#she just plops down in the most unflattering shape in front of me

[bunnybonds]

This is what Mei looks like, waiting to see if I change my mind about her getting another cookie. She successfully scammed her way into two cookies yesterday and wanted this to be the new schedule.

[bubmyg]

paperweight - knj

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: coworkers!au, f2l, fluff, lots of dialog in which i attempt to be funny

word count: 1,961

summary: hoseok rigs the secret santa so namjoon will stop staring at you every time you walk across the office to fill your water or where you get a dress that’s entirely too expensive to fit the office secret santa budget but find that the dinner that’s supposed to accompany it fits the thirty dollar limit, the dress is just extra

a/n: part 4 of my holiday series! as always, if u need the masterlist of the series, let me know bc tumblr is dumb and links don’t show up!!!

“Why did you email to come over here? My desk is like two office blocks away. You could have just yelled if you wanted to talk about—”

Hoseok took a stapler to the stomach, the nearest thing to Namjoon’s clammy hand clasped over his mouse. He caught the hunk of metal with a wheezing laughter, collecting himself enough to place it down without stapling his polo to his stomach.

“Do you have a volume setting I’m unaware of?” The younger hissed.

The red haired man straightened proudly, fingers tucking into his front pockets.

“Nope!”

Namjoon’s shoulders slumped, arm lazily waving his friend closer in some sort of knowing defeat. “So, we have a problem.”

“What?” Hoseok cocked his chin, “You don’t have the balls to do it anymore?”

“I didn’t have the balls to do it in the first place,” He grumbled. His office chair squeaked as he rolled around, ducking underneath his desk long enough to snatch a flimsy gift box before pushing the end against Hoseok’s chest, “I especially don’t have the balls to give her this.”

“It’s not lingerie, is it?” Hoseok plucked open one end with his thumb, eyeing Namjoon seriously, “Joon, c’mon—”

The red haired man paused upon dipping a hand within the cardboard, fingers grasping over something silky. The dress came in cascading pleats of fabric, pooling up and over the lip in the box to hang in a crumpled seam from Hoseok’s white fist. He dropped the box where he’d deposited the stapler, using both hands to suspend the dress across his torso.

It was elegant green with a sloping neckline and a cinched waist and all things that would look beautiful on you but was definitely out of the price range for the office secret Santa.

“This…” Hoseok continued to stare, open mouthed, at the glittering fabric as it swayed over the top of his polished dress shoes, “This is what you bought?”

Namjoon snatched it, not caring that he probably just crinkled the fabric in the most unflattering angles (not that it would matter because you would look beautiful if he’d cut some holes in the discount paper bags meant for holiday gifts and gifted that to you instead). The dress folded over his knee and was shoved back in the tiny hole Hoseok had created before the box clattered against his keyboard, opening, closing, and making the screen cut in a fourth over two monitors all at once. His fingers curled into soft grey locks, elbows hitting his knees as he moaned miserably, “What do I do, hyung?”

Hoseok rolled his eyes, shoving Namjoon, chair and all, out of the way. He brought the box back into his grasp, flicking off Namjoon’s monitor in the process of straightening out the corners they had altered for the worst.

“Do I have to do everything for you?”

Namjoon, ever oblivious to the coincidence in the office of fifty how he’d managed to draw your name, blinked.

“Give her this.”

The box plopped against his thighs when Hoseok was done. Next came a roll of ribbon one propped up next to a roll of jagged wrapping paper Namjoon had tugged messily from his cupboard that morning. He watched mute as Hoseok bustled about his cubicle, snatching official letterhead from a tray in the corner and a brand new ink pen from a bottom drawer. The pen cap clipped into the corner of Hoseok’s lips as he arched over a file cabinet, slapping the letterhead down on top of the metal.

“What are you doing?” Namjoon asked lowly.

“Helping you,” Hoseok grunted, pen tip scratching against blunt metal. He scrawled in silence, Namjoon’s fingernails carving crescent shapes into the plastic arms of his chair as he waiting, toe bouncing against the plastic strip below his cubicle. His friend’s wrist circled in a looping, dramatic end, coming to drop the end of the pen into the cap still ceased between his teeth.

“Here,” He stretched the note out with a raised eyebrow, “Give her this with the dress.”

Namjoon scanned the note quickly, eyebrows furling tighter the deeper he got into the literature. “A dinner will be more than thirty dollars, though,” He said finally, still drilling holes into Hoseok’s shitty attempt to forge his signature at the bottom (but mostly at the xoxo etched a handful of font sizes smaller).

“You spent an entire paycheck on a dress.”

“That I still have to give her, by the way,” When Hoseok leaned closer, Namjoon added in a mumble, “The shop doesn’t take returns.”

“Okay fine,” Hoseok placed the note on top of the spool of ribbon, tapping the paper, “You put the note on top of the dress, so she reads it first. The note makes it clear that her portion of dinner is the part for the gift exchange. The dress is just a gift from the who stares at your ass every day when you go to get water—”

“I’m serious about a volume knob. Maybe an off switch. I’ll pay for the surgery, even.”

Hoseok grinned, moving to turn back for his desk, “You owe me one.”

“Wait!” Namjoon slumped into the back of his chair, resembling a miserable middle school boy afraid to ask his crush to step on his toes for three minutes and twenty-some seconds. “What I do if she says no? Will this make her uncomfortable? Oh my god, I’ve royally fucked up haven’t I, I should have just got her that turtle paper weight you saw—”

“You really do only have a grasp on half of your remaining brain cell, don’t you?” Hoseok continued to walk away, voice rising an octave, “Why do you think I rigged the secret Santa for you?”

“You what—”

“Just give her the damn gift, Namjoon,” He shot a thumbs up above his shoulders, “You’ll see!”

His email intended to have his friend reassure him that he needed to exchange his stupid attempt at asking you out for the turtle paperweight he may or may not have already bought and had gift wrapped in a drawer in his desk only worsened the ball of dread twisted in the pit of his stomach.

It also made him ten minutes late for the time he intended to drop the box on your desk and scurry away before you returned from your lunch break.

He weighed the pros and cons of giving you the paperweight and storing the dress in his closet for his roommate to find on accident only to endure how many ever months he remained with the company wishing he’d just grown his balls back and asked you out. He considered how long he’d have to hear Hoseok bitch and risk you hearing him just a desk over. He considered how long he’d had to walk around the entire office to avoid your prying eyes before the embarrassment of your inevitable rejection wore off.

And then his conscious spoke for it all, muscles contracting as he swiped the note and box into his hand and rounded the corner of his cubicle in route for your desk.

Namjoon’s breath seized when you turned to look at him, the rough clattering of his desk chair smacking against his desk startling you just as his looming presence at the corner of your desk did. You cocked an eyebrow, offering a wide, nearly bashful smile at the sight of him.

“Hi!” You chirped, tilting your head, “...are you? Okay?”

“This is uh—” His voice had squeaked twice in his life. Once when he was thirteen giving a speech on the importance of honey bees to the circle of life and now when he was trying to ask out his cute cubicle neighbor who teased him about the bear stickers on the corner of his monitor, was his drinking partner at every company get together, and made straight, khaki slacks look like they belonged on the nearest runway. “—this—” He tried again, thrusting the box in your direction, “—for you.”

“Namjoon…” Your voice was a halfhearted scold, leaning forward to take the box from him. “You didn’t have to get me anything. Keeping me away from Jeongguk during the Christmas party was enough.”

He shook his head, offering shortly, “Secret Santa.”

Your lips rounded, thumb barely underneath the box lid. “Well, you aren’t so secret now, are you?”

“Was going to leave it on your desk during your lunch break but uh…” Namjoon gestured vaguely with his hand in front of his face, “Hoseok.”

You nodded in understanding, flipping the lid over on your thighs. “Ah, well…” You trailed off, squinting hard at the handwriting on the note, cheeks gradually heating the further you got.

“That’s part of the gift exchange,” Namjoon rushed, bracing his hip against the corner of your desk, “The other thing is, uh, from me. I guess. If you want it. Or if you even want the first part.”

The dress fluttered between the ridges in your knuckles as you pulled it out, letting it pool elegantly in your lap as you ran your free hand across the embroidery stitched across the neckline and into the cinched waist. You pulled at the top, stretching it between your palms as you dropped it into your lap, staring blankly at the garment that now covered the company letterhead crumbled between your thighs.

“You really don’t have to—”

“Namjoon,” His name rolled off your tongue robotically, your entire being still buzzing numbly as you kicked your feet backward, rolling for you desk. You disappeared, only to return with a similarly generic gift box, white and cardboard, the only difference being the shiny red bow that was taped on the top left corner. “Take this.”

“Honey, you didn’t have to—”

“Secret Santa,” You rasped, features softened a bit now from their previously stoic state. “Hoseok.”

Within was a rectangular, plastic card, displaying the very logo of the place Namjoon had planned on taking you to. Underneath was a note scrawled in thick black marker in handwriting eerily similar to the note in his own gift.

You can only keep this if I get to come with you. Signed, your secret Santa your neighbor :)

“I’m going to kill him.”

“He told me to trust him but I didn’t believe him.”

“How did he rig the drawing?”

“He’s been here every day since the drawing, trying to convince me—”

“I’m still going to kill him.”

Your giggle broke Namjoon out of his haze of striding a few paces over and breaking his friend’s sacred glass rooster that perched on top of his computer tower. You slumped in silence, smile still stretched bright and proud over your teeth as you regarded him with a shaking head, occasional laughter still breaking past your parted lips.

“So do you want to—”

“Is that a yes to the date—”

You continued to beam, crossing your legs at the knee, “You go first.”

Namjoon huffed, setting his shoulders and wiping his sweaty palms on the front of his collared shirt. “Do you want to go to dinner with me sometime?”

“You know, it just so happens my wonderful neighbor just bought me a stunning new dress…” Your head lulled against the leather back of the chair, smile lessening to just a fond seam of your lips, “How’s Friday after work sound?”

“Perfect.”

Your laughter was already Namjoon’s favorite sound but now he wanted your smile painted to the back of his eyelids so he never had to stop seeing it. “Good,” You nodded, “I’ll bring my gift card.”

He was so starry eyed and floating on a metaphorical cloud that had vaporized above your head that he barely acknowledged his tongue wisping in his mouth, throat vibrating out words.

“I’ll bring your paperweight.”

[spaceybot]

A Cephalon’s Heart (Warframe Ficlet)

So on Warframe's website for Heart of the Ordis there's this gem:

“Operator, as is the custom, allow me to join in the celebration of the heart! Appreciating the cardiovascular system which facilitates your continued existence is a very worthwhile celebration. Happy Heart of the Lotus Ordis! Oh? What’s that? Hmmm…..how strange. Cephalon Suda just communicated to me that the holiday is more sentimental than biological. That seems misplaced. Ordis will never understand your strange celebrations, Operator.”

It then mentions that Ordis messed up the decorations so OF COURSE I HAD TO RUN WITH THIS. This is a DIFFERENT take on how Ordis found out about the true nature of the Heart of the Lotus. 

Before the Eros Heart Ornament there was another. Ordis is still sulking about it.

“Ordis...why.”

The Operator holds the holo sculpture in their arms. Ordis had been eager to show it off the second the foundry had finished putting it together, calling his Operator over to inspect the festive decor. He had hoped that it would please them, but, judging from their tone their reception seems...mixed.

“It’s for the celebration, of course. What do you think of it?” He beams. “Ordis made sure to include every little detail, and it is quite accurate to human biology.”

“I can see that.”

“I thought, perhaps you’d like something to spruce up your personal quarters, what with it being a holiday and all. And I know how much you adore Tennobaum decorations.”

“Ordis, this is an anatomically accurate heart. You’ve replicated an actual organ.” They reply. There’a a beat of silence, and then a faint burst of static.

“－ just say you don’t like it, Operator －”

“No, it’s not that I don’t like it. It’s just, you’ve made a heart .”

“I am not understanding you. Is that not the point?”

Are they not celebrating the cardiovascular system?

The Operator only sets the sculpture back down with a barely suppressed laugh, the heart hologram flickering upon impact with the foundry table. Both of them feel a rush of alarm, for different reasons, when an unflattering choking noise rushes out of the Operator’s throat, giving away their failure to keep their laughter in check. Are they dying, Ordis wonders?

“The Heart of the Lotus celebration was－” They stop to correct themselves. Looks like the Tenno will need a new name for the holiday. “－ is , more symbolic and less…”

They gesture to the floating, red organ hovering above its polished pedestal.

“...literal. It’s about expressing love for one another. Your heart is a bit...realistic looking..”

The Operator can practically feel the Cephalon’s confusion radiate throughout the ship, his perplexity rendering him speechless. They're glad that their warframe conceals their wide grin. It'd only make it worse. The quiet stretches on and on.

In fact, Ordis remains so silent that the Operator almost fears they’ve broken the Cephalon’s poor, symbolic heart, and that he would never again speak to them. When he pipes up again it’s a sheepish whisper, as if he were saying something taboo and forbidden.

“I’m sorry, Operator. I’m sure the Lotus would have known this better than I.”

They don’t miss a beat. A photo-realistic heart sculpture and an innocent misunderstanding is not going to put a damper on their Cephalon’s mood. Not if they had anything to do with it.

“Well she’s not here.”  A gentle smile lights up their hidden face. He can hear it in their voice.  “But you are. Despite everything.”

“...Always.” They don’t know if it’s some form of affectionate annoyance or plain indignation that makes him say it that way, like it’s a simple fact, an obvious and steadfast truth that could never be changed. The Operator’s casual nod says it all: I know, I know. Before he can say anything else, the sculpture is back in his Operator’s hands and they’re making their way to their quarters, but not without giving the resting wyrm sentinel a few knocks.

“And since you are here, you’re going to come help me string up the lights.”    

Assuming control of the wyrm, Ordis brings it out of its bay and sullenly trails behind them as they enter the artificial comfort of their own “room”. Even with their true self being shut up in the transference pod their more traditional quarters are growing on them They scan their surroundings until they find what they’re looking for. And there it is.

There’s garlands of red and pink lights coiled inside a box: leftovers from previous celebrations, back when the Lotus was around and Ordis less prominent as a result. The Operator wonders if he still feels that same neglect from them whenever they were away on a mission.

They’re trying their best to make up for it.

The time passes by in relative silence, with Ordis lifting up the garlands of light to whatever height the Operator finds most pleasing, and the two of them working together to create a warm and lovely space for the Operator to simply look at. Ordis almost doesn’t see where they’ve put his failed sculpture, until the Operator turns to look at it, admiring it with no small amount of amusement. On the table with the somachord, the heart rests, glowing in tandem with all the reds and pinks from the string lights. The room is bathed in too many different shades of the same color but neither seem to mind.

They crash into the seating that surrounds the somachord, reclining back into the cushions, satisfied.

“Oh, Operator, you don’t have to place it there to make me feel better.”  Ordis chides after a while, the wyrm aimlessly hovering above the offending decor. A random song, no doubt playing from the somachord starts playing, and perhaps that was the missing element. The room seems complete now, the atmosphere gaudy and pink but perfect all at once. “Operator did you hear me?”

They increase the song’s volume ever so slightly, but not enough to drown out any significant noise. It’s only a quiet drone, a white noise meant to lull someone to sleep.

“No.” The Operator replies. “Music’s too loud.”

“You’re hilarious.”

They snort in amusement before scooting over and patting the seat next to them. The wyrm plops down into the cushion, sinking ever so slightly, like a petulant child forced to obey a command. Its tail awkwardly wraps around itself, in an attempt to settle in, but every movement threatens to topple the sentinel over. The Operator reaches over, and for a moment he thinks they’re trying to help him balance and stay in place.

Instead, Ordis watches, seeing as he cannot feel, them wrap their arms around the wyrm in the midst of its struggles. He stills in their embrace. Is this customary for the holiday as well? He wonders. He wouldn’t mind getting used to it. Ordis is almost taken aback by how cute his Operator could be when the stress wasn’t eating away at them. Almost enough to let go of his heart sculpture mishap.

“The heart’s staying in here.”

Complete silence, save for the gentle and light music, resounds through the room as Ordis considers this.

“So...you do like it?”

“Yes. I think it’s funny.”

“Hm, I suppose that’s acceptable then. I will not fail you next time, Operator.” He vows.

The Operator sighs in exasperation, releasing the wyrm.

“Ordis, it’s okay! It’s not a big deal. And it’s not all about the decor.”

“I am aware of that now, but…out of curiosity.” He pauses. “What is it supposed to look like?”

The Operator sighs again, deeper still, but obliges, making a heart shape with their warframe’s hands. “It’s supposed to look like this.”

“What is that.”

“A heart.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Look , it’s complicated. But that’s what it looks like.” Bringing their hands to either side of the wyrm's "face", they rest their head against the sentinel, in a way that’s so aggressively affectionate it borders on humorous. And yes, maybe that’s just what he needs knock it out of his processor. A tiny amount of blunt force applied to his mechanical proxy, a force that he couldn’t even feel.

“Happy Heart of the Lotus, Ordis. Let it go.”

“Happy Heart of the Lotus.” He replies, defeated. “I would tell you that I love you, but I have the feeling that you already know.”  

They laugh at that.

But he isn’t done with the questions just yet, no, Ordis spends a long time pondering it all, and the longer he spends the more questions arise. He supposes that he could eventually come to accept it, somewhat. Possibly . But what’s the use, the Tenno have such strange celebrations, and he’s sure that there are even stranger ones. As soon as he could process this one, another would be sure to pop out of no where and throw him back into the depths of confusion. He had much research cut out for him. The glow of his heart catches his attention once more.

The faithful recreation hovers in front of them both, translucent and bright. It is a much more reasonable model in his eyes. He had spent a good deal of time and effort to form the aorta, map out the textures, and to even have it beat in silent synchronization with the real deal, only to lose out to whatever strange symbol the Operator had made with their hands.  And, oh, that reminds him:

“I included a button that allows you to see a cross section of the organ.”

They only stare at him.

“Would you like to see it?”

The Operator sucks in a breath, in deep contemplation, before releasing it in a deep exhale.

“I would, actually.” They admit, unable to contain their curiosity from possessing their senses. They suppose it’s their turn to be defeated. Besides, they don’t need to be scolding him any further.

Reaching forward to grab the holo sculpture, they nestle back into their seat with it in hand, allowing Ordis to give them a presentation on the structure of the human heart, until even that devolves into casual conversation, half affectionate and half teasing words, and a good-natured promise to try creating another heart soon, together this time.  

The Operator stares out the observation window, watching the vast expanse of empty colors fill their vision as Ordis goes on. Finally, a moment’s rest with the their eternally faithful companion. It’s been too long.

They smile to themselves. The day tapers off to a quiet end, with Ordis’ heart still resting in their hands.

[alittletreecko]

Cuddling Can Be Platonic

Words: 1.7k

Summary: Cuddling could be platonic, but one doesn’t think about kissing their friend as often as Crona does. 

(Crona is nonbinary in this fic and uses they/them pronouns)

Their combined heat under the covers crept up Crona’s back and into their cheeks, dusting them with an unflattering gray. They noticed through half-lidded, bleary eyes that they now matched Maka’s own blush. Whether Maka was warm in the face from the intimacy or the heat, they couldn’t say.  

[“D’you wanna play cards?”

“Uhm, sure, but I don’t really know how to play…”

“I’ll show you!”]

They sighed into the embrace and squeezed tighter. They felt her reciprocate, and their heart leapt into their throat. They relaxed their hold and leaned into her body. She did the same.

[Maka plopped her phone down on the carpet and began to sing along to the song blasting from the iPhone’s tinny speakers, adding harmonies where there were none. They stuck to the melody, nowhere near as musically adventurous as she was. Their voices didn’t complement each other’s perfectly, they didn’t blend together in a seamless wall of sound, but her voice made their chest swell with tenderness, and they had the overwhelming desire to put their cards down, wrap their arms around her waist, and hold her close. They played their next card.]

“You’re great,” they whispered.

“You’re great,” she whispered back.

[Two games later, she was making hand motions as she sung, miming every noun in the lyrics that she could think of an action for, and all they did was stare and smile, stare and smile and stare. They blinked and focused dazedly on the shapes her mouth made as they moved around each word.

Maka noticed their silence, paused, and shrunk back self-consciously. “You aren’t judging me, are you?” Their eyes widened, and the stupid grin quickly melted from their face.

“Nonononono, I just, like your singing voice. It’s… lovely. I really like it.”

“Oh,” she smiled. “Thank you.”]

They wondered if they should kiss her. They wondered if they were reading too much into this, if this wasn’t romantic at all, and this is just what friends do. They wondered if she was attracted to them, even a little bit. They doubted it, but the closeness, the shared silence… they dared to hope. They rubbed a little circle on her back, where their hand rested. They felt her shiver and suppress a laugh.

“Oh, did that tickle?”

“A little.”

“I’m sorry.”

[“If you don’t stop biting your nails, Crona, I’m gonna tickle you. I have the power.” She shifted closer to them, wiggling her fingers to punctuate the threat.

“You, you wouldn’t,” they said, shifting backwards a little, bringing a finger to their mouth and biting unthinkingly.

She pounced, and they let out a strangled yelp. They froze as they registered her hands resting on their stomach.

Maka grinned evilly. “What was that, again?”]

Maka shifted her head a little closer to their face, and their pulse quickened. The warmth, the intimacy, did she feel the same? Crona wondered if she would kiss them, it’d be their first kiss, they would be honored if she was their first kiss, they should lean in and help so she could kiss them, just lean in, just lean in, just lean in…

Crona stiffened, not daring to move a muscle closer or farther from her. They focused on their hands, and how she felt under them.

[“You’re very nice to hug, you know,” they had muttered, having collapsed into her arms after a thorough tickling. Crona idly noted that she smelled incredibly nice, she smelled like warmth and sweet and Maka, and they felt dizzy with the scent.

“You give great hugs too,” she had responded, sighing against their neck. She hummed. “Do you want to move, uh, to the bed? Cuddle?”]

They breathed together for what felt like forever and at the same time, no time at all, neither one moving closer or farther away. They stared at her face, her lips, her eyes, her nose, then her lips again, and watched her think, watched her breathe.

[They had climbed onto the bed first, settling on the side closest to the wall. Maka climbed on after and reached for the comforter.

“Could we cuddle under the covers?”

They held back a choked noise. Wasn’t that really… intimate? But they hadn’t had a problem with cuddling on the bed, so how different was being under the covers? “Oh, uhm, sure,” they said, trying to keep their voice from wavering.

“Cool,” she said, and pulled the comforter over herself and Crona, pulling them into a close embrace. They blushed to the tips of their ears.]

And suddenly she was moving. Crona let out a little whine of protest but let go enough for her to shift as she pleased. Blearily, she checked her watch, reading over the numbers and frowning. “It’s midnight.”

They drew in a breath, held it, and then sighed.

“I suppose I should get going then,” they hummed.

“I don’t want you to, but, yeah. Probably.”

They both lingered for a moment or two longer than they should have and squeezed each other tight before letting go. Crona rolled off the bed, out from under the warm, warm covers, and into chilly, chilly air of the room.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” they said. Like a puppy.

“Definitely,” she said. Like a friend.

Crona left, calling “Goodbye!” as they closed the door to her room behind them.

“Sleep well! Love you!” They held their breath, before breathing out and reprimanding themself. She didn’t mean it like that, most certainly not.

“…Love you too.”

They slunk through the apartment to the front door, closed it behind them, and stopped. They stood there, just thinking on how good Maka felt in their arms, thinking on how lovely her warmth was, thinking on her smile, thinking on her laugh, thinking on her lovely hair and her cute nose and her bright eyes, and especially, thinking on how they were her best friend in the whole wide world.

[Their breathing slowed as they grew more comfortable with Maka in their arms, and not for the first time, Crona wondered if they should tell her how they felt. Crona caught Maka’s eyes, and she smiled.

…What if Maka didn’t feel the same? What if she hated them for daring to want something other than a friendship? What if she was disgusted with them? And if she didn’t sneer at them from the outset, what if she felt awkward about it? What if she distanced herself from them? What if that ruined their friendship? What if-

Crona gave a little smile back.]

It was selfish of them to want more. Crona thought through the events of the night once more, and touched their cheeks, still warm. They ran their fingers across their lips and sighed before turning around to go home, just as the door behind them swung open.

“Maka?”

“Crona!” She had shoes on, Crona noticed.

“Uhm, were you going outside, Maka?”

Her face began to color. “I wasn’t-! I was going to, I mean, yes, but I was… well. Never mind. It doesn’t matter, you’re here.”

“I’m here.” Their right hand found their left arm and gripped tight. “Did you need me for something?”

Maka jumped. “Um, yes, actually!” She wrung her hands. “You forgot something.”

“I forgot something?” Crona echoed. They furrowed their brow. The only thing that they had brought over with them was their keys, and they had them, they were sure of it. “I don’t think I’m missing anything, Maka. What did I-”

Maka reached her hand up and gently touched their cheek, freezing them completely.

“Maka?”

She looped her free arm around Crona’s waist and pulled them flush against her. She looked up at Crona, sucked in a deep breath, and said, “You forgot this.”

She leaned up quickly and pressed her mouth to Crona’s.

[“You mean the world to me,” she whispered, playing with one of their loose strands of hair.

“You mean the world to me too,” they promised, suppressing a shiver.]

Their initial pure elation turned into something calmer, softer, warmer, and slowly, Crona melted into her kiss. They brought their hands to her arms and let their eyes slide shut. Being so close to her, holding her, kissing her… Crona hummed into the kiss, a deeply pleased sound. Maka smiled, held them tighter, kissed harder, and Crona squeaked. Maka giggled as she leaned back and pulled away, the kind of giggle that was just so Maka and reminded Crona of bubbles and sunshine and kittens and everything else that made their insides melt.

“Wow,” Crona said breathily. Maka full belly laughed, and Crona couldn’t help but laugh along with her. It’s all there was to say, really.

Their laughter died down eventually. There was only quiet now, a tender silence that held so many things that needed to be said, but that no one wanted to break.

Eventually, Crona muttered, “It’s past midnight. You should go to sleep.”

“I don’t think I can sleep,” Maka murmured. “I’ll just stay up thinking of you.”

“Maka,” Crona breathed.

“Would you stay with me?”

“…Of course. Anything for you.”

Maka took their hand gently. Even though they had done this many times before, this time there was a new energy to it, a promise of something different and maybe a little scary but something good.

They let themselves be guided back into the apartment, back to Maka’s room. Neither of them bothered flicking the lights back on as they made their way to her bed. Crona climbed into the bed first, and Maka pulled the comforter over the two of them, before settling back into her Crona’s arms.

[“I wish we could stay like this forever,” she sighed.

“…Me too, Maka.” ]

Crona closed their eyes and breathed and tried to find sleep, but then they felt Maka shift. They opened their eyes just in time to catch Maka’s face surprisingly close to their own. She kissed their cheek softly.

“Ah, Maka-” they started. She pulled away and hugged Crona firmly.

“Goodnight, Crona. Sweet dreams.” She relaxed and closed her eyes.

Crona gingerly touched their cheek and paused for a long moment before bringing their hand over to their lips as well.

“Goodnight, Maka,” Crona muttered.

She was already asleep.

“…Love you.”

They closed their eyes and tried to fall asleep as fast as possible, in hopes that their path might cross Maka’s in the land of dreams too.