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Atuarto never considered himself a romantic until he fell in love with Galga for the second time. It could be because of the preexisting relationship they’d had or it could be the fact that with or without his memories, Galga is still the one for Atuarto—which is a concept a poet dreams of capturing. No matter.
He’s quite determined to woo his Galga all over again in the comfortable isolation of their cottage. So that’s what he sets out to do one spring morning.
Atuarto rises, reluctantly early, fumbling for his glasses at his side table. Out of habit, he reaches behind him to touch the shoulder of his slumbering lover. The empty sheets remind him of why he’s even up at all. Right. Galga. Wooing. He’s at step one.
He tiptoes down the hall and skillfully avoids any creaking floorboards. (He’d found out about those and Galga’s newfound light-sleep at the same time a couple nights ago—woopsies.) Once in their small kitchen, Atuarto begins his work.
First, he starts by putting together a small bouquet of dried flowers—small enough to fit in the palm of his hand—to present to his…acquaintance? Atuarto thinks that running away from witch society to live life together tucked in a remote corner of the continent, should constitute more than that. Friends doesn’t feel right either, and they most certainly are not strangers—not even on Galga’s end anymore. And as much as Atuarto wishes, they are not lovers. Yet, at least.
Atuarto lets out a whine and tugs the strands of his bangs over the front of his face. He supposes that makes Galga his…roommate. Of sorts. This is more confusing than it ought to be.
“Must you? Before breakfast?” A small voice mutters.
Atuarto yelps in surprise and shoves the flowers in his pocket. “Ininia! G-Good morning!”
Ininia’s hair falls around her so haphazardly that her bleary eyes barely show, her expression as plain as ever. “You’re being ridiculous about him again.”
“Aahh,” Atuarto draws out with a forced laugh. “You’re quite rude in the mornings.”
“So you’ve said. Annoying,” Ininia huffs. She drags her feet over to her designated stool, flops herself onto it and her head onto the counter, her arms falling haphazardly around her.
“Teenager,” Atuarto fires back.
“I hate you.”
“If that’s true, you don’t have to stay here.”
At that, Ininia’s teeth grit and her eyebrows furrow. Those tiny hands ball into fists and she says quietly, “Yes, I do.”
Atuarto grimaces. Here lies yet another complex relationship Atuarto doesn’t know how to label. The echo of what Ininia had done remains an ever-present and gnarled presence in Atuarto’s mind. However, as does the memory of her falling to her knees in front of them and begging for him to let her help, the sudden desperation, not for forgiveness, but for atonement. And also the one of her in a wooden chair by Galga’s sleeping side, bags under her eyes as she pours over glyph after glyph in an attempt to rehabilitate a wiped clean mind.
A sigh. Atuarto misses the simpler days in these charged moments. “Ininia…”
“It was a joke, Ininia knows.” She turns so her cheek squishes into the crease of her elbow. “Sorry,” comes the much softer follow up.
“Goodness, you have no reason to apologize,” Atuarto attempts to soothe her. Galga had always been better with the younger ones, contrary to the belief of some of their former friends. So Atuarto deflects to avoid embarrassing himself further. “Breakfast?”
Ininia’s eyes shoot towards him and it’s the human equivalent to a dog’s ears perking up. Atuarto laughs affectionately and sets to making breakfast for her.
They don’t speak but Atuarto hums a little tune while he works. Every so often he swears he hears Ininia’s feet kicking to the rhythm of his erratic humming. Atuarto smiles. It’s complicated, being so happy on mornings like these when he’s simultaneously trying to bring back the past.
He pushes that away for another time and slides a plate to his…other roommate. Gracious.
Galga enters the room not long after, beautiful and hardly a hint of tiredness left on him. “Good morning,” he says, ruffling Ininia’s hair and giving Atuarto a pat to the shoulder.
She grunts back at him, shoveling food into her mouth like it’s her last meal. Atuarto beams at his arrival. “Good morning, Galga.”
This earns him a small smile and squeeze to his shoulder—he hadn’t realized Galga’s hand was still there. Atuarto’s stomach flips and his chest fills with light bubbly air that swirls with the ease of a summer breeze.
“Oh!” Atuarto suddenly remembers his first step to wooing Galga over. He fishes the tiny bouquet, now slightly rumpled, from his pocket. “These are for you.”
Galga blinks, eyes slightly widened. Slowly, both of his hands cup Atuarto’s outstretched one and his thumb traces over the edges of one of the flower’s petals, stopping after also rubbing over the creases on Atuarto’s fingers. He takes them gently—so, so gently in wide calloused palms—and Atuarto would ache if he weren’t so nervous.
“Thank you,” Galga murmurs.
Atuarto grins, full-forced and unstoppable.
“Disgusting,” Ininia states.
“Wha—!” Atuarto begins but cuts himself off. He feels a blush bloom across his cheeks. “You—!”
“Ininia has studying to do,” she says, pushing her cleared plate away.
Atuarto sputters for a proper way to recover himself. “We’re going on a picnic today in the valley, if you want to join us?”
Ininia pauses, staring directly into Atuarto’s eyes for several seconds too long, then does the same to Galga. Whatever she sees, her nose wrinkles in disgust. “No, gross.”
She leaves without any more explanation than that.
Several beats of silence pass before Galga clears his throat. “A picnic, you said?”
“Aha,” Atuarto laughs sheepishly. He wrings his hands together as he explains, “I remember you saying a while ago how nice you think the weather is, and how the flowers in the valley should be growing around this time. I checked weeks back and there were only a few then—even fewer after I picked a few for you. Um. Yes. I figure there should be a lot more there now? If you want to see them? With me?”
Galga chuckles, soft and—dare he hope—fond. He brushes a strand of Atuarto’s hair from his face, still smiling. “I’d love that.”
‘I love you,’ Atuarto wants to burst. But that’s skipping about four of his steps to winning Galga’s heart (again) so he instead giggles and hides his face by pressing his forehead to Galga’s shoulder. “Oh thank heavens,” he says more to himself than anything else.
Galga fully laughs at that and Atuarto clings to him even tighter. Arms wrap around him, almost out of reflex, hold him close and Atuarto breathes it all with a grateful sigh.
It’s step one out of many. But Atuarto thinks, at least, it’s in the right direction.