and wholly and entirely his.

CEE: [mumbling into his neck] you smell like outside.

DAN HENG: [soft huff of almost-laughter] and you smell like highlighters.

CEE: [the tiniest giggle] gross.

DAN HENG: [pressing his lips to their crown, breathing them in] ... perfect.

the city glitters beyond the window, alive with sirens and searchlights and people who need saving. it will have to wait. because right now, the only person who needs him is here, warm and precious and trusting him with their softness.

DAN HENG: [in a whispered promise] i got you.

and in sleep, cee smiles.

the remnants of a picnic lie strewn between JAY and YUUJI. there’s a half-full bottle of wine sweating in the shade, two coupes, a wreath of wildflowers jay has been weaving and abandoning by turns. most significantly, a small cake with one candle already burnt to a stub. a ribbon-wrapped parcel rests forgotten near her elbow.

she reposes on her back with her head pillowed in her lover’s lap. one of her hands rests on her stomach, the other trailing lazily through the grass, plucking at clover. the hem of her sundress has ridden indolently up past her knee, though she’s not bothered to fix it.

yuuji sits with his back against the willow’s trunk, one knee drawn up, the other leg extended beneath her. his hand moves over her hair in slow, absent passes, fingers combing from her temple to the crown, smoothing then returning. he’s grinning down at her like he can't quite believe his luck.

YUUJI you’ve got a leaf in your hair.

JAY (eyes closed) leave it.

YUUJI yeah?

he plucks it out anyway. twirls it once between his fingers and raises it to his mouth to give it a kiss of sorts, before flicking it into the grass.

YUUJI (CONT’D) sorry. couldn’t help myself.

JAY (a coy smile) hm.

yuuji then reaches for the small punnet of strawberries beside him, plucking one in his fingers, inspecting it with faux solemnity.

YUUJI (CONT'D) okay, this one’s a good one! open up, baby.

she does, still without opening her eyes. he lowers the strawberry to her mouth, and she takes it from his fingers--lips closing around the fruit and grazing the pads of his fingertips in the same gesture.

at that, yuuji goes very still, his grin faltering at the edge.

YUUJI oh.

she chews and swallows. the visible bob of her neck makes him swallow thickly too.

JAY another, please?

YUUJI (recovering, that grin sliding back into place--a little crooked now) bossy.

he picks another, but this one he holds higher, makes her wait for it. his eyes glitters with mischief. when at last he lowers it, a bead of crimson juice wells at the stem and trails down his thumb.

as if sensing it, jay’s eyes open.

she catches his wrist and guides his hand back toward her, turning her face into his palm. her tongue, when it traces the path of the juice along his thumb, is languid. almost contemplative. her eyes do not leave his.

yuuji exhales, slow and uneven, the hand in her hair stilling entirely.

YUUJI (softly) that’s--okay, that’s not fair.

JAY (releasing his hand by degrees) what isn’t?

YUUJI you know what!

JAY (a pause, then smiling up at him with teeth, sun-drunk) happy birthday to me.

helpless and a little dazed, yuuji’s grin returns at twice the size and he shakes his head at her like she’s the most ridiculous, impossibly gorgeous thing he’s ever seen.

YUUJI (with no bite whatsoever) you’re trouble...

JAY (giggling) who, me?!

he cannot help but bend towards her in an unhurried descent, bracing one hand in the grass beside her head, cradling her jaw with the other. his thumb strokes loving lines along the corner of her mouth, where a faint stain of juice still lingers.

that’s where kisses her first. then he murmurs something against her skin that sounds suspiciously like "still not fair", and she’s still laughing softly when he kisses her properly, and she tastes of strawberries and wine.

when he draws back, it’s only by inches. his forehead rests against hers.

YUUJI (quietly, smiling) i didn’t even give you your present yet.

JAY (eyes closed again, smiling) didn’t you?

BUGSY: [watching him in the mirror, lips curved] you’re gonna crush the flowers, baby.

NICO: [snorts, amused] what, you don’t trust me?

BUGSY: [tilting her head, feigning scandal] not even a little.

the teasing glances off him, and he lets it. nico’s shameless in how openly he looks at his girl--the way her saree hugs her waist, the warm brown of her skin at the dip of her stomach where the pleats leave her uncovered. the pulse at her throat. a reverence that he hides behind something like boredom.

NICO: [drawling, his grin bent lazy] bold of you to talk like that when you’re dressed like... this, and expect me to behave.

BUGSY: [sweetly] behave, then.

NICO: [laughs, soft at first, then lower] yeah? that what you want from me, jaan?

he says it, jaan, like a caress and like a bruise both. intimate. possessive. casual. it lands on bugsy’s skin and blooms there.nico steps in closer. his body is heat at her back without touching her yet. a heady breath ghosting at her shoulder.

NICO: [low, near her ear now, private] c’mere. hold still for me.

he lifts the gajra, careful despite his hands being hands that know recoil, not ornament. pale petals brush her neck as he guides her hair over one shoulder.

BUGSY: [soft, but teasing under it] mm. since when are you so gentle?

NICO: [clicking his tongue] you keep talkin’, i’m gonna pin it crooked on purpose.

BUGSY: [eyes flicking up to meet his in the mirror, playful] people are going to think we’ve been up to no good, especially since we’re already late.

NICO: [smile widening, dangerous and fond] is that such a bad thing?

deliberately, his free hand slides to her bare waist. skin on skin.

BUGSY: [sharp inhale, lashes fluttering] nico--

his thumb presses into the soft curve right above her hipbone, where the saree blouse ends and nothing shields her. he pinches; not hard enough to bruise, but enough that she jolts and heat spills up her throat.

she swats at his wrist, bangles clinking.

BUGSY: [hissed whisper, scandalised and delighted] you--!

NICO: [voice dropping innocently, all gravel and amusement] we’re goin’ to your cousin’s, right? big family thing, lotta aunties. that what you said?

BUGSY: [narrowing her eyes at him in the mirror] mhm.

NICO: [tutting thoughtfully] so what i’m hearin’ is, i gotta look holy.

BUGSY: [deadpan] you. holy.

NICO: [without missing a beat] yeah. you’re bringin’ me. they’re gonna assume i’m good.

BUGSY: [laughing] baby, no one’s ever assumed you’re good.

NICO: [leaning in, mouth at the shell of her ear now, words almost a kiss] you do.

bugsy goes soft at that--immediately, viscerally. all her little performances, the mock-judgment, the teasing, melt for a breath. she ducks her gaze, hides in her shoulder. it’s embarrassing, she thinks. how transparent that makes her. on the contrary, she loves how he notices.

BUGSY: [quietly] don’t say things like that... i’ll get spoiled.

NICO: [gentler than his face lets on] that’s the plan.

he presses the jasmine into her hair, tucking it into the braid at the crown, knuckles grazing her scalp, slow, reverent. the petals sit against her dark hair like small moons, fragrant, and it is almost indecently lush--the way she looks tonight. the air between them grows heady with it: jasmine, her perfume, and something like gun smoke that clings to him even in silk.

bugsy watches her lover in the mirror. watches the way his brows pinch in concentration, the way his mouth shapes around a little sigh when a piece won’t sit right. he is so determined to make it perfect. and he is so bad at admitting that’s what he’s doing.

BUGSY: [soft, unable to help herself] look at you. fixing my hair like some film hero.

NICO: [snorts] i ain’t singin’ in the rain for you.

BUGSY: [grinning] liar.

his hand returns to her waist--like it belongs there, like it’s a handle god left specifically for him. spreads his palm over her stomach beneath the drape of her saree, fingers splayed possessively against warm skin. he tugs her back that last inch so her spine meets the line of his chest.

their bodies lock.

BUGSY: [breath catching] nico…

NICO: [lazy, smug] yeah, baby?

BUGSY: [trying to sound annoyed, failing] we’re already late.

NICO: [presses a kiss just behind her ear, slow, indulgent, the kind of kiss that says mine without him having to risk the word] they can wait.

bugsy closes her eyes. lets her head tip back against his shoulder, exposes her throat like surrender. he takes that invitation the way he always does--as if she has placed a holy relic in his unsteady hands and he’s terrified of letting it fall.

his voice softens.

it’s always startling when it happens, like a gun going quiet.

NICO: [low, truth-telling] you’re beautiful, doll.

BUGSY: [flustered, protesting on instinct] shut up.

NICO: [easy] heh, nah.

BUNNY: [low, coaxing] hey, estrella.

she lifts her eyes, brows already twisting with apology.

STARRY: i’m okay--sorry, i--i don’t know why i’m--

her voice thins, that much-too-brave smile fraying.

BUNNY: [crossing the room in two quiet steps] come here.

he sits, then pulls her with him, effortless as scoring a goal. starry, though surprised, folds into his lap without hesitation. he wraps his arms around her and tightens, not tentative.

he knows the weight she needs. her knees tuck to the side.

BUNNY: [mouth near her temple] breathe with me.

and so, they breathe--in tandem, on his count. his chest is a metronome against her back and his heartbeat is a sure foot on unfamiliar stairs.

STARRY: [barely audible] i don’t want to be too much.

BUNNY: [a soft huff] too much for who? not me.

his palm spans her sternum through her sweater, not pressing, just present. an anchor stitched into wool. he kisses the crown of her head once, then again, an extra ounce of comfort.

BUNNY: you always take such good care of me. let it be my turn to do the same for you.

he tightens his hold until her breath lengthens, until the clock’s tick recedes into silence.

STARRY: sorry… [small laugh that shivers] i just hate this feeling.

BUNNY: i know. [lighter, teasing] and i hate that you’re wearing my jersey right now. but i’m dealing. [a beat passes, until he feels her smile against his neck] you’re doing so well.

his cheek nuzzles her hair and his voice slips into an ache that belongs only to her.

BUNNY: you’re safe. you’re not alone in any minute of this. you can cry, or not. you can be quiet. none of it changes how i view you.

her breath catches, then loosens. fingers finding his forearm and clinging.

STARRY: [muffled] what if these feelings come back tomorrow?

BUNNY: then i’ll put you right here again.

starry laughs--a small, astonished sound, like a bird remembering it has wings.

later, the evening light has faded to a pearly dusk, and rabbit-hearted starry sits cross-legged on the couch, a notebook on her lap. her pen hesitates above the page; she is somewhere far away in thought--the land where worry rethreads itself, where kindness to herself is the last stitch.

her lover sprawls opposite, long limbs everywhere, watching her with an athlete’s focus repurposed as devotion.

BUNNY: [soft] your head’s somewhere else.

STARRY: [absently] only… wondering if… [falters, looking down]

BUNNY: [with gentle mischief] tsk, that’s a dangerous place. come back.

he rises and crosses to her, a smile tempered for hush. he kneels on the cushion, close enough that his breath warms her cheek.

BUNNY: permission to map the constellations.

STARRY: [puzzled, amused] the what?

BUNNY: [a whisper against her skin] the moles. [tilting her chin] the sky forgot a few stars and left them with you.

he kisses one by her jaw--a light press, reverent. then the one on her cheekbone. a third at her temple, a fourth near her ear. each kiss is a small vow, a cartographer’s mark that says: found, beloved.

bunny catches sight of how her lips purse with concentration when he pulls back momentarily (an old habit, defense against tenderness) and he grins.

BUNNY: [kissing the corner of her mouth] and here’s the moon.