#whimsical!reader

⸻

You wore flowers like armor. Always. In your hair—violets carefully tucked into your braid, a daisy behind your ear, sprigs of baby's breath pinned like secrets. Your jumpers often had tiny embroidered petals curling down the sleeves or buttons shaped like blooming buds. When people asked, you just smiled like the flowers had chosen you that morning and not the other way around. Flowers were a part of you, just like freckles were a part of others.

“Is there a reason you always dress like a sentient meadow?” Draco asked once, squinting as you buttoned up a coat stitched with little yellow marigolds that seemed to flutter when you moved.

“It’s for luck,” you said serenely, smoothing a daffodil-shaped pin at your collar. “And it makes the plants feel at home.”

He stared like you’d just offered him a slice of moonlight for breakfast. “You think the plants care what you’re wearing?”

You tilted your head, genuinely perplexed. “You don’t?”

The first incident came swiftly. You’d barely begun working together when he attempted to nudge a Puffapod into blooming. One gentle poke was all it needed—delicate, respectful. Draco prodded it like it owed him an explanation, and it exploded in a soft-pink mushroom cloud of pollen.

You stood in stunned silence, covered in fuzz, bits of petal clinging to your braid like confetti. You tried not to pout. You really did. But you ended up cross-legged on the floor, mournfully collecting the petals and whispering soft apologies.

“She just needed patience,” you murmured, fingers brushing the frayed bloom. “A bit of kindness.”

Draco sneezed and looked utterly unconvinced. “It was a plant. Not a therapy client.”

“She had a name,” you said sharply, shooting him a glare. “Lulu.”

He gave you a flat look. “You named the Puffapod?”

You met his gaze with unflinching sincerity. “I would've told you her name if you didn't blow up her sister Lala earlier this year.

He sighed. "yeah... because plants have siblings."

The next week, he crushed a Bubotuber in a moment of casual irritation. One second he was ranting about someone stealing his socks, the next he squeezed the bulb like it had personally offended him. It responded by erupting in a burst of thick, greenish goo. Draco’s shriek of horror echoed off the greenhouse walls.

“You strangled her,” you said disappointed, trying not to frown as you dabbed away goo with a Moondew sprig.

“I barely touched it!”

“You manhandled her like she owed you money.”

“It attacked me!”

“She was terrified.”

He stumbled back, covered in yellow-green sludge. “Of what? My refined bone structure?”

You crouched next to the limp plant, wand raised, murmuring a soft charm. “Of being misunderstood. She’s very shy.”

Draco groaned. “Merlin help me. Not again.”

“She has a name,” you said firmly. “Matilda.”

“Of course she does.”

With a flick of your wand and a quiet word, Matilda shivered back to life, wiggling slightly in your palm. You leaned in and whispered something that made her glow faintly. She’d forgiven him. Barely.

“She’s a menace,” he muttered.

“She’s sensitive,” you corrected, stroking her stem.

Draco stared at you like he was trying to decide if this was some elaborate Hufflepuff prank. You smiled serenely and tucked a fallen blossom behind your ear.

By the fourth week, Draco had managed to offend a Flutterfern, enrage a Shrivelfig, and traumatize a Fanged Geranium into permanent wilt. The final straw came when he took pruning shears to a Venomous Tentacula like he was avenging a personal vendetta. It lashed out in protest, its tendrils flailing before curling in on themselves, whimpering.

You didn’t speak to him for the next twenty minutes.

Instead, you crouched beside the wounded plant, gently gathering its injured tendrils in your hands. You rocked slightly, whispering something ancient and low—more lullaby than incantation. Slowly, the Tentacula calmed. Its color returned in hesitant pulses. One vine curled around your wrist, tentative and grateful.

“You’ve got to be doing this on purpose,” Draco muttered from the other side of the greenhouse. “No one’s that bad at plants unless they’re cursed. Or a Gryffindor.”

You glanced up, your voice dry. “You think I’d hex my own greenhouse just to make you look bad?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “With great pleasure.”

You dusted soil from your cheek with a dramatic flourish. “I’m petty, Malfoy. Not suicidal.”

He eyed you, then your boots. “You’ve got roses on your socks.”

“They’re embroidered,” you replied, lifting your foot slightly to show him. “Climbing roses. Very resilient. A bit clingy.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Like you?”

You grinned. “Like you.”

His ears turned pink.

The sixth time was different. He didn’t kill the plant. He merely terrified it.

A small Mandrake sat trembling on its roots while Draco hovered uncertainly nearby, brow furrowed, tongue between his teeth in sheer concentration, wondering how the hell did you manage to stop a mandrake from crying. You watched from a few feet away, arms crossed, trying not to interfere.

“If you’re going to loom like that,” Draco muttered, glancing sideways, “you might as well do it yourself.”

“I’m observing,” you said proudly. “You’re improving. That Mandrake hasn’t flinched in at least two minutes.”

“It keeps looking at me.”

“you mean, He. Well, duh he has eyes. Of course he's looking at you.”

“Judgmentally.”

“That’s a compliment,” you said. “He doesn’t usually acknowledge people he dislikes.”

Draco scowled, but the Mandrake remained intact. Which, for him, was practically a miracle. When he wasn’t looking, you snuck the plant a leaf treat. It quivered happily.

Later that afternoon, while you adjusted the angle of a sunlamp for your Asphodel, you sensed Draco stepping beside you. He didn’t say anything at first, just hovered—an odd, uncertain weight in the air. Then his voice came, softer than usual.

“You missed a spot.”

You turned, confused, just as he reached out. His thumb brushed a smudge of soil from your cheek, lingering a second too long. You froze.

The world narrowed. You forgot the cold, the damp, the faint buzzing of Pixie-flies overhead. For one suspended breath, it was just you, him, and the inch of air between your faces.

He cleared his throat abruptly and pulled his hand back. “You had… dirt. On your face.”

“Oh.” You touched the spot instinctively. “Thanks.”

He turned away, cheeks faintly pink. You didn’t say anything. Your heart was too loud.

⸻

All term, you’d been tending to a single Moonlily in the corner of Greenhouse Three. Once silver-bright, it had withered into something curled and gray, like it had forgotten what light felt like. Every class, you brought it a fresh blossom, whispered to it like an old friend. “I’m still here,” you told it. “Come back when you’re ready.”

Draco never asked about it. But he noticed. You caught him glancing at it when he thought you weren’t looking. Watching the way you cared.

And then came the last day of term.

Most students had left for the holidays. Snow pressed against the greenhouse windows, and frost dusted the vines in glittering white. You were alone, brushing a light dusting of ice from the soil, when you heard the sound of footsteps.

Draco.

He looked a little windblown, hair tousled, scarf half-untied. In one gloved hand, he held something fragile. Small. Pale.

A pot with a single marigold.

Its stem was crooked. Its petals trembled. But it was alive.

“I, uh… Professor Sprout helped,” he said quickly, almost defensive. “A bit. Mostly she just stopped me from killing it.”

You stared, lips parting. He shifted, awkward.

“It’s not perfect,” he said.

You reached out and took it gently, your fingers brushing his. The flower quivered in your palm like it knew who had grown it.

“It’s exquisite.” you whispered.

His shoulders sagged, some tightness easing in his jaw. “I... It reminded me of you. It's bright and... pretty. Very, pretty.”

You stepped closer.

“Thank you,” you murmured, voice thick with something you didn’t dare name. “I love it.”

And then, without thinking, you kissed him.

It was soft, tentative—dirt-smudged noses, cold fingers brushing warm cheeks, and the quiet, sweet hush of something just beginning. He tasted of peppermint tea and the kind of wonder that comes only after you’ve stopped pretending not to care.

Behind you, something stirred.

You turned as the Moonlily—the one you’d nurtured all term—gave a shiver, then slowly unfurled. Its silver petals caught the moonlight and glowed like a promise, blooming with the kind of gentle pride only magic, patience, and love can grow.

Draco stared, wide-eyed. “Was that... because of us?”

You clutched the flower he'd given you to your chest, heart fluttering. “She’s been waiting. I think... she felt it.”

He looked at you, the usual edge in his voice softened into awe. “You’re completely mad.”

You grinned, breathless. “You still think the plants don’t notice?”

And then, for the first time all term, Draco Malfoy laughed—really laughed. It spilled into the greenhouse like sunlight after rain, warm and unexpected.

“Fine,” he said, shaking his head. “Maybe they do.”

You reached up and tucked the crooked little flower he’d grown into your braid, letting it nestle behind your ear like it had always belonged there.

“Then they’ve clearly been paying more attention than you have.”

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

Eddie raises his eyebrows at you. “Super impressive, yeah. Sweetheart, did you nap here for the whole afternoon?” 

You take your attention off the ants by your knees for a moment to blink up at him. “I don’t know. Is the afternoon over?” 

Steve huffs an appalled laugh. “Yeah, it’s over. You know it’s over because the fucking mosquitos are out. Are you two not being eaten alive?”

“Nope,” says Eddie, at the same time as you say, “I don’t mind them taking what they need.” 

Steve’s brows sew together concernedly at that, but he only snaps, “Can we go, please?” 

“Okay, you big baby.” Eddie slings an arm around Steve’s neck, hauling him in for a kiss. “Jesus. Can’t even take a couple of mosquito bites, huh?” 

“I think it’s sweet,” you say. You ensure the last few pieces of your bread are broken up and dispersed before standing. “It means they like your blood the best. I bet they really appreciate you.” 

Steve scoffs as he threads his fingers through yours. “Oh, great. They appreciate me.” He bumps Eddie’s hip. “Are we sure they’re not all just going to me because he’s anemic?”

“Your contribution does a lot to help the forest ecosystem, Steve.” 

“I think he’d like it better if they asked,” Eddie tells you, shooting your boyfriend a teasing look. “Isn’t that right, pretty boy?”  

You frown at this, as though a bit distraught on behalf of the mosquitos. “I’m sure they would if they could.” 

Steve mumbles something like okay, pressing a pacifying kiss to your head. 

“It’s a good thing the bugs have you to look out for them,” Eddie tells you. “I mean, standing up for mosquitos, giving your lunch to ants…” 

“I still ate most of it,” you say. Steve’s kiss seems to have lifted your mood considerably (Eddie can also testify to this effect). You’re now gently swinging your joined hands between you as you walk. “I didn’t think they needed much. It’s just that sometimes one of the ants would go out of the line, and I didn’t want them to feel silly coming back with nothing.” 

So you laid down tiny pieces of your bread in their path. Fucking adorable. 

There were also small loops of dried grass braided around the handles of Barty’s rucksack, polished pebbles falling out of the tosser’s pockets, pressed flowers in his books, dried bundles of herbs and bouquets of wildflowers hanging along the posters of his bed frame, and Evan’s dorm room now featured something called an essential oil diffuser. 

And it was one morning after waking up to the scent of lemon and eucalyptus that Evan felt he finally had to ask. 

“Oh, Barty.” You cooed as you made your way over to their spot at the Slytherin table, coming up behind Barty and pressing a kiss to his lips when he craned his head back in a silent request for one. “What’s with all the wrackspurts, my love?”

Your eyebrows were furrowed in concern, Evan’s eyebrows furrowed in bemusement, and Barty’s eyebrows furrowed in what appeared to be disbelief.

”What wrackspurts? I shouldn’t have any wrackspurts.” 

”You’re covered in them.” You insisted; eyes darting around Barty’s head as you ‘shooed’ invisible beings away from him. “Did you not set up the diffuser properly?”

Barty scoffed as if you just said something utterly ridiculous. “Of course I set up the diffuser properly. Lemon and eucalyptus; just like you said!” 

You let out a disappointed sigh as you brushed your fingers through Barty’s hair; equal parts affectionate and discontent. 

“Lemon and mint, Barty.” 

Barty’s shoulders sagged as he pouted at you, which brought a loving smile to your face before you pressed another, apologetic kiss to his lips. 

“It’s okay, my love; I’ll make sure you have the right one’s set up for tomorrow.”

”Thank you, treasure.” Barty beamed, pulling you down for one more kiss before he let you go, watching as you all but floated away. 

Evan couldn’t take it anymore. 

“What the fuck?”

Barty’s soft smile melted away as you disappeared around the corner before he moved his attention towards his friend. “What?”

Fair enough, Evan supposed; he didn’t really know where to start, either. 

“What the fuck is a wrackspurt?” Evan decided, hardly pausing for a moment before he was continuing. “Or a nargle? And what’s with the braided grass? And the oils? And where do you keep getting all these rocks!?”

Evan was almost desperate for air by the time he stopped; Barty merely cocking one unimpressed eyebrow at him.

”Listen,” Barty started, pointing at Evan with his spoon, “she’s fit as fuck, so I don’t ask any questions.” 

And with that, Barty returned his attention to the yoghurt in front of him and left Evan staring at the top of his head.

After a few moments, Evan gave his head an imperceptible shake — perhaps shooing away a few wrackspurts of his own — and figured Barty probably had a point.

Standing at the bottom of the stairs, he said your name. 

“Yes?” You stopped and looked back at him. 

“It’s late. Where are you going?”

He might’ve looked the other way if you were headed to the kitchens or trying to sneak into the library. But you had your cloak on. As fond of you as he was, he couldn’t ignore that. 

“The forest.” 

“The forbidden one?” 

“Mhmm.”

“And why are you going now?” 

“I need spiny fairy mushroom spores. They are only released under a new moon.”

“Right,” Regulus said. He ran his hand over the back of his neck. “Wait there.”

He turned back to his table and grabbed his own cloak from the back of the chair he had been sitting in. If you were leaving the castle, he was going with you. You didn’t say anything when he came back and nodded, a gesture that said he was ready to go, nor did you question why he needed to come with you. You weren’t going to say no to your friend.

He followed you silently through the castle. He didn’t understand the route you were taking. It wasn’t to any of the main doors that Regulus knew about. And then you walked into one of the unused classrooms; well, it was used for interhouse chess club but that was about it. He closed the door behind him, keeping the knob turned until the door was nestled in its frame so the click was as quiet as possible. You had already crossed the room to the windows. You unlatched on and pushed it open. Then you climbed out. 

Right. Because why would you take a normal way out of the castle? At least it was in an area where the castle was built into the hill so the ground wasn’t a far drop from the window – it would make getting back into the castle easier. Once he was outside with you, you closed the window until it was only a finger’s width open. It would appear closed to anyone peering into the room from the door. You started towards the forest with Regulus in stride. He waited until you got closer to the forest before saying anything. 

“You are aware of what forbidden means, right?” he asked. 

“I think Dumbledore just wants to keep us out of his secret garden,” you said. 

“He has a secret garden?”

You nodded. “And it’d be picked over if Junior and Evan found it.”

Regulus clicked his tongue, understanding what kind of things you assumed Dumbledore was growing. 

“There’re no growths near the castle?” 

You sighed as you reached the edge of the forest. Regulus expected you to light your wand. Your wand remained pocketed and you headed into the darkness. He still followed you, his eyes straining to keep you in sight while making sure he didn’t trip over anything. 

“Tell me more about these spores,” Regulus said since you didn’t answer whether there were some closer to the castle, like in one of the greenhouses or something. 

“Well, I already told you the mushrooms only release them under a new moon. The mushrooms themselves glow. And the spores are good to have on hand for exams, for focusing ‘n’ stuff. If I can get enough, I can pawn ‘em off. Ravenclaws are a prime market for them.”

“What?”

“Have you never read about them?” 

“No?”

“Huh, you should. They’re fascinating and there are tons of other plants in here that can be really helpful. I’m surprised Junior has said anything to you.”

“I don’t… consume… everything he does.”

You laughed. “Wise choice.”

As you walked, Regulus had an iron grip on his wand. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness and he could sort of see, so he was scanning the surrounding areas for anything that could be dangerous. He could cast Depulso or Protego in an instant. 

He didn’t cast the first spell of the night. You did. 

“Defindo.”

Some branches that had been blocking your way fell to the ground. You took two steps forward. 

You froze. 

It was so sudden that Regulus bumped into you. You grabbed his wrist before he could even back away, and then he saw what made you freeze. You had come face-to-face with a rather large spider. 

“Confringo.” 

The spider screeched as it was sent backwards with a blast of flame. With you still holding his wrist, he pushed you forward a few steps so he could get in front of you and then shifted so he could hold your hand to pull you out of the spider’s nest. 

“Where are these mushrooms?” he asked after putting a bit of distance between you and the spider. “How deep are we going?”

You took a shaky breath. It was good Regulus came with. 

“They, they shouldn’t be much further. Pandora’s directions-“

“Rosier is why we’re in here?”

“Of course. She found the patch.”

Regulus nodded. He was debating having words with Pandora. It wasn’t that you were incapable of handling yourself, but Pandora was more actively reckless than you. Pandora would act before thinking, which allowed her to venture deep into the forest alone. You did think, but sometimes you didn’t think things all the way through. You were more than willing to find these spores with no problems with breaking the rules; you didn’t consider the beasts that lie within the forest that might frighten you.

“Should be this way,” you said once you oriented yourself with where Regulus had brought you. 

As you started to walk, Regulus asked, “Do you mind if I light my wand?” He was getting tired of not being able to see where he was going.

“Go ahead.” 

Regulus lit his wand, and although you didn’t say anything, you appreciated the light. You walked for a little while without talking. Regulus was still watching your surroundings, just in case another spider jumped out of the trees. That was probably the one downside of lighting his wand, now everything in the forest knew exactly where you were. 

“Ooh! Horklumps!” you exclaimed.

A small cluster of pink mushroom-looking creatures bristled under the light from Regulus’ wand. 

“Professor Slughorn might give me a shiny knut for fresh juice!” 

You paused as you reached into your bag. It seemed to swallow your entire arm. You pulled out some tools and jars and knelt to the ground next to the horklumps to juice them. Regulus watched you work diligently, careful not to harm the plant-esque animals. He was mildly amused that you hummed while you worked; part of him thought it might calm the horklumps. 

You dusted your knees off after you were done and then you were moving into the darkness again. Regulus tried to help look for the spiny fairy mushrooms, but he didn’t know exactly what they looked like. He was going strictly off your description, which wasn’t much. Plenty of plants glowed, or emitted some kind of light or spore. After a few minutes of silent walking, Regulus accepted that his energy was better spent ensuring that the path you walked was safe. 

“Brilliant,” you muttered, more to yourself than Regulus, when you came across a small clearing with a patch of glowing mushrooms in the middle.

Standing at the edge of the clearing, Regulus thought that he could’ve realized that this was what you were looking for. Still, he didn’t say anything. He kept watch, eyeing the treeline for movement and keeping his wand raised just enough so that its light allowed you to see what you were doing. From what he could tell, you were using tweezers to pluck small orbs from the grass. 

Large spores, Regulus thought. 

“Alrighty, I think I’ve got enough. Definitely a few galleons worth if I talk to the right kids,” you said, standing up and once again dusting your knees. 

Regulus nodded. “Let’s take a different way back. I fear we might’ve angered that spider’s family.” 

“Avoiding spiders? Don’t have to tell me twice.” 

You started in the direction you thought was toward the castle. You weren't actually sure if it was the way, but you figured all roads led to Hogwarts if you walked far enough. If you did start in the direction of Hogwarts, you’d probably end up turned around somewhere, so if you started in the wrong direction, you’d end up where you needed to go. 

Well, that or Regulus would help you at some point. He was more skilled in navigation than you were, and you knew he’d be polite in redirecting you. He was always polite with you. 

The thought that you angered a nest of spiders stayed with you as you walked. You didn’t know that Regulus was watching the trees and would protect you at any cost, so you got more nervous with every step. Despite his wand, you swore it was getting darker. Every rustle of leaves made the hair on your arms stand up. 

The path was widening slightly up ahead. 

There was a rumbling noise and something appeared right in front of you.

You jumped backwards. Right into Regulus.

His hands immediately grabbed your arms and steadied you. And in front of you is a toad. A giant purple, that hopped into the path from the small pond to your right. You felt your face burn with embarrassment at being frightened by it, and that you jumped back into Regulus. You didn’t even think about how he was still holding you despite your being okay.

“Thanks,” you breathed after a few seconds. 

He hummed, as if to say not to worry about it. Neither of you moved. The toad was still in front of you. Regulus’ hands still holding onto your arms. The branches shaking slightly in the wind, just enough to fill the silence.

With a croak, the toad hopped into the brush on the other side of your path. You waited another few seconds before starting to walk again, and it wasn’t until then that Regulus let his hands fall back to his sides. You were silent until you exited the forest. You hesitated at the edge as Regulus tucked his wand into his pocket. You’d be safe out in the open, and he didn’t want to bring any attention to you if a professor just happened to look out their window. 

“Thank you for coming with me,” you said quietly as you crossed the grounds. 

“I couldn’t risk finding out you got hurt or something because you went out alone,” he said nonchalantly. “I’d rather get a month of detention.”

You were quiet, and then, “That’s really sweet, Reg.”

And it was. Perfect prefect Regulus, quidditch caption and academic genius, would rather get detention than find out you were hurt. It warmed your chest. It was almost an adrenaline shot. One that disappeared when you reached the window you needed to slide through.

“You probably want some of what I get from the Ravenclaws?” you asked with your hand on the window’s frame but not opening it yet. 

Regulus tilted his head. “What do you mean?” 

“For coming with? You’ll want a portion of what I get for selling the spores.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t want any money.”

“But you came out with me and-”

“To make sure you were safe. Figured it’s easier to come with and see for myself that you’re safe than to wait up in the common room.” He huffed a soft laugh. “What good would pacing have done me?” 

“You could’ve gone to bed. Or… finished whatever you were working on. Was it an essay I’ve forgotten about?” 

“I wouldn’t have been able to sleep. And it’s just quidditch. Your safety is far more important to me than quidditch.” 

Your grip on the window frame loosened. “I’m more important than quidditch?” 

He flexed his hand quickly before placing it on top of yours. He stared at your hands for a second, relishing in the fact that you didn’t pull your hand away. 

“You’re more important than a lot of things.” 

You looked at Regulus. Even in the darkness, albeit brighter than the forest, you could see the lightest blush across his cheeks. Then you looked down at your hands. You let go of the window frame so you could flip your hand to hold his. 

“Maybe… you could come with… more often?” you asked slowly. “If you aren’t busy. Like when I go to the greenhouses on Sundays?” 

Regulus nodded. “And whenever you go into the forest. Too many spiders in there.”

“I agree.” With your other hand, you grabbed the window and pulled it open. “And maybe to the Three Broomsticks sometime?” 

“I think that would be agreeable.” 

You're beautiful. That's not news to her — she's known you for long enough now that she's used to it, or she thought she was, but standing here, in her kitchen, in her shirt, looking thoroughly content, she's struck by it all over again. The curve of your jaw, the softness of your mouth, the way your fingers move when you stir, slow and absent, like you're not thinking about it.

You look like something she dreamed once, something she didn't think she was allowed to have.

You shift, reaching for the glass of wine you'd kept for yourself beside the vase of roses, and your eyes catch hers, and for a second you both just look at each other.

Your expression brightens with a happiness so pure it steals her breath away, your eyes going wide and bright, your mouth curving into a smile so big it crinkles your nose, makes your cheeks round. "Lily!"

Before she can blink, you're already moving, already crossing the kitchen toward her, your bare feet soft on the warm floor, your hands outstretched. You look like an excited puppy, she notices happily, like you can hardly contain your joy.

Lily catches you easily, her arms coming up around you, and you crash into her with all the force of someone who has never learned how to hold back, not even a little bit. You're warm from the stove and the wine and the evening light, and you smell like garlic and rosemary.

"Hi, sweetheart," she says, and she can hear it herself, can hear the way her voice goes soft and low and full of something she doesn't have a name for, something that lives in her chest and only comes out when she's looking at you.

You hum against her neck, and your arms tighten around her waist. "You're home," you say, and your voice is bright, breathless. "I missed you."

"I'm home." She runs a hand up your back, settles it at the nape of your neck, feels the soft hair there curling around her fingers. "I'm home, petal."

You pull back just enough to look at her. You're beaming, actually beaming, like she's the best thing that's happened to you all day, like she's the best thing that's happened to you ever, and her heart aches.

"I made dinner," you say, and you're practically bouncing now, your hands sliding down to grip her forearms, your whole body thrumming with excitement. "Your favourite. I remembered the recipe from the last time—remember? When you showed me? I wrote it down in my notebook, and I followed it exactly, and I think I got it right, I tasted it and it tastes like yours, I think, I hope you like it—"

She leans down to kiss you. Quick, soft, and it's over before you can really process, because if she kisses you properly she might not stop, and the stove is still on, and you've clearly worked very hard, and she wants to hear all of it.

You blink up at her, your cheeks pink, your mouth still curved into that smile. "What was that for?"

"Because you wrote down my recipe in your flower notebook," she murmurs, using a finger to tilt your chin up so she can see you better.

Your smile goes shy, just a little. You duck your head, and your hair falls forward, hiding your face, and Lily reaches out, tucks it behind your ear, watches the blush spread down your neck. "I wanted to get it right," you reply. "I want it to be perfect."

"It is," she says, and she doesn't have to think about it, doesn't have to wonder if she means it, because she does, because it's true. "It's perfect, sweetheart."

Your smile is the sun coming out. It's the way you look at her, the way you always look at her, like she's the answer to a question you've been asking your whole life.

"You put on my record player," she says.

You hum against her skin. "I hope that's okay."

Lily closes her eyes, breathes you in. The kitchen smells like herbs and wine and the roses on the counter, and there's music playing and light coming through the windows and you're in her arms, and she thinks she might cry. "Of course it's okay, angel."

"Good," you whisper.

Later, she'll eat the dinner you made. She'll sit at her table with you across from her, your cheeks still pink from the wine, your eyes still bright. You'll tell her about your day, about the book you've been reading, about the song that was stuck in your head this morning, and then you'll ask about hers, and she'll tell you everything that reminded her of you.

Later, she'll help you clean up. She'll stand beside you at the sink, her hip against yours, and you'll hum along to whatever record has come on now, and you'll bump into her on purpose, just to make her laugh. You'll dry the dishes while she washes them, and you'll stack them carefully, neatly, because you're like that, because you take care of the things she gives you, because you take care of her.

Later, she'll pull you into the living room, onto the couch, and you'll curl up against her with your head on her chest and your hand over her heart, and you'll be quiet for once, just listening to the music, just breathing, just being here with her. And she'll run her fingers through your hair and watch the evening fade outside the window and wonder how she got so lucky.

But right now, she just holds you. Right now, she just breathes you in, lets the light wash over both of you, lets the music drift through the kitchen, endless.

"Hi," you whisper against her neck.

She laughs, soft, warm. "Hi."

You pull back just enough to look at her, and your smile is the most beautiful thing she's ever seen. It's the first thing she saw this morning, and it's the last thing she wants to see tonight, before she closes her eyes, before she dreams.

"Welcome home," you say.