There's magic in the air, but darling, this ain't make believe
While he'd thought he'd brought out something other than the flash bangs, it's no surprise that she's found herself blinded by the display. The gun show can indeed be dangerous. "Mind blowing, right?" he offers as explanation for her confusion, and he's just about to put the deadly weapons away when she leans in with newfound awareness, teeth first.
The pressure isn’t painful, just enough to register—a sharp little pinch that sends something instinctive skittering down his spine. It catches low in his stomach, heat flaring quick and surprising, and his breath hitches as his gaze snaps to hers over the line of his arm. There’s something immediate in it, something reactive and alive, like his body is answering her before his mind can catch up.
His other hand moves without thinking, coming up to cradle, then hold, the back of her neck. Fingers tighten just enough to ground the moment as his thumb presses warm against her skin. “Careful,” he warns, voice dipped lower now, roughened faintly at the edges. His eyes don’t leave hers. “Would hate to get us banned from here.” The implication lingers there, as evident in his expression as his tone. Although her ring might give away how little he’d truly mind the risk in this moment.
Promptly, he breaks the grasp, shifting easily into the war of crackers. By the time the dust and crumbs settle, she’s threatening tears at the mere thought of him crawling down the aisle. He notices the way it lands, the way she holds it, and he tucks it away into his softening smile. He’d expected an eyeroll, an accusation of too much corn to pair well with the crackers, but she saw through the guise of bright, sugary additions to what the heart of the matter was underneath.
“We definitely can’t have that happening,” he agrees, of her tears not being permitted so soon. His hand lifts, pinching lightly at her chin, an affectionate little claim. His thumb brushes just beneath her bottom lip before he releases her, settling fully into her side like she is the portable couch he’d intended to bring along all this time.
Amid the plans, he scrunches up his face at one of her suggestions. “Uh, have you seen Mel drive—er—sail?” he adds, squinting slightly as if recalling a near-death experience. “Not sure you want her serving as valet. Not if you want those guests alive for the ceremony.” He thought she had your moments on the Sugar Tide, but that one trip with Mel, he’d been white knuckling the railing so hard he’s astonished his bones didn’t break through the skin. “Maybe we rent one of those party skyships. The ones with the on-deck band and that shoot off fireworks?” Usually better served for the day before the wedding, truth be told, but it could still be cost-effective and get everyone to the destination as a group.
They both still like cats that’ve locked onto a reflection, except this is real, he’s quite certain. He doesn’t answer her question right away. Instead, he shifts, already reaching for the camera again as he carefully rolls onto his stomach. He inches forward with a slow and deliberate army crawl, mindful that getting too close too quickly might shatter the moment. “No… never,” he breathes at last, voice hushed with something close to awe.
The qilin stands luminous in the distance, a creature of significance that watches them with a knowing gaze beneath the mantel of twilight. Kaisel squints through the viewfinder, the distance sure to dull the spectacular memory, impossible to do the creature justice, but he takes the picture anyway. This moment and its feeling might be borrowed, but he wants to hold onto its magnificence as long as he can.
The pressure isn’t painful, just enough to register—a sharp little pinch that sends something instinctive skittering down his spine. It catches low in his stomach, heat flaring quick and surprising, and his breath hitches as his gaze snaps to hers over the line of his arm. There’s something immediate in it, something reactive and alive, like his body is answering her before his mind can catch up.
His other hand moves without thinking, coming up to cradle, then hold, the back of her neck. Fingers tighten just enough to ground the moment as his thumb presses warm against her skin. “Careful,” he warns, voice dipped lower now, roughened faintly at the edges. His eyes don’t leave hers. “Would hate to get us banned from here.” The implication lingers there, as evident in his expression as his tone. Although her ring might give away how little he’d truly mind the risk in this moment.
Promptly, he breaks the grasp, shifting easily into the war of crackers. By the time the dust and crumbs settle, she’s threatening tears at the mere thought of him crawling down the aisle. He notices the way it lands, the way she holds it, and he tucks it away into his softening smile. He’d expected an eyeroll, an accusation of too much corn to pair well with the crackers, but she saw through the guise of bright, sugary additions to what the heart of the matter was underneath.
“We definitely can’t have that happening,” he agrees, of her tears not being permitted so soon. His hand lifts, pinching lightly at her chin, an affectionate little claim. His thumb brushes just beneath her bottom lip before he releases her, settling fully into her side like she is the portable couch he’d intended to bring along all this time.
Amid the plans, he scrunches up his face at one of her suggestions. “Uh, have you seen Mel drive—er—sail?” he adds, squinting slightly as if recalling a near-death experience. “Not sure you want her serving as valet. Not if you want those guests alive for the ceremony.” He thought she had your moments on the Sugar Tide, but that one trip with Mel, he’d been white knuckling the railing so hard he’s astonished his bones didn’t break through the skin. “Maybe we rent one of those party skyships. The ones with the on-deck band and that shoot off fireworks?” Usually better served for the day before the wedding, truth be told, but it could still be cost-effective and get everyone to the destination as a group.
They both still like cats that’ve locked onto a reflection, except this is real, he’s quite certain. He doesn’t answer her question right away. Instead, he shifts, already reaching for the camera again as he carefully rolls onto his stomach. He inches forward with a slow and deliberate army crawl, mindful that getting too close too quickly might shatter the moment. “No… never,” he breathes at last, voice hushed with something close to awe.
The qilin stands luminous in the distance, a creature of significance that watches them with a knowing gaze beneath the mantel of twilight. Kaisel squints through the viewfinder, the distance sure to dull the spectacular memory, impossible to do the creature justice, but he takes the picture anyway. This moment and its feeling might be borrowed, but he wants to hold onto its magnificence as long as he can.
Kaisel
The happy ending starts with you and me
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
