#risuawrites

"How long?" she rasps, forcing her eyes open. It's disorienting, here, in this Reach. Eir Glanfath. The trees are so thick that on nights with a dim moon, there's hardly a difference in light with one's eyes open or shut. Her head swims.

"'Least ten minutes," says Sagani's voice. She's ahead of Raina somewhere, across where the campfire was, and somehow just knowing that makes everything a little less dizzyingly dreamy. "Edér's got him."

"Why didn't you wake me?" Raina is only glad after she speaks that her voice is too rough with sleep to be loud. They all know there are beasts in this forest.

Edér speaks from her left, from past the empty bedroll. "You usually wake on yer own," he says. "If you didn't this time, take it as a sign y'really needed the sleep."

"Still." Raina reaches for her bag and pulls out a sword. A shortsword, not one she fights with, but one with enough magic in it to glow, just a bit.

The first thing the light catches on is Ciro's eyes. Wide-open and glassy, jeweled things in the head of a doll left to rot on some spoiled heirling's shelves. It turns Raina's stomach as she pushes out of the bedroll and climbs to Ciro's side. The way Edér is holding him, too, tight and fearful, reminds her of that awful thought about the doll, and for a second, she wants to rip Ciro out of his arms. Free him.

Instead, she feels her heart quietly stutter as Ciro suddenly goes limp, his eyes still open, and suddenly Edér's grip isn't a chain but puppet strings, keeping him from falling into a heap.

"Give him to me," she says, dropping the sword into the dirt. Edér passes him to her, sitting back on his heels. Ciro's weight in her arms is light—always light, to her, despite how fast his legs can carry him and how sturdy his shoulders are, fighting the kickback of his firearms. Even so, Edér settles like he's just put down Abydon's hammer.

She gets it. Her fingers still trace under Ciro's jaw, searching for a pulse, because his head is lolling against her chest and his eyes are unseeing. There's more than the weight of a folk body in her arms right now, but the heaviest part is that she can't carry a single bit of it for him. Sure, in a fight, they all do what they can, and every one of the companions they've gathered has done something to aid them in tracking down the Thaos and dragging the Key's poison kicking and screaming from the Dyrwood's veins. In a fight, Raina can keep their foes at bay, take the hits so Ciro never needs to suffer them.

But this isn't an enemy she can fend off, or a sickness she can demand a healer fix, or a problem their allies can come together and solve. It's just this:

Either Ciro will wake up in her arms, lost and confused and a little more battered by Rymrgand than the last night, or he won't.

Raina squeezes his shoulders as she maneuvers them back to their bedrolls, and lays Ciro down. She keeps a hand on his wrist even as she pulls away, until her tired brain conjures the nightmare of her hand turning to iron, chaining him down. She pulls her hand back to her thigh.

Off to one side, she can hear Edér and Sagani bickering in low tones. Something about tea, and the firelight, and watch, but Raina only has ears for Ciro's breathing. It's quiet, and unsteady. Whistling, a heartsick songbird in a cage.

"Please." It's barely even a word, since she won't relax her jaw to shape it right, but it's all she can manage. Her teeth squeak. Please, we're so close. Please, just a little more time. Please, come back.

There's a pain at the back of Raina's skull so sudden and blinding that she reaches up to her neck and half-thinks she'll feel blood and an arrow shaft, or maybe the sear of acid. But her hand doesn't move. It lies there on her thigh, visible in the weak sword-light against the pale linen of her sleep pants, and Raina tries again to lift it. She thinks as hard as she can, flexes the muscles in her bicep, then forearm, then wrist…

Nothing.

Anchor.

"Ciro," Raina mutters. It didn't sound like his voice, which is terrifying, but it feels like him.

"He back with us?" asks Edér, and Raina finds she can move just fine when she looks over and shakes her head.

"No. But he's doing something. I can't move my arm," she says.

Edér hums. "Well, that ain't good."

"He's been worried he could turn on us in a vision for a while," says Sagani, sounding so resigned than Raina wants to scream.

She doesn't. She takes a slow, deep breath, and tries again to lift her hand. It doesn't move.

This time, when the pain hits, it's not just Raina's neck, but her whole head that burns. There's smoke, everywhere, and the pain of a blade, and the blackness of a heart someone hoped could be a diamond if they burned and crushed it hard enough and just one more, one more life, a hand on someone's wrist, a ball and chain, a rush through bramble and wet mud and the planks of a dungeon, no, a ship, a whip, and eyes like death and adra, and adra, and adra, so much emerald you could drown in it, and a forest, and a dark hand around an arm and please, don't send me back, and please, don't do this, again and again in so many lives—

No, Raina can't save Ciro from this. She can't even save herself. She's drowning in the shallows of it, and whatever anchor Ciro is tied to is pulling him deeper and deeper.

—a hand around an arm, a ball and chain—

Ciro told her once, when they barely knew each other, how glad he was that Raina had chosen to be something else. She thinks it's a miracle he ever forgave her, let alone likes her, when her grip felt like that at first.

—a hand around an arm, solid, unbreakable, binding—

"Don't touch him," Raina gasps, pushing Edér's hand away where he'd reached out to Ciro. Her head is pouding, and she licks her lips and tastes blood.

"Raina, he's hurtin' you—"

"I said, don't!" Raina says, shouting as loud as she can through a whisper. It still makes her head ache.

—a hand around an arm, steady, strong, moored—

Raina's eyes flick to Ciro's, and they're still wide and empty, but then Sagani gets the fire to catch, and the shine in those pale eyes isn't just glass and death, it's tears.

—a hand around an arm, warm and dark, safe, unmoving in the storm.

An anchor.

Raina tries to push her hand forward, prepared to fight whatever Ciro's doing that's cutting her thoughts off from her limbs, but there's no resistance at all. Her hand flies forward so fast that she hits him in the thigh first, before landing on his wrist again. She feels the tendons under her grip shift, just a little.

"Awful possessive," Sagani says, and somehow Raina can hear that she's got an eyebrow raised.

"I promise I was tryin' to help," says Edér.

Raina shakes her head. "No, I—I had it wrong, okay; he was doing something with his powers. Felt like a storm in my head." She squeezes a little tighter and looks up at Edér. "It's fine."

Edér looks skeptically between her and Ciro, and then ever-so-slowly pats the folk on the shoulder, like he's testing a kitten to see if it'll lash out. Raina doesn't, and Ciro is still deathly still.

"Right," says Edér. "I'm gonna make that tea, now." He squeezes Ciro's shoulder and gets up.

The pain in Raina's neck eases up a little, by the time Sagani brings her a cup of tea, but nothing else. It'll have to be enough, Raina tells herself. She can't fight or carry that storm, but her strength has been Ciro's to mold and direct since she broke from the Order. He knows the weight of chains better than anyone, so if Ciro needs her to hold him fast to himself until he wakes up, she'll do it. Only because he asked. She can't stand the thought of weighing him down, but holding him safe?

She can do that. For as long as it takes, she can do that.

Raina slips her hand down Ciro's wrist until she can take his hand.

He shifted onto his back and stared up at the wooden ceiling. His eyes traced the slant of the shadows until he would swear he could make out the woodgrain, but then his head twinged and he realized he was just…seeing things. The moonlight spilling in from the window didn't reach up, after all.

Seeing things. Patterns in the wavering of his tired eyes, angels and their judgement lurking in every shadow. Hope, in those idiots from Sylvarant and their naive, dogged determination to fix a world that had been gladly eating itself alive for millennia. Obviously, Zelos was just losing it.

A loud heartbeat of silence caught Zelos's attention, followed by a soft snuffle, and then a return to the cadence of breathing that Zelos now realized had become so normal that he'd been startled to hear it stop. Tucking an arm under his head, he looked to the side. Beyond the edge of the bed, he could still see Lloyd, lying on his bedroll on the floor. Zelos could make out the curve of his arm, brown skin bare as he slept in his underclothes rather than actual pajamas.

Zelos raised his free hand slowly, rubbing his chest through his nightshirt as if it could soothe the squirming sensation rising back up there. Stupid, he told himself. It was stupid. So what if Lloyd had offered him the bed because Zelos was his friend and not because Zelos was the revered Chosen. So what if Lloyd slept with a weapon close by but made sure it was his wooden sword ever since Zelos let something slip about the attempts on his life. So what if—

So what?

Maybe if Zelos even knew why he was so bothered, he could actually rest. Nightmares would be so much easier. A few tugs on his hair or pinches on his wrist to remind himself what was real, and he would eventually fall asleep again. But this…

Nothing was wrong.

Everything was fine.

Zelos was tired and reasonably sure he was safe, but he couldn't stop thinking about how that was kind of nice and about how Lloyd's sometimes-snores and steady breathing were soothing, and how he'd only ever avoided sleeping alone by having sex and that was so much effort that he woke up tired the next morning anyway, but he'd been rising with the sun all on his own and feeling rested ever since they made this inn a temporary base to get some training in and started these particular sleeping arrangements and—

Well. Zelos sure wasn't getting a restful eight hours tonight. So here he was, yet again, ruining a good thing just by being Zelos fucking Wilder. Typical.

He sighed, feeling his chest fall under his hand, and made sure his next breath came from his stomach instead. It wasn't going to matter, discovering that he slept better with someone else in the room, when he wasn't going to have anyone to fall asleep with in a few months anyway, he decided.

It didn't matter.

Everything was fine.

And so staying up late tangling his thoughts like yarn caught by a kitten wouldn't change anything. Zelos closed his eyes and breathed in, then out. He relaxed his hand where it had curled into a fist behind his head. In, then out. He was done wasting time when he could be sleeping soundly, for once. In, then out. He was starting to feel pleasantly heavy and was not thinking about the fact that his breaths were falling perfectly in sync with Lloyd's, easy to follow; easy to trust—

Damn it.

Zelos grit his teeth and did not open his eyes. What a joke. He was safe and comfortable, and so he couldn't sleep? What a pathetic excuse for a human being.

You should never have been born.

Zelos turned over again, away from the window and the moonlight spilling in. He relaxed his face one muscle at a time, brow, cheeks, jaw…

"Ze…" grumbled a voice from somewhere in front of him. Zelos held perfectly still. "Y'wake?"

Lloyd shifted in his bedroll, and the floorboards under him creaked slightly. Zelos didn't open his eyes to look, but he guessed Lloyd was turning to look towards him. "Zelos? Swear I heard…"

He didn't know what possessed him to speak up when he could so easily just pretend to be asleep, but without opening his eyes, Zelos found himself saying, "Everything's fine, bud. Go back to sleep."

"Mmkay," Lloyd said. Zelos heard him shift in his bedroll again. "Bad dream?"

Instead of answering, Zelos just focused on evening his breathing out again.

"Whatever i'is, we'll…work somethin' out," Lloyd continued. His voice was heavy with sleep, almost like he was drunk. Zelos fought down a smile. "Not sacrificing…an'one else."

The humor in Zelos's chest died, replaced again with that strange, squirming sensation in his chest. Lloyd really believed that. And Zelos was…just about ready to shrivel up with envy and die about it, honestly. How dare somebody so fervently good and fair and hopeful come into Zelos's life which was none of those things, and start flaunting them?

Which led to the treacherous thought of: Why couldn't someone like Lloyd have come along sooner? Soon enough, maybe, that Zelos's father never would have been forced into a marriage to breed like a stud horse; soon enough that Zelos's mother would have gotten her wish and Zelos would never have been born.

Or—an even more treacherous thought—soon enough that Zelos would have had enough hope left to believe in him?

"Go to sleep, Lloyd," Zelos said, bitterly.

"You go t'sleep," Lloyd shot back. Zelos had the distinct feeling that he thought he was winning an argument. He scoffed—or tried to, but it came out like a chuckle, and something in Zelos's chest cracked. That squirming feeling gave way to a warmth, one that reminded Zelos of the way his eyes and nose would burn preceding tears, back when he still cried over how unfair it all was.

Yeah, yeah, Zelos mouthed, but didn't say anything. He didn't move at all until he heard Lloyd's breathing even out and pick up that slight rasp that wasn't quite a snore. Only then did Zelos open his eyes. Over the edge of the bed, he could just make out half of Lloyd's face, now turned towards him. His features were mostly lost in the shadow cast by Zelos's chest, but…Zelos could see enough to know that Lloyd wasn't totally relaxed, either. Like his promises and his fool's errand of a resolve had enough substance to weigh him down.

Zelos watched Lloyd's nose scrunch, and he wondered if this was what all that drama in Sebastian's romance novels was, about watching your partner sleep. If Lloyd were—

Before that thought could rip Zelos open so fast a hot knife would be jealous, he closed his eyes. Midnight's siren call to bad decisions was vicious. He knew that because he exploited it so often, and so he wouldn't fall victim to it.

Slowly to keep the bed from creaking, Zelos turned away. In the morning, everything would be real and clear again. Easy.

Everything would be fine.

Zelos wasn't going to be borne into slumber on the current of someone else's breathing; he wasn't going to manage a deep sleep the whole night reassured by someone else's presence; and he definitely wasn't going to wake up having turned back over, drawn like a moth to a flame.

He woke the next morning with his back to the window, a covered bowl of watermelon on the bedside table, and that warmth still feverish in his chest.

As if waiting for this very cue, Zelos twirled on one foot to face her. His red hair flowed through the air like a river with the movement, so smooth that Lloyd almost felt like it was one of those hypnotic tricks. "Then perhaps, my Pro--"

"No."

Zelos had his back to Lloyd, now, so he couldn't see his face, but somehow, Lloyd just knew the sad puppy eyes had come out. Raine frowned, unimpressed, and Sheena rolled her eyes. "Our opponent this time is tough, hunnies! A little bit of extra luck could mean the difference between our victory and you losing out on your hard-earned coin, after all." He sighed. "Ah, tragic. Denied affection, left to stand alone..."

It wasn't like Zelos being dramatic was anything new, but there was something about this all that made Lloyd's chest flush with sympathy. Luck was sometimes the difference between life and death, on their journeys. So if this was some Tethe'allan thing for protection, or whatever... If Zelos actually felt left out or insecure without it...

Well, Lloyd didn't mind the way the women seemed to. He walked up behind Zelos, pushed up on his tip-toes, and placed a little kiss on Zelos's cheek. Just the way Colette used to do for him as a child. Genis had hated it, but Lloyd never minded. It was nice. No big deal.

Zelos clearly didn't agree, because he gave a strangled yelp and jumped about three feet in the other direction, nearly crashing into Sheena.

Lloyd blinked. "For luck, right? There you go," he said. Then realized maybe Zelos hadn't noticed he was there. "Oh, did I scare you? Oops. Sorry, man."

Zelos just stared, one hand covering his cheek. "I. I, um."

Sheena laughed, a full belly laugh that she had to brace against the wall to support. "Ah, you broke him!" she cackled.

"We should get going," said Regal, getting to his feet like nothing had happened.

"Maybe Lloyd can just kiss all our opponents to death, if it works like that," snickered Genis, grabbing his staff.

Lloyd frowned. "The point isn't to make them lucky, though," he said. He guessed they'd have to find out in the next match if it worked.

"You always have a choice," Lloyd said, stepping forward to grab one of his hands. "That's the whole point. You don't have to do anything, and not for them. The King and the Pope can work their--their bullshit out without you."

Zelos's fingers felt a little stiff in Lloyd's grip at first, like they were made of wood or porcelain, but eventually he managed to get himself to squeeze back. "If I don't go," he said, "Seles is the one who'll have to answer for what I did. And, didn't do, I guess. She's already spent her whole childhood paying for my mistakes." He couldn't let it happen again, no matter how much he heard the truth of Lloyd's words. The ruler of the nation and the head of the Church should be more than capable of handling the changes in the world. It was literally their job.

They just...weren't good at it. And where Zelos a few months ago might have been ready to watch it all turn to dust as long as he got burned in the process, this empathy was the unwanted side effect of remembering he had a heart. It was mangled and broken and a little wrong most of the time, but he did have it.

Lloyd brought his other hand to rest on Zelos's chest, almost right over top of where that heart of his was beating. "It was never your fault," he said. "It shouldn't be your mess to fix."

"I have to try," Zelos said.

Lloyd's eyes searched through his, like a fine-toothed comb gently smoothing every tangle in Zelos's twisted, spurned thoughts. There wasn't anything else to say, because Lloyd wasn't changing Zelos's mind, and Zelos wasn't denying the truth.

Instead, Lloyd leaned in. Swooped, more like. His lips were warm and sure and still a little clumsy, but so sweet where they pressed against Zelos's. Of course, Zelos met him halfway, kissing back once, twice, then pushing for more when no matter how loving the kisses were, they didn't feel close enough. Zelos wished he could take Lloyd with him, but his friend (boyfriend? lover? savior? soulmate?) would wither and die in a place like the Tethe'allan court, and probably bring several houses down with him. So in lieu, there was this. His hands wrapping around Lloyd's shoulders, Lloyd gripping his waist so tightly that it might bruise, their chests pressed so close that Zelos lost track of which racing heartbeat was his. This moment, that he wished would last forever, long enough for this kiss to be seared onto his soul and leave a scar that would carry into his next life. This act of love, without any strings attached besides the one that Zelos would use, willingly, to find his way home in the end.

"Promise you'll come back," Lloyd asked softly, gasping for breath as they parted.

Zelos cupped his cheek, but in the darkness, it was too...familiar. He moved to cover Lloyd's hand on his own chest, instead. "No assassin is going to get me," he promised easily.

But Lloyd shook his head. "No. I mean--yes, obviously, be careful, but...I mean, promise me that you'll come back. This you. Zelos. Not the...the guy I met the first time." Not the Chosen.

Zelos's eyes grew so wide that it almost ached. He squeezed Lloyd's hand, if only for something to hold him to reality, since... Well. It hurt. Lloyd's honest care felt like an ice spike through the temple and the worst kind of heartburn, and also somehow like all his bones were metamorphosing at once. It felt like an impossible promise to keep, he realized.

"I..." He swallowed hard, wondering if Lloyd could hear how thick his voice was. If he knew that the love was harder to accept than the kiss. If he knew that Zelos barely believed he was really living a second chance, much less that he could have a third, someday.

"I'll write, lots," Lloyd offered, bargaining. "And I'll come visit when I can. Maybe Colette or Regal can come, too. And Seles...it's better, right? With her?" Zelos could barely believe the words, but he found himself nodding, because it was...true. "You don't have to do it all alone."

Zelos kissed him again, and hated it, a little. As nice as kissing Lloyd was, as much as his heart was soothed by the familiar motions, as much as the trust and affection turned something once toxic into a panacea, Zelos wished he could maybe, just once more, be honest with his words. Lloyd deserved that much.

Montgomery exhales, and Lorelei shivers as his breath melts against her back. He shifts a little more until his nose has burrowed past her red hair and he can replace it with his lips. Her skin is cool, even now.

He doesn't pull away, almost speaking into her skin as he rasps, "Time? D'you let me sleep in?"

Lorelei huffs, a soft laugh. "It's a good enough hour for adventuring," she says. "The sun is long up, though." So she's been up a while, Montgomery hears.

He smirks, just a little. "Stayed to keep me cool?" he asks, feeling his voice slowly, slowly find traction as he wakes up.

The eye roll is audible, but Lorelei squeezes his hand and doesn't apologize. Doesn't flinch or try to turn her back away from him. More than anything, that fills Montgomery's heart until it almost aches. "Well, did it work?" she asks instead.

Montgomery nods. "Slept like a baby," he says. "Just like old times."

It's not, though--not really. For one, they did not used to share a tent. For another... Montgomery tugs slightly at her sleep shirt with the hand trapped between them, with no armor over top of it even though she's been awake (as there would have been before), until her upper back is bared.

His eyes are closed, but he knows the reach, the raise, the pain of the scar he's revealed. He's traced it with his hands as often as with his lips. Lorelei has tried to describe what it feels like, to have the icy burn of one of the worst nights of her life touched intentionally--softly. For the ancient freezing magic of it to war with very real, very mundane warmth and love. Her words paint a confusing picture, one that never fails to make Montgomery ache for the wound that will never quite heal. (The price, he supposes, of falling in love with a bard, is that she paints the most beautiful pictures of her own pain.)

But she also tells him that it's nice, and rarely asks him not to. So he presses his lips between her shoulder blades. The raised, tough skin is like ice. His smile doesn't fade.

"Don't start," Lorelei warns.

"I'm not," says Montgomery. He mostly means it--they do have places to be. But he does trace the vein of the scar with a few more kisses.

The tent flap rustles suddenly, and Montgomery opens his eyes to see it shifting, but already shut again. "Alecko?"

"Mm. He knows where...this..." Lorelei trails off, and Montgomery almost thinks about pushing himself up to see the blush on her cheeks as she tries to tactfully explain that her pseudodragon doesn't wish to be anywhere near their amorous activities.

"I thought we weren't starting anything," he says instead, kissing her shoulder. "Unless you changed your mind?"

She hesitates just long enough that Montgomery knows he's tempted her--but he's not altogether surprised when she pushes up on one arm. "We should get going. Zefna will never let you live it down if we're late," she says.

"Just me?" Montgomery asks, indignant.

Lorelei smiles, starting to gather up her hair. "Just you," she says easily. She's also, unfortunately, correct, because Zefna is insufferable.

He closes the distance and takes one of Tai Lon's hands in his, pushing it back to her side before she can manage to undo the laces of the dress. The fabric of it is full, layered, and yet he has to look down to make sure he's not treading on it by mistake because it's so light as to go unnoticed through his own pants.

"This was made for you," he reminds her. "And it's not a mistake. Wanting to look the part for the first function you host as Roadwarden back from the dead...to be honest, Tai Lon, only natural. Society is a looks-first business, after all."

Tai Lon tries to pull her hand away, but Aloth doesn't let her. She has stood by him too many times, against tides far more crushing than sapphire silks, for him not to return the favor. It's something he's proud to do now.

Still, Tai Lon's scoff is like acid, like that will scare him when her escape failed. "Well, I'm not one of them. Something about pigs and pearls, up here, isn't it? That saying? I can't wear the dress and be something I'm not--"

"So be what you are," Aloth says, pulling on her hand again until she turns in his arms. On the little stage before the dressing room mirror, she's much taller than him, but something about her eyes makes her look small. "You are the Watcher of Caed Nua. You are the mercenary who saved this land when all its protectors failed. You are the one who stood up to the gods themselves not once, but twice, and lived to tell the tale. You are a huntress of the White that Wends, and a rogue with a heart more pure than the finest gold offerings." Aloth smiles slightly. "And if you want to wear a beautiful dress at your own party, ástin mín...then wear the damn dress."

Tai Lon swallows hard, but Aloth sees the way her lips twitch at the corners, hearing her tongue in his voice. Aloth reaches up to cup her face. She catches his hand--but guides it to her cheek anyway.

His smile widens. "You look beautiful, you know," he says simply.

"A kiss--" Tai Lon answers, clumsily dodging the compliment. "For luck. That I won't make a fool of myself."

Aloth obediently pushes up on his toes until he can meet her lips. She's not wearing any sort of powders or color, which will set her apart from the other nobility, but Aloth thinks it's much nicer not to have to worry that he'll undo hours of work with a single show of affection. Her lips are softer than they have been in months, but she tastes exactly the same, moves exactly the same.

Aloth's breath runs out long before Tai Lon's, and he pulls back. "Will that do?" he asks, settling back on his heels.

Tai Lon steps down from the podium and rests her hands on his shoulders. "It's a start," she says. "But I could always use a little more luck when it comes to the nobility."

Aloth rolls his eyes--truer words have hardly been spoken, and they both know it. He meets her smile with his own and squeezes her waist. The ball gown is cool and smooth, broken on one side by some truly gorgeous beading and metallic threads. But underneath, the shape of her muscles fits perfectly into his palms. A scar rests under the embroidery near his thumb, and he knows without even checking that she must have at least two knives within all the fabric.

So when, finally, it was just Yoshiko and Azalea left in the library of the Nakamura house (which still, she realized, felt crowded, even with the literal people herded out and into their bedrooms), Yoshiko found herself on the end of a slightly strained smile from their dryad.

"You should get some rest, too," Azalea said, sweet but with an undercurrent like ancient roots, unwilling to be moved or severed.

Yoshiko nodded, almost instinctively. "I will," she said.

Azalea nodded back, playing with her fingers as she seemed to search for anything else, and came up empty. "Good night," she said, and turned away.

Yoshiko watched her retreat a few steps towards the hallway before gritting her teeth and chasing. It only took a second to close the distance, but reaching out to take Azalea by the shoulder still felt...difficult. Like Yoshiko was acting with resistance bands binding her limbs.

There was just the barest amount of force in the tug Yoshiko gave Azalea's shoulder, but with the way the dryad gasped and reached up to steady herself against Yoshiko's chest, one would have thought she had tried to rip Azalea off her feet. It was surprising enough to have Yoshiko simply stare at her for a moment, assessing whether she'd hurt Azalea...and then simply looking, at her bare shoulders, her curly hair, her pretty figure, and trying very hard to remember that this was allowed.

"Y-yes...?"

Yoshiko didn't have the words to apologize properly, not when she knew things like this afternoon would probably happen again. And not when Azalea was simply so lovely in the dim light of the hallway, standing in Yoshiko's home like she had always belonged there, too.

"Yo--"

So Yoshiko simply leaned forward and pressed her lips to the corner of Azalea's mouth. Firm enough to convey that this was not a mistake, but gentle enough to be (she hoped) sweet.

The quiet little squeak Azalea let out as Yoshiko kissed her did unspeakable things to Yoshiko's heart, and so she pulled back. Azalea's cheeks didn't seem to have changed color, but her fingers trembled a little on Yoshiko's wrist, and her eyes were wide and bright. Yoshiko did her best to smile, despite feeling devastated by it all.

"Good night," she answered. Let go of Azalea's shoulder slowly. Stepped back.