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Ivypool sees Fernsong laying on one of the flat stones in camp. It’s precisely calculated, two ledges away from the spot she prefers to sun herself. One further away than usual, which means that either he tried talking to her at a bad time – not in recent memory – or he overheard her and Dovewing arguing again.
Dammit.
Her muscles tighten as she stalks towards the side of the cliffs, the first sign that she’s fighting herself. It’s a habit she can’t seem to break, especially when she just wants some peace and quiet. Fernsong looks up, chirps, and flags the curl of his tail in greeting. That’s all.
The yellow tom stretches out, the fluff of his belly splaying out along the stone beneath him. He’s looking away now, but he’s got one ear tuned towards her. A soft pulse of a purr, every other breath, just from her being that close.
Must be nice. No… no, we’re not doing this right now.
She decides this is what she wants, right now, and the whispers in her head can find something else to do. With the authority of a senior warrior, she circles onto Fernsong’s rock and drops down beside him. This time he looks up in question as she presses against his side.
“Ivy—”
Ivypool silences him with a short hiss. He gets the message, and while he can’t keep his paws still, he doesn’t say anything. Satisfied, Ivypool drapes her head against his flank and stares at the blue sky on the other side of the camp. They don’t need to talk about this. They don’t need to ‘figure it out.’
It’s almost too comfortable.
Putting her nose up in his fur was a mistake. With the full sun shining over his fresh-washed pelt, he smells nice. Like the camp, like a well-tended nest, and the forests he patrolled just before dawn… and a scent that’s unmistakbly him.
Ivypool’s eyes almost shut and she presses her cheek in against his side. This is nice. Other things might be nice, too, but for once no one is talking about them. Maybe this is okay. It’s a gentle enough suggestion, and he’s willing to take it.
* * *
‘So, you and Fernsong…?’
‘No, Dove! It’s not – we’re not. He’s just a friend.’
‘A good friend.’
‘Yes.’
‘A very good friend who you know is courting you.’
‘Nnh.’
‘Uh-huh. … I’m just saying, ‘friends’ don’t just go on patrols to the upper ridges, alone, at sunrise…’
‘Shh. You see that squirrel there? … watch closely. That squirrel is you, if you don’t stop talking.’
* * *
Fernsong still hasn’t said anything. If anything, he seems to be working up the courage to try to move. The moment she sprawled against him, she could feel his pulse jump. It had gone down for a moment, but he seems to be working himself up again.
Why?
Cloudtail passes by below, and she can hear him laugh. Were all of her clanmates going to stare like that? One cat wants to be around her and suddenly they’re all murmuring their own little predictions about how many moons until she’s sleeping in the nursery.
Ivypool hisses. Cloudtail laughs again, and walks away. Her claws prick into Fernsong’s side, and he freezes again. Ugh. You’re going to take that the wrong way.
In for a tail, in for a mouse. She uses the claws to tug him closer and holds onto his hindquarters. The build of fur leading to his tail is almost luxuriously soft. She can definitely think of worse cats to be using as a nest.
It’s enough assurance to unfreeze Fernsong. The feline twists, and she can feel his pelt rippling along her side as he turns to mirror her repose. The curls of his cheeks riffle up as his muzzle comes to rest against her, and now he can hear her heart thump and StarClan bless him he doesn’t tease her about it. He doesn’t launch into a soliloquy about how she can cuddle whenever she wants, and he promises that he’ll always be there to care for her and warm her nest and even though it would sound sweet coming from his mouth he knows that’s not how she wants…
I want…
This.
“I want this,” she says, though its clarity is lost somewhere in his pelt.
She likes the way his body jumps when she says it.
“I want this, too.”
“Good. Now shush.”
There’s plenty of good sunlight left, and she’s not going to waste it by caring about what other cats think. Fernsong is as warm as the rock underneath her, and she could lay like this for hours. If they didn’t have their own duties, they probably would. No one comes by for the noon patrol, and the sun is hiding behind the tops of the oaks by the time Squirrelflight comes around to rouse them.
“Border patrol is getting together. Try not to keep us waiting, all right?”
Ivypool stretches, and nods, but she’s not relinquishing her pillow yet. “I’ll be there.” She doesn’t have to mention how well rested she feels.
“Can I join?” Fernsong asks, and she can feel the weight of his head lift from her.
Squirrelflight tilts her head. It would be his second long patrol for the day, but she knows better than to question why. “If you can keep up.”
“I think I can manage.”
Ivypool waits for Squirrelflight to depart, and squeezes him again. If paws could talk, they would say this is mine, now. And maybe later, when they should be going to sleep, they’ll go up to the ridge again.
It makes her feel like an apprentice again, and honestly, she kind of likes it.