The not so treecko

“Look,” Barbarian growled, nudging the Knight with his elbow. "They're laughing at you. Or is it something else?“ He smiled, showing all his teeth. ”Go on, before I push you towards her."

“You don't have the courage,” the Knight said confidently, but crossing his arms with that metallic clink typical of someone who is about to regret it. He looked at his cousin defiantly, his eyes narrowed.

“You'd never—”

The sentence died in the air when Barbarian, without warning, grabbed him by the belt of his armor and threw him like a sack of potatoes. The Knight flew several meters, his boots dragging on the ground, until he landed face down, a few steps away from the Musketeer.

She slowly raised her eyebrow, stopping sharpening her weapon. The silence was so heavy that even the birds stopped singing. The Knight lifted his face, dirt on his mustache, and her eyes fixed on him. He swallowed hard.

“Oh. Hi.” — was all his brain could think to say

From the nearby bush, the Archers stifled their laughter as the Barbarian, satisfied, took a few steps back, disappearing into the vegetation.

The Musketeer slowly lowered her weapon, her lips forming a small smile as she wiped some dirt from the Knight's mustache with her fingertips. “Elegant landing,” she murmured, and he felt his heart beat so hard that he almost forgot how to breathe.

Beside them, a picnic basket — clearly prepared by the Archers — was placed on a checkered cloth, filled with fresh fruit and still-warm bread. The Musketeer looked at the basket, then at the Knight, and a soft blush rose to her cheeks. “Looks like someone planned something...”

The Knight swallowed again, his fingers trembling slightly as he braced himself on the ground to stand up. “I... can explain,” he began, before realizing he had no idea what to say. She laughed, the sound clear as running water, and reached out to help him up. Their fingers intertwined, and for a moment, everything else disappeared.

“Did you plan a picnic, or was this another one of your cousin's pranks?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she nudged him toward the basket. He glanced at the bushes where he knew the Barbarian and the Archers were hiding and sighed.

“A little of both, maybe,” he admitted, before surprising himself by pulling the cloth aside with an exaggerated gesture. “But now that we're here... would you like to sit with me?”

The Musketeer bit her lower lip to stifle another laugh, but nodded, sitting gracefully on the cloth as he settled down beside her, awkward as a deer learning to walk. “You're shaking,” she observed quietly, and he looked down at his hands as if they had betrayed him.

“It's just... the wind,” he lied, and she laughed again, this time more softly, as if keeping the sound to herself.

The minutes passed, filled with shy conversation and comfortable silences, as the sun began to paint the sky orange. At some point, he noticed that she had put her weapon aside, and that her fingers now rested just inches from his, as if waiting. From the bush, a too-loud whisper from the Barbarian echoed: “Now kiss her, damn it!” followed by a loud “Shhh!” from the Archers. The Musketeer looked at him, her eyes full of silent promise, and he realized that, perhaps for the first time, there was no more armor between them.

She leaned forward, as soft as the wind that rustled the leaves above them, and he closed his eyes before he even felt their lips meet. The kiss was light, almost hesitant, as if neither of them could believe it was happening. But then she placed her hand on his face, and something ignited — the kiss deepened, still innocent, but now unhurried, as if they had all the time in the world to discover each other.

When they finally parted, his mustache still had a trace of dirt on it, and she laughed softly, wiping it off with her thumb. “Better now,” she murmured, and he felt his face burn, but this time not with embarrassment — it was something warmer, sweeter. From the bush, a murmur of “finally!” was followed by the sound of leaves being beaten, as if someone had slapped someone else on the back, and then silence.

The Musketeer looked toward where the sound had come from and then back at the Knight, raising an eyebrow. “I think they're rooting for us,” she said, and he agreed with a smile, her fingers now firmly intertwined with his. The sunset painted the training ground in golden hues, but neither of them noticed — the world had become small enough to fit into that picnic, that kiss, that moment that neither of them would ever forget.

﹕﹒୨ৎ. AUTHOR NOTE: Sorry for not writing anything for so long… I've really been overwhelmed with some things, but overall I'm fine :) I'll try not to put so much pressure on myself haha ​

That said, thanks for reading :3