#spiriteddreams

"you know i have to get to work too," and yet you don't make an attempt to pull away form him either. "i promised shoko i'd buy her a coffee." nanami hums and you can feel the way his fingers start to gently press into your clothes, subtly pushing you towards him. he doesn't have to say it, but you know that he wants you to indulge him just a bit longer. a glance at the clock in your room has you sighing softly.

"kento," you say softly. he savors the way you say his name, searing it into his memory as he fixes you with a knowing look, a smile tugging up on his lips as he tilts his head just barely.

"one more, for good luck?" he teases. you huff out a sigh, knowing that he'll ask for another, and then another, and before you know it, both your lips will be swollen and eyes glassy as you're rushing to leave home.

he chuckles, as if reading your thoughts. "i'll need all the luck i can get if i'm meeting with gojo." you hate to admit that this time, he has a point. in the back of your mind, you wonder how long it'll take for nanami to pull out his phone and send you a text, asking you to come save him from the sugary eccentric sorcerer who's roped him into training one of his new students.

"for good luck then," the kiss you give is chaste, far too quick for his liking and he doesn't care if you laugh at the way he sharply pulls you back in. the kiss he presses to your lips is searing and you nearly stumble forward had it not been for your hands immediately moving to grip his shoulders. you lose yourself in the moment, hands wandering just as his do.

it's only when the sharp ringing of your phone cuts through the room that you pull away to reach over to see shoko's name on screen. she doesn't even give you the chance to greet her when you pick up, instead opting to say, "i hope you're not sucking faces right now."

"if you're upset about your coffee running a bit late, i'll buy you another one tomorrow," you reply fondly. nanami huffs next to you, eyeing your phone as if contemplating grabbing it and tossing it across the room so he could pick up where you left off.

"i'll hold you to that," shoko sighs. it's silent for a beat before she speaks up again, "hey nanami, gojo's been texting me nonstop. he said you're not answering your phone." the sorcerer in front of you mumbles something under his breath as you bid shoko goodbye, promising to bring her coffee soon.

"i suppose that's our sign to go," you step out of his grasp and nanami nods as he tucks away his phone in his pocket. already, he's thinking about coming home and making dinner this time. he's thinking about what flowers the corner store might have today when you pat his chest and go to cup his cheek.

"have a good day my love," you smile at him. and in every silly cliche way possible, nanami's breath catches in his throat. this is what it must feel like to be in love, the kind of love that the books you ask him to read try to describe, but never fully capture.

"i'll see you later," he says softly, already leaning towards you, "text me if you need anything." you both hesitate, go to pull away, but fall back into one another for one last kiss before you go, your giggles still echoing in nanami's mind as he turns to go meet gojo.

nanami's always liked to be on time, but for you, he'll make every exception.

“come on, let’s enjoy the sunny days ahead.” he can feel the weight on his shoulders slip away, captivated by that understanding smile on your lips. he sets aside the work clouding his mind, for justice can be saved for the grand spectacle that is the courtroom. outside, with your arm wrapped around his, he basks in the warmth found in both the sun and you.

…someone who knows grief all too well and yet kaedehara kazuha copes with it the best he can. he puts pen to paper and closes his eyes, asking the wind to grace him with temporary companionship. he sits alone in his room, asking to be disturbed by none as he lets himself sink into memory and silence. but he doesn’t realize how long he can become caught up in his labyrinth of words until he hears soft knocks on his door. it’s only when he straightens up that he feels the ache from hunching over. the paper in front of him is scribbled with a mix of stanzas and smudged ink, a reflection of his mind.

“you’ve been cooped up in here all day,” your voice draws him from his lingering thoughts. you wonder how long he’s been sitting like this, hand cramping around his pen and hair growing messier with each time he runs his hands through it in frustration. kazuha offers you a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes and it’s clear that he’s still half-caught in the memory of thunder striking before his eyes.

you gently run your hand across his shoulders, “come on, let’s go take a walk.” kazuha nods silently as he stands, gathering his items to be stacked neatly on his desk. you wait patiently, listening only to the sounds of suffering papers and kazuha’s occasional hums. and when he finally turns to face you, ready to walk through the city, he already looks more relaxed with his eyes less clouded and his smile more genuine.

“thank you, my dear.”

…someone who values rationality above (most) else and yet al-haitham knows that there are times when he must set aside his own pride. he will hold onto it for as long as he can, silent gaze challenging you across the room, chin held high, unwavering eyes refusing to back down first. you’re just as stubborn as he is, unwilling to let his words slide by. you understand that being acting grand sage is hard work, but it’s no excuse for his snippy attitude to come tearing through your home when he walks in. the silence that stretches across your home threatens to tear at both of your resolves, the picture-frame covered walls waiting with baited breath to see who breaks first. he blames his exhaustion for prompting him to move first, walking past you and heading to your shared room. he runs a hand over his face and sighs loudly, already feeling regret sink into his bones. he hears the front door slam shut and he feels like crumbling.

“you’re here?” al-haitham’s voice sounds cracked and dry as approaches you. you sit at the dining table, alone, fiddling with something in your hands. you hide it away before he can get a glimpse of what it might be and turn to face him.

“why wouldn’t i be here?” you ask softly. he hates that you offer him such kindness when he hasn’t even apologized yet, but he sinks into your words, relieved to find that you still choose to be here. “look, i understand you’re stressed and—“

“it’s no excuse, i’m sorry, my love,” he takes a hesitant step forward. you don’t move to send him away so he moves again until he’s in front of you and sinks down to his knees. your eyes widen in surprise, but he takes your hands in his before you can protest and presses a kiss to your knuckles. you think he’s about to wax poetic about how much he adores you (which of course always comes sincerely from him), but you can see a hint of mischief in his eyes that makes you hesitate as he tries to joke, “next time, throw me out first instead, okay?”

dan heng, who is the type to duck his head down when you're in a crowd of people, leaning closer to speak in your ear. you can feel his breath tickle your neck and he smiles shyly at your reaction. he knows what he's doing

dan heng, who curls his hand around your waist when you're standing next to each other. you can feel each finger lay its claim as he tugs you closer, as if his hands were meant to linger there

dan heng, who isn't the most open about his past, but in quiet moments when it is just you and him and the stars, he feels peaceful enough to reminisce his time before the express, telling you stories as nostalgia clouds his eyes

dan heng, who finds secrets spots on the astra express to stargaze with you, pinkies intertwined as you lie in silence. sometimes you ramble about your day and he listens thoughtfully, his ever expressive eyes giving away all you need to know

dan heng, who kisses in pairs. the first is soft, a gentle brush against your lips as you chase after his. the second is more firm, hands coming to pull you closer as you pours his emotions out

dan heng, who is soft for you and you only, gentle voice and touches that are oh so comforting and warm. he could travel the universe and live amongst the stars but it would never compare to the time spent with you

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated <3

sometimes you give in, other times you don't. and today you opt to roll your eyes and stand up, rounding the table with your cup of tea that you place next to his. he hums in satisfaction, legs spreading wider so you have space to stand as his hands find their place, resting gently on your waist.

he looks up at you and drawls, "care to indulge me?"

the kiss you press to his lips is warm but quick, gone too quickly, if he does say so himself. he chases your lips as you pull away and ask him, "so what chapstick am i using today?" wriothesley thinks it's unfair for you to ask him a question like that when you've only given him such a chaste kiss. he scowls playfully, lips downturned into a pout as he runs through the possible options.

"cherry," he states confidently. it's a wild guess fueled by false certainty but he doesn't care if he's right or wrong. and when you shake your head he doesn't pout, doesn't show any sort of remorse for guessing wrong. instead he tugs you down towards him, capturing your lips again and holding you close. and when you finally pull away from one another, he licks his lip and hums thoughtfully.

"i think i need another kiss to be certain about my answer—"

you pull away and roll your eyes as wriothesley protests and tries to bring you back towards him.

"pomegranate!" he exclaims, standing up quickly before you can escape his loose hold.

you laugh quietly and move to place one hand on his chest, the other sliding up to cup his cheek. he looks down at you with such soft adoration that for a brief second, you wonder what the world's reaction would be to his displays of affection around you. but no matter that thought, because with a nod of confirmation for his correct guess, he's swooping in for another kiss, and you can feel him smiling into it as your upper body leans back slightly, pushing yourself closer to him.

"so what's my prize then?"

you can feel the press of his accessories against your body. though protected, you can still feel the bite of cold from the metal that crests on his chest. if you turned around, not that he’d let you when he’s so triumphantly caught his prey, you’d see that he’d loosed his tie upon seeing you in his office, fussing over his desk.

clearing your throat you admit, "i thought you were busy this morning. clorinde said you wouldn't return until noon."

"my dear, it is noon,” he hums. you hesitate, surely it couldn't be, you had come to drop off the box nearly half an hour before... you were distracted by his messy desk. his gift sits in front of you, and with the way wriothesley crowds you into his desk, there’s no hiding it from him.

"so, care to explain what you're doing sneaking around places you're not supposed to be?" you know he's staring down at the box on his desk, eyes tracing over the delicately tied ribbon that tops it off.

you roll your eyes and straighten when he doesn't let you move away, "i came to drop this off. it's a gift for you.”

"i can see that."

you're going to give clorinde a piece of your mind the next time you see her. you should have known not to trust her nonchalance. she had smiled upon you informing her about the surprise gift you wanted to leave for the duke, shrugging when you added that you were going to sneak in his office while he was gone. of course she knew this was going to happen.

"well, are you going to give it to me?" you can feel his hands itching to pluck the gift from your hands. with your back to his chest and his hair falling onto your clothes his expression is hidden from you, but knowing wriothesley, you can imagine the smug expression on his face. the ends of his lips must be curling up in triumph as you sigh in defeat. he steps back to give you space, waiting as you turn with the box in hand to present to him. before he takes it, he motions for you to sit up on his desk, one hand helping you balance yourself as he steps closer, your knees brushing against his thighs. you offer him the gift again and to your surprise, he doesn’t take it. instead he stares at it for a moment before looking back up at you.

“but i can think of a better gift,” wriothesley’s wolfish grin is triumphant as you inhale sharply at his words and try to suppress the smile that tugs at your lips. 

you fail to scowl at him, “you’re shameless. some duke of the fortress of meropide you are.” wriothesley laughs loudly in response to your words. despite the cold of his office from being unused for the morning, wriothesley fills it with warmth. you let your fingers find his loosened tie and tug him forward. the look he gives you beneath his lashes is nothing short of what could be described as adoration. his hands find their way to rest on his desk, caging you in and tempting you at the same time. he’s all sly words and gentle touches, teasing with his actions and goading you into giving into his antics. 

“you can have this gift first,” you bring the gift up between the two of you. the duke sighs dramatically but takes it from your hands nonetheless. he tries to weigh it subtly, running his mind through any possibility of what it might be. it’s lighter than he expected, but he wastes no time in unpackaging it. nimble fingers undo the ribbon, which he teasingly tosses over your shoulder, murmuring about reusing it later, for another gift. 

it’s a tea flight set, with specialties from the nations across teyvat. wriothesley laughs softly and looks up at you, his expression giving away his excitement over the variety of new options. he tries to think if there were any signs that he had dropped about looking for new teas but he can’t think of any, as far as he could remember, he had only thought it to himself. perhaps he had written it somewhere and lost it in his pile of papers, the same papers that you seem content to help him organize every once in awhile. 

“thank you, dear,” the features on his face soften. you return his smile and reply that you’d been looking for something special for him, for all the hard work that he’s been going.

“and besides, with the colder weather coming around, i’m sure the fortress will get a bit chillier,” you explain. wriothesley is quiet for a moment. and the moment you see him perk up you know something is coming.

“well i can think of—“ you promptly shut him up with a kiss, and wriothesley, cheeky as ever, can’t help but smile into the kiss. if this is what it’s like to receive a gift from you, he’ll have to tell clorinde to give you a wrong time to come by. this time was by chance, but next time, he’ll be more than prepared to catch you off guard and maybe with a gift of his own for you. clorinde can share some of his special teas if she can make this happen again. after all, it’s more than worth it to have you wrapped up in his arms like this.

his flirty approaches might have initially been met with a flustered look on your face, but not you don’t even bat an eye at his sly comments. neuvillette however, shoots wrio a glare everytime he starts to say something he thinks could be flirtatious.

boxer!wrio, who comes in one early morning to help bring in some new equipment for the gym. and you’re sitting with your father at the front, drinking water and chatting when wrio walks in, shirtless, muscles on full display, sweaty and oh so gorgeous and you can’t help but choke on your drink, so clearly staring at the view.

“put on a shirt young man!” neuvilette’s thundering voice echoes throughout the room.

and much to his dismay, wrio is feeling particularly dangerous that day and says, “but i think she’s quite enjoying the view.” you feel your face warm as your father glares at you before turning back to give wrio a piece of his mind, already telling him off as he follows the boxer towards the back room where he can place down the boxes and then be chewed out by your father. but wrio thinks it’ll all be worth it because your expression was priceless. 

he's used to people ogling him when he's training or fighting in the ring, whether or not he has a shirt on. but he can't help but sneak a look whenever you're around, trying to catch your wandering eyes to see if you're eyeing him too. and when he does catch you, he straightens up, tilts his head and throws you an arrogant smile.

"see something you like, princess?" he calls out boldly. other customers either look away or chuckle at the now familiar sight and sound of wrio's teasing. the times when neuvillette is there, he snaps at the boxer sharply then turns to you, eyes twitching with annoyance as he tells you to get back to work. you know he means well, and you know wrio only does it to rile up your father. and to flirt, you suppose.

boxer!wrio, who, one afternoon on his way out, makes sure to stop by the front desk to linger around you. it just so happens that you’re getting ready to leave for the day. fresh from a rinse with hair dripping wet and wolfish grin plastered across his face, wrio leans over the front desk, cocky as ever and asks if you’d like to grab a bite with him. he catches sight of the way your eyes narrow and quickly flicker over to where your father stands on the other side of the gym, working with another customer. for a second he thinks you might bail, but much to his delight your shoulders loosen and you smile at him and say, “where are we off to, your grace?”

An ancient curse, is what Bailu calls it, fixing you with a concerned stare. You can only laugh dryly at your luck, of course it would be you to have come down with some ancient curse that has caused you to cough out petals. You keep it to yourself, cradle half-bloodied flowers in your hands as you make excuses as to why you can’t join your friends for lunch, or why you can’t spend a morning to spar or play chess with the General. The less they know the better. (Right?)

Individual petals become clumps, and the clumps become half-made flowers. And by the time that the ever-attentive general decides to confront you about the sudden change in your behaviour, you're close to coughing out full flowers.

"Are you alright?" Jing Yuan asks as you sit across from him, cup of tea in your hands as you sit with your eyes closed, reveling in the warmth of your drink and that of his presence. "I haven't seen you around much. you're not avoiding me, are you?" Despite the chuckle that falls from his lips as he finishes speaking, you can still hear the hints of worry that he fails to hide. You suppose that's the result of knowing him for so long, the result of loving him for so long.

I wish I had the courage to admit it to you in person. 

"I wouldn't be here if I was avoiding you," you hum, opening your eyes to meet his. Your chest tightens when you see the concern in his eyes seem to melt away. The last thing you want is to worry him, and you hope that your attempt at banter will at least deter him for the meanwhile. but Jing Yuan is quiet, more so than usual. He spends longer studying you, making you squirm under his watchful gaze until you chide him for thinking too much.

"Well, I can tell something's on your mind, Strale for your thoughts?" he wants to know what's going on in your mind. He's not stupid, and is far too attentive to the way you seem to keep yourself at bay, holding your tongue and sipping tea as if it would keep you from speaking.

Funny how you called me the bravest you knew, and yet the one time when I should have come clean, I couldn’t bring myself to say anything.

"I think I might be stricken with mara." Out of the corner of your eyes you see him stiffen. You look down at the steam that curls from your cup, caressing your face as if knowing that the man next to you wouldn't do the same. 

Forceful laughter is pushed from his lips. “Don’t play jokes on me, dear. Have you come down with a cold? I know some of the Cloud Knights are out sick because of some bug that has gone around. You must have caught it when we sparred with them.” Your silence gnaws at Jing Yuan, and he can feel anxiety bubbling in his chest. It begins to grow when you turn away from him to take a breath. He watches, almost in slow motion, as you set your cup aside and look at him.

Thank you, Jing Yuan, for being my friend.

There is acceptance in your eyes, and Jing Yuan’s mouth goes dry. “Are you certain? Have you been diagnosed by a doctor? I can call for my doctor, I’m sure it’s not mara-struck—”

“Jing Yuan. There’s no other explanation,” neither of you can tell if the softness of your tone is an attempt to comfort yourself or him. His palms feel sweaty, the lump in his throat lodged so that words fail to come forth. He doesn’t like the way you say his name like this. It doesn’t roll off your tongue the way it usually does, and he finds himself grasping at anything to urge you to tell him that you might be wrong.

His desk becomes stacked with papers and reports about the mara-struck. The archivists watch as he spends longer nights conducting research, hair slipping from its hold as for the first time in years, the great General of the Xianzhou Luofu begins to lose a grasp on his composure. He calls upon Fu Xuan to divine what she can, and yet the grimace on her face paired with her admittance that the future is too foggy for her to divine makes his heart drop. 

I have loved you longer than you could imagine. Thank you for allowing me to be at your side for as long as I did. I will treasure these memories forever, no matter where I am.

He finds himself alone in his room, head in his hands as he sits at his desk. Your medical reports, handed to him by your own hands, are missing something. There’s something you’re hiding from him and he needs to know what it is. For the first time, he begins to doubt the words you’ve said to him. You’ve had no reason to lie to him thus far, so why does it feel like you’re trying to hide something serious.

He lets the anxiety fester before finally, Yanqing is the one who forces him to his feet to find the only doctor he hadn’t visited yet. Jing Yuan watches as Yanqing lets his own worries and fears come spilling out and he realizes how much your condition has affected others. He chides himself for selfishly thinking that he was the only one trying to find a cure for your illness. 

“They’re growing weaker,” Yanqing bites the inside of his cheek. “I went to visit them but I didn’t see any signs of Mara on their skin. But the Vidyadhara doctor, Bailu, was there. She gave me this letter and asked me to give it to you. She left in a hurry, but maybe we can ask her about them, right General?” There’s hope in the boy’s tone as if he too, was trying to grasp at anything to make sense of sudden fall to this illness. So clearly, a visit to the energetic doctor is next.

By this time, I’m sure you’ve uncovered the truth. The extent of my lies can only extend so far. I’m sure Bailu has spoken to you already. Be kind to her, will you?

“Mara? No, who told you that? That’s ridiculous, have you seen them? Didn’t they tell you?” Bailu stares up at him, unimpressed. “It’s Hanahaki. Surely you’ve heard of it, well, perhaps you haven’t. There’s no recorded cure. They told you all this, right?”

“They told me it was Mara,” Jing Yuan feels like he’s out of breath. He isn’t sure what to feel, the mix of emotions closing in on him. He wants to be upset with you and yet he can’t understand why you had been so bent on lying to his face. Not just him, but to Yanqing, to Yukong, to everyone else for the sake of what?

“It’s an ancient curse,” Bailu shakes her head.

Ancient curse. The words ring in his head. He figures the expressions on his and Yanqing’s faces are enough to give away their confusion. And he can only feel his chest tighten and tighten as he listens to Bailu explain the first time you came to her, tears building in the corner of your eyes, hands cupped to your chest and flecks of blood splattered on your palms. He listens as Bailu explains how you begged her not to say anything, that you would be the one to admit the truth. He listens as he hears of how your condition seemed to grow worse, day by day. He reads the medical reports that the Vidyadhara solemnly gives him and becomes acutely aware of his own shaky breath. He recognizes the days when you had gone to visit him, indulged in his requests to soak up the warmth of the sun as he put aside his work or to share stories over tea and a game of chess. The same days that you visited him are the same days that you came to Bailu.

Please, my dear, don’t blame yourself for my own faults. You have been nothing but supportive, caring, and kind. There is nothing more that I can ask of you other than you take care of yourself, please?

Jing Yuan knows loss better than anyone. He has faced loss in his own family and has watched as close friends and comrades have lost their lives on the battlefield. He knows of sacrifice, of that gut wrenching feeling when you are faced with the hard truth. He knows the feeling of defeat when he fights his master, initially hesitant in his blows before he gives into fate. The sight of his master’s thankful smile, a last moment of clarity breaks his heart. He knows of all these heartbreaking feelings, the same ones that have built up his walls, guarded his heart thus far and led him to become the Arbiter-General of the Xianzhou Luofu. The scars that litter his body are a result of hundreds of years of training, of hard-won battles and choking defeats, so really, there is nothing that can shake his resolve after all that he's been through. He isn’t sure what’s worse: how easily he believed your lies, or the reality of this sickness that you’ve come down with. 

I’m sure all will be well. Don’t forget about me or I’ll haunt your dreams! (Stop falling asleep while you’re at work okay?)

He wants to yell, to go back in time and push harder for you to tell him the truth. He curses this long life that he has been cursed with. Because your time is fleeting, so quickly slipping from his grasp and he will live longer to live. He hates to imagine what it might be like when—

Visit me one last time, please?

He indulges in your request, shedding all armour and weapons at the door. He visits you with nothing but his jumble of emotions. To bring you flowers as a get-well-soon gift would be too cruel. But perhaps it’s more cruel for you to invite him over.

He hates the way you smile at him so warmly, that knowing look in your eyes prying through ivy ridden gates into his mind. You know what he wants to say, and when he sits down at your bedside and wraps his hand around yours, you squeeze gently.

“I’m sorry,” his voice breaks. You look at him curiously, about to tell him to stop apologizing, that he has nothing, and will never have anything to apologize for when it comes to you. But you stop when you catch sight of his eyes, watery golden pools that beg you to stay. He can’t get the words out but in the silence, there is more than enough said.

All my love.

(I love you, he thinks to himself. He closes his eyes and brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss that he hopes will say enough. He doesn’t catch the way your eyes start to clear up and the way you gasp softly.)

From me, the moon.

———

To you, the sun,

I would like to apologize in advance. I’m sure you’re upset, and you have every right to be. But I’ve made my bed, and it’s my time to lie in it. I’m sorry. I wish I had the courage to admit it to you in person. Funny how you called me the bravest you knew, and yet the one time when I should have come clean, I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. Thank you, Jing Yuan, for being my friend. I have loved you longer than you could imagine. Thank you for allowing me to be at your side for as long as I did. I will treasure these memories forever, no matter where I am. By this time, I’m sure you’ve uncovered the truth. The extent of my lies can only extend so far. I’m sure Bailu has spoken to you already. Be kind to her, will you? Please, my dear, don’t blame yourself for my own faults. You have been nothing but supportive, caring, and kind. There is nothing more that I can ask of you other than you take care of yourself, please? I’m sure all will be well. Don’t forget about me or I’ll haunt your dreams! (Stop falling asleep while you’re at work okay?) Visit me one last time, please?

All my love.

From me, the moon.

“i think it’s time i take you home,” neuvillette says softly. he can leave his work for the next day, because now that you’re here, he feels the urge to be  under covers with you wrapped in his embrace. you nod and agree, then pause. you squint up at him and your eyes widen as you attempt to step back. but neuvillette’s hold around you is strong and the hand curled around your waist only steadies you as you squirm. he isn’t quite sure what’s going on in your head but he does know that getting you home as soon as possible to get some rest is in your best interest.

“sir, i must ask you to let me go! i have a husband!” neuvillette merely raises his brows at your words and makes a noise of agreement. “i am happily married and have no intention of ever leaving him, so again, i must ask you to let me go!” 

“darling,” neuvillette leans down closer to you and you pause, eyes wide and lips parted in surprise at the sudden proximity. “i am your husband.” it takes you a second for his words to process in your mind, but just when neuvillette thinks he’s convinced you, you still try to take another step away from him.

“prove it!” your hands go to your waist as you stare at him pointedly. he chuckles softly, rather amused and somewhat proud. 

he lifts his left hand, clearly displaying the gems that sit on a ring wrapped around his finger. without saying more, he reaches for you own hand, thumb brushing over the matching ring on your own finger as he brings it to his lips. and all while making eye contact, lavender-grey eyes look at you through his lashes as he kisses your ring, then higher, and higher until he reaches your wrist. and as you stand there, dazed and held in place by those commanding eyes of his, his name tumbles from your lips.

“yes, darling?” neuvillette straightens up, now convinced that you’re aware that he is your husband.

“can we go home?” you sigh, “i’m getting sleepy. and you need rest too! you work too hard.” your hand intertwines with his, already tugging him towards the door. the chief justice makes no attempt to pull from your grasp, tightening his hand as he carefully watches each shaky step that you take. his work can wait. besides, the thought of being wrapped up in your warmth is more than tempting. he listens as you ramble about your night, going on about the latest news and gossip that had reached your’s and navia’s ears. and when you look back at him to see if he’s listening, you catch sight of his eyes, softened and amused, paired with a smile that gently tugs up on his lips. 

“you’e so pretty, you know that?” you hum. the only sign of surprise is the slightest raise of brows and a tilt of his head. but when you turn back around, you miss the heated blush that blooms across his cheeks and the way he briefly looks away. the sun seems to shine brighter the next day.