Archive of Our Own

Makoto was always busy.

Responsible for the actions and well-being of so many people, painfully aware of how a badly thought-out plan or wrong decision could lead to tragedy, she took her duty more seriously than anything else in her life so far. If she wasn’t preoccupied with her squadron’s tactics and training, she would usually just think about it, trying to strategize and adapt their approach for the incoming operations and missions.

Yet she liked it. Yes, it was stressful, and yes, it sometimes (usually) resulted in a lot of sleepless nights, but she enjoyed being useful. She mattered, her decisions mattered; the respect, trust, and recognition she gained because of her actions was more gratifying than she imagined it would be.

Finally, for once in her life, people started regarding her as more than just ‘the General’s sister’.
Makoto was not willing to squander this opportunity to make a name for herself, no matter what.

That’s why the news about the incoming delegation and the treaty talks she was required to attend were irking her so much.

She wasn’t needed there, not really. Acting like a representative just because Sae was important wasn’t anything new for her – she usually just gritted her teeth, summoned a neutral, pleasant smile, and curtly nodded to a crowd of influential people she barely cared about.

But this was going to take months. The most important agreement between their countries, planned and discussed for the past two years, was finally going to be finalized. A big deal, of course, but Makoto couldn’t force herself to feel anything but dread. There were so many more specifics to discuss, arrangements to be made, last-minute negotiations to argue politely about…

Summer just started, and she was going to spend a lot of it stuck in a dusty room, surrounded by ancient papers and bored, meticulous stares arguing about every little, no matter how minuscule, detail. As if it really mattered if they set import tax one-tenth of a percent lower or higher on this or that particular resource.

Well, it did, but not to Makoto. She cared about training, her squadron, tactics, not about… Taxes.

To say she was frustrated would be an understatement.

The corridor she moved through sought to echo her quickened steps, seemingly undeterred by the laid-out rug that muffled most of the noise. Unfortunately, the resulting soft thump of her marching was far too quiet to be discernible, barely loud enough for Makoto herself to notice it.
Maybe if she was wearing something heavier or began full-on running, but if she could wear her leather formal clothes instead of the ceremonial armor, then she wasn’t going to-

Something tall bumped into her just as she was turning around the corner, sending unpleasant, achy echoes through her torso. A pained huff knocked out the air from her lungs and after barely keeping upright, Makoto’s confused stare landed on the equally surprised, hunched stranger.

Gripping the wall like her life depended on it, the woman straightened up before Makoto fully processed what happened, her expression painted with both anguish and concern as her eyes traveled to meet with the reddish glare.

“I’m so sorry!” she blurted out, her hand nervously trying to brush the stray strands of blonde hair away from her face.
She looked genuinely apologetic.

Makoto’s brows slanted, narrowing her eyes as the frustration that settled in her bones begged to be let out on this perfect outlet – a stunning, ocean-eyed outlet – chasing away some of the trained politeness she usually adhered to.

She was partially at fault, sure, but she was too exasperated to really care.

“Is it really so hard to pay basic attention?” Makoto grumbled out without thinking, still holding back but not bothering too much to hide her disdain, letting it freely lace her undertone. “Watch where you’re going in the future.”

As soon as the woman’s posture stiffened and the glint in her eye dulled, Makoto immediately regretted letting her frustration show. “I’ll try to,” she muttered with a scowl that extinguished the last traces of friendliness from her face.

Her jaw twitched slightly like she was about to say something, but she bit down on her tongue as recognition cast an even larger shadow over her expression. “Niijima-san.”

Makoto only nodded dryly, forced to move to the side when the woman resumed her walk as if nothing had ever happened.

Instead of a sigh that swirled in her throat, a grunt made its way out, low and displeased. The blooming, embarrassed blush that warmed the tips of her ears as soon as she heard her name curling around the woman’s tongue quickly vanished, chilled by the exasperation that came back twofold.

Amazing first impression.
At least she doesn’t have to think about this unlucky encounter for too long. The opening meeting was in an hour, and Makoto was sure that by tomorrow the memory of those gleaming, offended eyes would become buried under a plethora of names, titles, and faces she had no choice but to learn.

She smoothed out the newly formed creases on her shirt, resuming her interrupted marching.

Makoto never really believed in fate and destiny. She regarded both concepts as inherently foolish and the belief in them as naïve. There was no cosmic force bent on steering her onto a specific path, and the notion that everything was pre-planned and unchangeable was just a way to shed accountability for one’s actions.

Her choices were just that – hers. Everything she ever achieved, every error she made, was either because of the circumstances she couldn’t control or her own decisions. There was no higher power at play here.

Now, as she found herself sitting at the unnecessarily long table, surrounded by plates and casually mingling people, Makoto heavily pondered if the universe was actually punishing her for her impiety.

The food in front of her remained untouched – her stomach coiled, and she lost her appetite a good hour ago, right around the time when she was introduced to a certain blonde, bright-eyed delegate who immediately looked at her with a mix of antipathy and scorn hidden behind the overly decorous smile.

Makoto’s face had trouble deciding if it should turn pale white or bright pink at that moment.
To her continuously deepening mortification, it settled on the second option.

Takamaki never directly acknowledged their unfortunate run-in, but each time she looked at Makoto, her stare said more than any words could.
It was the most awkward meeting she had ever participated in.
And it was just the first of many.

Makoto caught herself (again) timidly scanning the banquet hall, her eyes absentmindedly veering toward any flash of blond hair.

The first time she glimpsed her, Takamaki was busy with filling her plate with an ungodly amount of food. Seated far away from Makoto, basically on the other side of the hall, between the rest of the representatives, she hadn’t looked back at her even once. They conversed during meals, often energetically gesturing and chuckling, and Makoto idly wondered what Takamaki’s laugh sounded like.

The second time she allowed her gaze to wander, her mind decided it would be prudent to follow the blonde as she actively mingled with others. Takamaki’s smile was polite, genuine, reaching up to deepen the small wrinkles that appeared near the corners of her eyes. She talked with everybody, commanders and servants alike, beaming at them with an infectious grin that seemed to melt even the coldest demeanors.

The third time Makoto’s luck ran out and she was directly met with an aloof glare as the blue eyes, ever so slightly narrowed and standoffish, locked onto her.
She kept her expression fairly neutral, even if she felt the tips of her ears warming up with returning embarrassment.

If this was how the next three months were supposed to look like…

Excusing herself from the table, Makoto made her way across the hall, doing her best to swallow the unease that marred her thoughts. The growing nervousness she felt as she slowly reduced the distance between them took her off guard, tightening her jaw and stiffening her entire posture.

She shouldn’t be so anxious about this. Faux pas happened, even to her. It wasn’t that big of a deal, Makoto hadn’t insulted her whole family or anything like that - a quick apology should suffice, just to clear the air between them.
They didn’t need to be friendly toward each other, even if the idea of enduring those kinds of chilly glares for the next few months filled Makoto with a peculiar kind of poignant dread.

Her skin was still slightly reddish when she reached Takamaki as she stood beside her table, eyeing the desserts. “Emissary,” she nodded curtly, glad that her voice obeyed her and refrained from adopting any weird or shaky disposition.

For a pregnant moment, Makoto was sure that she wouldn’t get acknowledged. Takamaki’s stare quickly scanned over her, noting the tense stance, pursed lips, and focused eyes with this cold, almost indifferent expression. “Commander,” she returned the greetings stiffly, with the slightest hint of curiosity warming her tone.

Ridiculous thought. It would be highly impolite if Takamaki just ignored Makoto after she directly addressed her.

Still, she couldn’t help but relax a little after getting a response, not keen on pondering about the pang of relief that came along to dissipate some of her anxiety.

Makoto gently cleared her throat. “I wanted to apologize,” she began, eager to get this over with, “for my previous crudeness.”

“Why?” Takamaki’s head tilted and the heaps of traditional jewelry that adorned her neck rustled quietly, working very hard to attract Makoto’s gaze. “You only talk that way to people you deem unimportant?”

There was this slight bite to her words, this sharp note she wasn’t in full control of.

Makoto detested the insinuation.
Yes, she would’ve kept herself in check if she knew she bumped into someone of a similar or higher position, but that didn’t mean she just walked around insulting everyone else when she was in a bad mood.
Even if she wanted to, Sae would quickly put a stop to that.

Keeping her reaction at the thinly veiled insult contained, Makoto clasped her hands behind her back, adopting a more formal stance. “There are no unimportant people,” she said, truthfully, relaxing her countenance. “My rudeness stemmed from fatigue, but I realize it’s not an excuse.”

The azure eyes regarded her intently, probably searching for any signs of insincerity, skimming over her features in a way that made Makoto acutely aware of the blush that crept up her neck.

After the longest second, Takamaki exhaled softly, apparently convinced. “Apology accepted, Niijima-san.” She nodded and most of the cold that still lingered in her stare began melting away.

"I appreciate your understanding, Takamaki-san."

With a respectful dip of her head, Takamaki excused herself, her attention grabbed by one of her fellow ambassadors.

Before Makoto even opened her mouth to wish her a pleasant rest of the night, a hand gently pressed on her shoulder, effectively quieting her. “I just hope you won’t be fatigued during our future meetings, Commander.” A shadow of a smile moved through Takamaki's face before she was gone, leaving behind a faint vestige of pressure on Makoto’s arm.

Her gaze trailed after the blonde for longer than it would seem polite, getting lost in the patterns sewn into the back of her dress.

Much to her delight, the next few meetings went without a hitch. The unfriendly stares stopped, replaced by decorous, charming ones that suited Takamaki way more.
In Makoto’s completely unbiased opinion, of course.

Between unending discussions and constantly resurfacing issues, she had more than adequate time to come to such a conclusion. The blue looked stunning when tinged with an actual warmth that Makoto kept spotting in the passing glances, shined comely even when she argued with others, glinted beautifully in the golden sun.
Really, it would be hard not to notice these things.

For some reason, Makoto wasn’t dreading the next couple of months of this societal containment as much anymore. Not that she suddenly enjoyed it, but it was strangely bearable.

She languidly stretched her arms, the sword in her hand gleaming under the sun’s fervid heat. The weather wasn’t ideal for training, but with how limited her time became, Makoto didn’t have the luxury to complain.

Her palm wiped some of the sweat from her brow as she dragged her hand through her hair, brushing back the wet, sticky strands of brown. Agnes was sleeping under a tree nearby, her big, silver body curled like a cat’s, the diamond scales shining brightly in spots where the sunlight broke through the leaves. They still had to train later, after today’s quickly approaching meeting, and-

“Commander.”

Makoto tore her eyes off the slumbering dragon, noting Takamaki’s presence with genuine surprise and the faintest twinge of enthusiasm she didn’t think to ponder about.

This was one of the last places she expected to run into her. Not that the training grounds were private, quite the opposite, but still…

Makoto sheathed her sword, kindly nodding in greeting. “Emissary.”

She looked different in more casual clothes. Where Makoto always glued herself to either armor, plate or leather, or belted tunics, Takamaki wore mostly dresses and gowns to the meetings and feasts.

Makoto let her brow furrow slightly. Was this really the first time they saw each other outside of the official events?

Takamaki’s stare lingered a little on Makoto’s body, no doubt judging her disheveled appearance, and she almost fidgeted under the scrutinizing eyes. Well, it’s not like she expected to exchange pleasantries in the middle of the field when her palms were sweaty, and her wet shirt was stuck to her torso.

“Nice form,” she finally commented, pointing with her chin toward the sword only after Makoto shot her a confused stare.

Was she watching her before she came to offer greetings? Or was this just an awkward way of engaging in conversation?
Well, Takamaki didn’t really strike her as the awkward type. She was a diplomat, after all.

Makoto’s grip on the pommel tensed slightly as she felt the embarrassment creeping back.

“Ah. Thank you.” A small, hopefully not too nervous smile bloomed on her face as she muttered out a response, unsure what else she was supposed to say to the compliment.
Returning one would be polite, but ‘yours too’ sounded just creepy in this situation.
And now Makoto couldn’t think of anything else besides her ‘form’.

Something obscured the sun for a moment, diverting her attention from that quickly spiraling train of thought.

The dragon that graciously landed behind Takamaki wasn’t a new sight for Makoto. They’ve been here for over a week already and she would have to be absolutely blind or confined in her room for the whole time not to notice the extraordinarily red, majestic fire-breather occasionally circling around the towers.
This was the first time she saw it from this close, though.

It was definitely smaller than Agnes, sylphlike instead of burly, her scales more triangle-shaped.
The slender neck lowered to reach Takamaki’s level while the crimson eyes, nestled between the rows of small spikes that adorned the head, watched Makoto intently.

“Nice dragon,” she blurted, wondering why she even bothered with learning proper social etiquette when she was just going to mumble out whatever she first thought of.

Takamaki chuckled mellifluously, bringing her hand to rest on the willowy neck. “Isn’t she a looker?” she asked rhetorically, not for a second taking her amused eyes from Makoto’s face.
A dash of something playful lurked in her undertone, soft and inviting.

Good thing Makoto’s skin was already flushed from the exertion and heat – since her mind was so bent on over-interpreting things today, Takamaki’s words hit her in a way they surely weren’t supposed to.

Makoto cleared her throat, tugging at her shirt, suddenly uncomfortable with the idea of it sticking so blatantly to her body.

Before she came up with any kind of a sensible reply, a gust of wind disturbed the grass as Agnes unceremoniously landed nearby. A hefty, silver maw hovered above her shoulder, huffing threateningly at her exotic kin.

The other dragon backed her head a little, breathing out the smallest puff of flame out of her nostrils, more galled than anything.

“Agnes!” Makoto sighed with a low, chastising grumble to her tone, extending her hand to stop the tail that began guardedly wrapping itself around her legs.

Really, like dealing with jealous, oversized cats.

Takamaki didn’t seem to share her companion’s dismay at the completely unnecessary display of overprotectiveness. “She’s as friendly as you, I see,” she quipped, clearly entertained.

If anyone else said something like that to her, Makoto would probably take offense, presuming that the words were meant to be jibing. Because truly, what other purpose could a comment like that serve, especially when spoken by practically a stranger?

But Takamaki grinned at her, this radiant smile wrinkling the corners of her eyes that twinkled under the sunrays more than Agnes’ scales did. Artless, full of sympathy and muted, suppressed vivacity that didn’t seem appropriate for a level-headed diplomat to show too openly, they bore no signs of malice or antipathy, not anymore.

No words could’ve possibly offended Makoto, not when she was gazed upon like that.

Which was a good thing, since apparently Takamaki wasn’t done just yet. “Or is she also just fatigued?” A soft chuckle followed her teasing jest.

If anyone else said something like that to her, Makoto certainly wouldn’t blush even more, turning her gaze to run away from whatever she thought she heard in Takamaki’s tone.

Well, at least one of them grew to find her momentary lack of decorum humorous.

Clearing her awfully dry throat, Makoto feigned a sudden interest in Agnes’ maw, bringing her hand to caress the lightly trembling neck, feeling the still ongoing, low growl under her fingertips.

She quickly collected her bearings, turning her head back to Takamaki with only slight reluctance. “I’ll see you at the conclave, Takamaki-san.” Makoto nodded courtly, tapping at the silver scales to get the dragon to move.

As much as she enjoyed the brief distraction, it was getting late. Ten more minutes of this and they both would be late for the incoming meeting.
And Makoto definitely had to change her clothes before it.

“I hope so, Niijima-san.” Takamaki returned the courtesy, still smiling warmly even after Makoto turned away.

Hanging around a bunch of drunk people, talking about nonsense, and struggling to deflect the unsubtle courting attempts was not how Makoto wished to spend her night. She would much rather sit in her chambers, reading reports and trying to put a dent in the massive pile of paperwork that littered her desk.

Rowdy social gatherings were never her cup of tea, obviously. But she had to at least occasionally show up to these things, parade her face around for a couple of hours while doggedly enduring the plethora of uncomfortable interactions.

No wonder she took the first available opportunity to slip away from the party, trying to look as inconspicuous on her way out as she could.

“Commander.”

Unfortunately, she never was that good at subterfuge.

Makoto whipped her head around, concealing her surprise. “Emissary.”

She glimpsed Takamaki here and there during the night but lacked an opportunity to engage, either too busy politely fending off drunkards or trying to look interested in front of Sae.
In the rare moments when Makoto had a moment to spare, Takamaki usually looked preoccupied, actively mingling with various people.
Not that Makoto paid that much attention.

“Sneaking out so early?” She tutted, leaning back into the wall. “What will the guests think?”

Makoto glanced back toward the castle grounds. Even from a distance, the buzzing of countless ongoing conversations was easily noticeable, disturbing the otherwise peaceful night.

“I think most of the guests are too inebriated to care about my absence,” she stated, crossing her arms as she absentmindedly straightened into a more confident pose.

“I’m not that drunk yet,” Takamaki chuckled and only after she gestured with it, Makoto noticed the cup she held in her hand. “Care to help me with that?”

Makoto studied her for a second. Her eyes were a little glassy, tinged with something coquettish, her cheeks reddened, raised in a light smile, her hair loose, cascading over her shoulders, brushing over the gems hung around her neck, dipping into the fairly exposed cl-
Nope, this was a terrible idea.

She cleared her throat, quickly bringing her eyes back up before Takamaki noticed. “Thank you, but no.”

Takamaki brought her hand back down, the cup gently tapping on the stone wall. “So, the general’s sister is as proper as they say,” she teased, seemingly not that saddened about the refusal.

“I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“Oh, there’s nothing to be sorry for. I’m sure the rumors are exaggerated.” She tilted her head, neck arched in a way that showed off the arrangement of necklaces splayed over the skin, sending Makoto a stare that made her feel a touch too warm.

Okay, maybe Takamaki was a little more inebriated than she first assumed, and the thought unexpectedly made her even more uneasy.

“Maybe,” Makoto blurted out very eloquently, halfway tempted to stay after all if only to keep an eye on her.
Which was ridiculous, since Takamaki could surely take care of herself and wouldn’t risk causing a scandal just to get wasted.
She probably was one of the more sober people attending this party, anyway.

With uncanny reluctance, Makoto decided to ultimately withdraw. Despite the invitation, Takamaki definitely wouldn’t want to have her hovering over her shoulder for the entire night, finding out exactly just as proper she could be.
Especially under Sae’s watch.

“Please enjoy the festivities, Takamaki-san.” Makoto bowed her head, ready to take her leave.

She wasn’t sure if she imagined the soft sigh or not, with the party being too noisy to let such a quiet sound through, but Takamaki’s next words rang clearly in the night. “I don’t think I will anymore,” she chuckled before pulling herself away from the wall, sending Makoto one last mannerly nod as she moved in the opposite direction, back to the booming ocean of people.

This time, Makoto could clearly hear the discontentment that colored the dulcet voice.
She really didn’t expect to feel so regretful about it.

Over the next month, Makoto noticed a worrying change in how she started reacting to these accidental meetings. The perplexion and surprise evolved into contained excitement and genuine interest as she found herself anticipating these random encounters, going as far as feeling slightly disheartened if she didn’t bump into the blonde.

It was a little curious, but she purposefully dismissed it as something absolutely normal. Takamaki was just pleasant to talk and listen to, that was all.

Fine, yes, her lighthearted, unserious teasing was sometimes leaving Makoto mumbling and flustered. Not that she was about to say anything - it probably was just how Takamaki acted when she didn’t need to adhere so strictly to all the formalities.
Some people are just naturally open and warm with others.
Absolutely normal.

But Makoto couldn’t deny that she was oddly glad that Takamaki felt relaxed enough around her to forego some of that overly serious, carefully refined manner of speaking she used during the official meetings.

“Commander.”

The titles stayed, however.
It was just polite.

“Emissary.” Makoto nodded, not even questioning what Takamaki was doing at the training grounds at dawn.
It probably had something to do with her dragon, if the red blur that flew above the trees with impressive speed was anything to go by.

The contrast between the swiftly zipping beast and absolutely unimpressed, lazily observing her Agnes was a little amusing.

Takamaki yawned, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Are you always up so bright and early?” she muttered, idly stretching her muscles to chase away the sleepiness that still lingered in her bones.

“Yes.”

“That would explain why you are already fatigued by 6 P.M.”

Makoto rolled her eyes, wondering if this joke was ever going to die or if she would have to endure it for the rest of the summer.
If Ann kept smiling like that each time she mentioned it, so brightly and cheekily, Makoto could perhaps find it in itself to suffer through it.

“I like to be productive.” She shrugged, turning to simultaneously hide the small grin that didn’t want to ebb from her face and to examine the weapon racks.

“You can also be productive without getting up before the sun.” Takamaki’s mutter, even if barely audible, was marked by a slightly criticizing, outright incredulous undertone.

A chuckled breath escaped Makoto as she bit her tongue, killing the jab it tried to form.
She felt way too comfortable around her.

Her eyes passively moved over the racks, noting the variety of training weapons – mostly wooden, splintered here and there, jagged along the edges. The metal ones she usually avoided, even if they were all blunted. She preferred to train with her own sword, as long as nobody else wandered too close to her, but for a simple warm up, a wooden weapon would suffice.

Before she picked, Takamaki joined closely beside her, curiously eyeing the unimpressive arrangement of worn-out equipment.
Makoto tilted her head, purposefully ignoring the goosebumps that trailed over her arm in response to the briefest, accidental touch.

Takamaki’s hair was tied up, braided with silvery cuffs, beads, and strings that gently gleamed under the early morning sunlight. The light seemed bent on engulfing it all, shining through the few unruly loose strands with enough intensity to almost create a faint halo around her head.
It forged sharp shadows under her chin, flatteringly highlighting the angle of her jaw, the muscles in her neck, the dip between her collarbones.

When Takamaki reached to grab one of the wooden quarterstaffs, Makoto barely registered the movement, her gaze still stuck on the small, adorable wrinkle that curled around the corner of the brilliantly blue eye. “Care for some spell-sparring?” She glanced directly into the fully captivated crimson, her knowing smile creating even more wrinkles for Makoto to admire.

She blinked, realizing she’d been openly staring for some ungodly reason.

Her stare instantly jumped back to the racks as if running away now would somehow help after she was already caught.
Well, she could at least pretend.

The meaning of Takamaki’s question hit her only now, prompting her brows to angle down. It’s been a while since she sparred with someone magic-inclined, and the opportunity to do so was always welcomed.

But it was Takamaki – an important envoy, a guest she was definitely not supposed to injure in some senseless, unnecessary duel.
That was, literally, the direct opposite of what she was meant to do.

Not that Makoto doubted her skills.
It was just a really stupid idea.

“I wouldn’t want to cause a diplomatic incident,” she finally uttered, cautiously glancing at the weapon Takamaki held firmly in her hands. Her grip seemed secure, proper; her posture correct and slightly intimidating; the minuscule tear of fire that traveled across the shaft demonstrably controlled, leaving no marks on it whatsoever.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” she chuckled, taking a few steps back to establish an appropriate distance between them.

And then, as if sensing that her reluctance was on the verge of abating, she winked at her, and Makoto was powerless to refuse.

She grabbed one of the other quarterstaffs, trying really hard not to think too much about her new, baffling penchant for being stupid and doing stupid things.

Sae would personally kill her if she knew about this.

Taking her position, she weighed the weapon in her hands, wondering if choosing a softer wood would’ve been better. She wasn’t planning on getting too up and personal, but accidents happen, especially since she had no idea how Takamaki was trained, how would nuke clash with fire, how-

Gods, this was a really, really stupid idea.

Makoto fixed her grip, secured her stance, and half-bowed to Takamaki, confirming her readiness.

She expected a slow start, cautious, a few basic strikes; a pace that would really turn this into a very simple, unpretentious sparring session, nothing too intense.
In retrospect, she should’ve known better than that.

Takamaki rushed at her, swiftly and with determination, and soon the air filled with clacking noises of clashing wood and sizzling fire flying through the space, breaking either on hastily made celestially shimmering barriers or directly on the sand, sending it upwards in an impressive arc.
Their huffs quickly transformed into pants and then into heaved breaths, interrupted only by occasional grunts and hisses brought out by wood meeting body, nuke bruising the muscles, fire reddening the skin.

Despite the flashy nature of this kind of sparring, they remained careful, sticking to the relatively safe strikes and obviously holding back with the magic.
They were, mostly, just showing off; aggressively dancing with each other.

Makoto was the first to make a mistake, letting her concentration drop after a particular maneuver that ended with her back on the sand, torso pressed down by the quarterstaff, and Takamaki’s very warm thighs sitting astride right above her hips.

Yep, a very stupid idea.
But for a different reason than the one she originally thought of.

In a burst of adrenaline-induced boldness, not dissuaded by the overwhelming blush that crept onto her already reddened face, Makoto gave her a quick look over, trying not to focus on details that would definitely derail her thoughts. “Nice form,” she hummed out between gasps, wood painlessly digging into her rhythmically heaving chest.

At first, Takamaki just stared at her, similarly panting and caught off guard. But the surprise that gleamed in her eyes was quickly replaced with shamelessly roguish amusement as she leaned back, freeing Makoto’s chest. “You have seen nothing yet, Niijima-san,” she drawled, taking an awfully long second to get off and stand up.

Makoto got up almost instantly after that, cursorily brushing off the sand from her clothes and grabbing the quarterstaff she lost in the scuffle. Still completely red, with a fresh image of Takamaki towering over her burning in her mind and uncharacteristic temerity coursing through her veins, she locked eyes with her, readying up for another round.

It began identically, with Makoto getting pushed into defense from the very start. But now, after getting a grasp on Takamaki’s style and techniques, it didn’t take long before she spotted an opportunity to breach through her blocks, sweeping her off her feet with only a slightly cheeky strike. She was a little concerned when Takamaki went down so abruptly, but Makoto calmed as soon as she heard her laughing.

“Well, I guess you are a commander for a reason,” she groaned, letting her head hit the sand, the entertained glint not leaving her eyes. They regarded Makoto intently, gazing unapologetically over her relaxing muscles. “Are you always this rough with your women?”

And there it went, all the boldness she felt, disappearing in one swift blow. In its place shyness crept in, tying her tongue as Takamaki laughed quietly after seeing the obvious change in her expression.

Right, yes, this was normal, just how she was – teasing, openhearted, and a touch too friendly.
And Makoto was also going to be absolutely normal about this. Totally. It was fine, whatever, just a casual conversation.
She was just not accustomed to having a friend like that, that was it.

Makoto cleared her throat, extending her hand toward the lying woman. “You’re not hurt, are you, Takamaki-san?” she asked after the slim, warm fingers wrapped around her forearm, accepting the offered help.

“Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure.” A smile accentuated her words, adding more sincerity to them. “Thanks for this. It’s been a while since I had a chance to fight with somebody actually decent,” she chuckled, blowing at the patch of sand that stuck to her shoulder.
Not that it did much. The sand was everywhere, on her clothes, her skin, her hair, adding a grainy texture to the grip they shared.

Makoto idly pondered about helping her brush it off, about untangling and combing the soil from her braid with her fingers, wondering if the golden hair was as soft as it looked.
Normal, she was supposed to be normal.

“My pleasure,” she answered instead, mirroring Takamaki’s smile.
It took her a few embarrassingly long moments to realize she had yet to let go of her arm.

Makoto hated when someone bothered her when she was nose-deep in paperwork. It was hard for her to delve back with the same level of concentration as before, especially if she had to leave her desk.

The runner, aware of Makoto’s grumpiness after so many years of inadvertently interrupting her work, relayed the brief message quickly before disappearing, eager to evade the barrage of annoyed sighs and stares she had prepared.
Something about a situation in the stables?

Which didn’t make any sense. Agnes wasn’t one to create problems or destroy things, she was too stoic to get into too many shenanigans. She knocked over a few trees here and there and scratched a lot of walls and rocks, but what dragon didn’t? That was hardly a reason to call Makoto out.
Especially this late.

As soon as she saw Takamaki standing near the barn, arms crossed and pensive stare stuck at something inside that Makoto couldn’t yet see, she sighed quietly into the night. Of course, she should’ve guessed it had something to do with the only other dragon currently stationed here.
And here Makoto actually thought that they were getting along fine since Agnes stopped growling and huffing each time she saw her kin.

Making a mental note to pay more attention in the future, she approached Takamaki, speaking up in advance to avoid startling her. “Emissary.”

Her head languidly tilted as she turned around, eyes filled with moonlight quickly locking onto Makoto’s face. “Commander,” she responded warmly, but there dwelled something odd in her tone, a ruminating note that made Makoto pause at a respectable distance, anxiety slowly pooling in the pit of her stomach.

They didn’t fight, did they? No, something would probably be on fire or destroyed. Maybe they just snapped at each other and some poor bystander got injured? If so, then why were they meeting-

Exhaling out the trepidation that tried to drown her insides, Makoto walked a little closer to the enormous doorway, unsure about glancing inside. “I hear there’s a problem?”

Takamaki chuckled at her inflection, taking a step back and uncrossing her arms to point toward the barn. “Well, depends on how you look at it?”

With her brows furrowed by confusion, Makoto warily came closer, peeking inside.

Her sight needed a second to adjust to the notably darker barn, leaving her squinting and somewhat chaotically scanning over the discernible shapes in the dimness. Thankfully, the silver scales were hard to miss, even if Agnes was curled far away in the corner. She looked fine, slumberous even, unbothered by the smaller shape pressed to her side or the reddish tail that tightly intertwined itself with her own.

“Oh,” Makoto uttered, understanding dawning on her only after she noticed that the barely audible murmur she kept subconsciously noticing was, in fact, a deep, guttural purring.
She really hadn’t been paying attention, had she?

She promptly straightened up, grabbing the doorframe, not even remotely concerned about the exasperated groan that left her mouth. “Oh my Gods.”

Takamaki drifted nearer, standing behind and glancing over Makoto’s shoulder. “I think it’s cute,” she chuckled, her breath close enough to leave a phantom of touch around the briskly reddening ear, “but yeah, separating them will be hard.”

Acutely aware of the unexpected proximity, Makoto deliberately had to stop herself from trying to glance back, sending a bewildered gaze into the darkness instead. “It will get worse if we leave them together!”

“Worse?” She could feel Takamaki leaning in even closer, stopping just shy of pressing herself to her back. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but it’s not like they can make more dragons, Niijima-san.” An amused, honeyed mutter tugged at this inexplicable knot that kept forming in her chest for the past few weeks, and Makoto really, really wasn’t prepared to deal with the consequences of untying it right now.

It was bad enough that she had to deal with a pair of besotted dragons; she didn’t also have time to acknowledge that the air between her and Takamaki wasn’t exactly charged with normal friendliness.
It didn’t really matter. She was going to leave in a little over a month, anyway.

“Of-of course not!” Contrastingly to her cheeks, her knuckles went white as she clenched the doorframe tighter, the tension in her muscles working hard to make them tremble under the warm exhales that invaded her neck over and over again. “That’s not what I meant!”

“I say let them have their summer romance,” Takamaki hummed wistfully, for once not jumping right away to teasing, “it’s not like we can really stop it, even if we tried.”

“But-”

“They are dragons, Niijima-san,” she enunciated, amusement slithering back into her tone. “And in the end, it’s relatively harmless.”

Makoto visibly deflated at her words. “Not when you have to deal with a heartbroken dragon for the rest of the year,” she sighed, muting the emotions that fought to leak into her voice as she watched Agnes lazily adjusting her neck to press even closer to the red scales.

The hand that gently squeezed her shoulder wasn’t as startling as Makoto anticipated it would be. “Well, it will give you a reason to visit me,” Takamaki joked as she moved past, dragging her palm softly across Makoto’s back, her tone not jokey at all.

Right, harmless.
Despite her chest clamping around it, the knot loosened a little.

Makoto enjoyed flying. The wind tousling her hair, Agnes’ muscles working under the saddle, the clouds parting around them.
It felt freeing - like, for a while, she could leave everything behind on the ground, far, far away.

“Commander!”

Well, not everything.

Takamaki was the one to invite her out to ‘show her something’, as she cryptically said to lure her here, near one of the higher cliffs that spanned to the west.
Weird place to meet, but if she was about to get murdered then at least the view was nice.

Makoto took a quick glance down, astonished that Takamaki managed to yell loud enough to break through the swishing wind, and gracefully sat Agnes on the grass.

“Emissary.” She nodded as she dismounted, letting herself free from the straps and harnesses.
As soon as she was safely on the ground, Agnes unceremoniously left her to bump heads and tangle necks with her girlfriend.

It became a frequent sight during the past two weeks. Even Sae asked her about it, and Makoto could only timidly shrug in response, unsure what to say.
It just… Happened.

Makoto turned, catching her friend also staring at the affectionate pair. “What are we doing here?”

Blue eyes wandered to her face, and just like that, her chest was effortlessly filled with warmth. “I wanted to show you something,” Takamaki repeated, crossing her arms with a smirk that really wasn’t filling Makoto with optimism. “How much do you know about our dragons?”

“Well, they’re bred mostly for magic.” Makoto glanced once more at the beasts, easily noting their differences. Her eyes dawdled at the slim body, long neck, airfoil wings and tail. “And speed.”

“Yeah. It makes them quite agile. Perfect for rapid maneuvers,” she hummed approvingly. “Next question, have you ever seen cliff diving, Niijima-san?”

Well, that probably explains the purpose of this trip.

“I heard of it.” Makoto nodded, crossing her arms like that could somehow calm her incoherently blathering heart. “Supposedly, it’s really-” dangerous, unwise, reckless, not a good idea “-exhilarating.”

“So, it’s safe to say that you never tried it?”

Makoto’s eyes jumped to the burly dragon, and she couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her. “Agnes isn’t really built for that,” she said diplomatically, trying not to imagine how ridiculous a lump of quickly plummeting silver would look.

“Célestine is.” Takamaki’s smirk turned into a proud grin as she uttered the most self-evident statement she could.
She canorously whistled, beckoning the dragon’s attention. “Céli! Leave your lover for a minute!”

A dissatisfied huff swirled in the red chest, but she listened to the command without much delay, quickly taking her place near Takamaki.
Not that it could really be called ‘leaving’ when Agnes followed right after her, way more eagerly than whenever Makoto called her. She always listened, but never with such enthusiasm, it wasn’t even close.

Makoto rolled her eyes, both amused and ever so slightly offended by the disparity, exhaling sharply through her nose. Her gaze glided over the trio, stopping for a second longer on Takamaki’s face, noting how her expression softened as she lovingly scratched under the spiky maw.

Yeah, she could understand Agnes a little.

The dragon arched her neck into the touch, but her eyes turned to Makoto, narrowing slightly as if she judged her.
She stiffened when the head moved closer, Célestine’s nostrils flaring, her hot breath turning the air between them warm.

“Go ahead.” Takamaki’s unusually calm voice was tinged with something so tender that Makoto’s reluctance melted in the blink of an eye.

She uncrossed her arms, gently placing her palm between the spiked ridges, slowly tracing her fingertips around the unfamiliar scales. The quiet purr she got in response was nowhere near as loud as the one she heard in the stables, but it resonated distinctly enough to seep into her skin, assuaging the lingering tension.

“Hi there,” she muttered softly, too caught up in the moment to notice when Takamaki came closer, guiding her hand along the lean neck as she walked. Her fingers trailed between the scales, coming to a halt as soon as they nudged Makoto’s.
A ponderous, filled with skipped heartbeats and bated breaths moment later, they fully encroached into her personal space, pressing themselves on top of her knuckles.

“Hi.” Takamaki smiled, a slight blush heating her cheeks, and Makoto idly concluded that this was the first time she actually saw her flustered.
Not that she was in a better state, feeling all warm and on edge, rooted in place, gaze stuck in the blue ocean, head emptied of coherent thoughts.

Makoto didn’t know what she expected to happen next as she parted her lips. Maybe nothing as she would just say something surely eloquent, maybe everything as she would just lean in.

What she certainly didn’t anticipate was for the dragon to get bored with the scene in front of her, indifferent about the tension coloring the air.
Célestine huffed impatiently, raising her head away from their reach and subsequently breaking their contact, angling her neck to look longingly at Agnes.

The breath Makoto stubbornly held in, trapped inside her lungs, was finally freed, escaping as a nervous half-chuckle, relieved half-sigh.
She coughed weakly to get rid of the shakiness that threatened to infuse her next words, dispelling the mood completely. “Do you really plan on showing me cliff diving?”

Takamaki’s hand moved to rub at her nape as she somewhat awkwardly regained her composure. “No,” she chuckled, her smile turning a little more cunning, “I’m planning on taking you cliff diving.”

“What?!” To say that Makoto was taken aback by the preposterous idea would be like saying that the sun was kind of warm.
She shuffled back a little, suddenly really not keen on being near the dragon. “Absolutely not!”

Takamaki dared to laugh at her reaction, moving away to mount Célestine before she got even more bored. “Why? Are you afraid of heights or something?”

“No!” Makoto crossed her arms again, warily watching as Takamaki climbed up to the saddle. “I’m just not really a fan of dying.”

“I won’t let you die. That would reflect really poorly on my country, y’know?” She winked at Makoto before she eased deeper into the saddle, fixing her riding position as she straightened to align her shoulders and hips. “Come on, it’s going to be fun.”

Makoto didn’t have that much control over her stare as it traveled over the unexpectedly highlighted muscles and curves.
This air of authority Takamaki exuded right now, when posed like that, towering above and smirking, was just…

Well, Makoto would call it intense, just to be polite and respectful.
Even if not a single bone in her body felt like being courteous or timid at that kind of sight.

Before Takamaki could try to persuade her further, Agnes nudged Makoto’s back with her head, pushing her closer.
She looked back with a surprised grunt, gently smacking the silvery snout. “Traitor.”

“I promise I’m not about to kill us.” Takamaki leaned down to her, hand extended in offering and confident, inviting smile replacing the smirk. “Trust me.”

There was once a time when Makoto would categorically refuse such an idea, without even entertaining it.
Now, she was like a moth trying not to fly into the flame.

Biting her lip, she grabbed the outstretched hand, hoisting herself up behind Takamaki. The saddle was barely big enough to fit them, forcing their bodies closer, and her options to grab onto something were limited to either the awkwardly placed straps on the sides or the waist in front of her.
This was a terrible plan that didn’t seem safe at all.

“What am I doing,” she muttered under her breath, still contemplating her hand placement.

“Hanging on tight, I hope.” A chuckle was all the warning she was given before she felt Célestine moving, turning swiftly toward the cliff.

“Wait, I’m not-!”

And she was way, way faster than Agnes, giving unaccustomed to this kind of speed Makoto only a second to react before she plunged them right past the edge.

Panic-stricken and unprepared, Makoto resorted to throwing her arms around Takamaki’s stomach, burying her fingers in the soft material she found there.

Normally, flying was a relatively pleasant experience. Even if Makoto trained with Agnes, perfecting some defensive or offensive maneuvers, she knew what she could expect and usually enjoyed adapting to the changes in speed and positions, not opposed to the occasional barrel roll, risky nap-of-the-earth between the trees, or a steep turn.

This was worse, so much worse.

One second, she was vertical, safely standing on the ground, decorously respecting the laws of gravity; the next, she was diving directly down, plummeting really, wings around her folding to gain even more speed, pressing her chest into Takamaki’s back like her life depended on it.
Which, fair, since it actually did.

The wind was deafening, cold, biting at her exposed skin, filling her nostrils even after she pressed her nose between the blonde’s shoulder blades. Despite the overwhelming urge to close her eyes and pray for the best, she kept them open, somewhat squinted, watching the rapidly nearing ground.

There was no way Célestine could pull up before they crashed, there was no space, no time left, and oh Gods, why did she agree to this, she knew better than that, when did she become this reckless, they were going to-

With an audible whoosh, a considerate amount of g-force pushing on her insides and a very dizzying, rapid change in orientation, Makoto was once again vertical, viewing the world like she was meant to – perpendicular to the ground.

“Are you still with us, Niijima-san?”

They were gliding very close to earth, quite slowly by Célestine’s standards, but still a touch too fast for Makoto. Red wings stirred up the sand with each gentle flap, creating small whirlwinds behind them as she tried to swallow her heart back down.

After reconsidering her stance on the matter, Makoto hated flying.
She felt a little sick.

“I’m not a fan of cliff diving,” she muttered directly into Takamaki’s back. Her thighs, worn out from the constant, forceful tensing as well as the cold, trembled around the leather she sat on.

“You think?” Takamaki laughed loudly, the sound reverberating between her ribs, right next to Makoto’s cheek. “Do you want to go again, just to make sure?”

Her grip unwittingly tightened at the proposal, clutching around Takamaki’s waist in what had to be a very restricting, probably slightly painful way. “No, thank you!” she firmly declined, not conscious of the shaky, snappy note that permeated her hoarse voice.

Takamaki giggled again, sneaking one of her hands to intertwine their fingers, squeezing them reassuringly after Makoto tentatively loosened her death grip, welcoming the grounding pressure.

Her stomach calmed a little by the time they flew back up to meet with bored, patiently waiting Agnes.

“I feel like I’m about to pass out,” Makoto expressed, still not letting go of the warm waist despite them once again safely landing on the grass. She wasn’t exactly confident in her ability to walk just yet. “How can you find this fun?”

“The adrenaline spike is nice.” Takamaki leaned back a little when Makoto unglued her face from her spine, equally unwilling to untangle their fingers. Her thumb slowly, soothingly drew little circles on the cold skin. “We usually do that above a deep lake, tho.”

A small whimper escaped directly from Makoto’s throat. “I really didn’t have to know that detail,” she sighed, exasperated, absentmindedly pressing her forehead to the nape of Takamaki’s neck, too distressed to really care about the intimacy of the gesture, of this whole situation.

Later, she could have a panic attack about that later; maybe right before she was supposed to fall asleep, suddenly reminded of the warmth of the fond touch, the way the blonde hair tickled her face, the faint smell of wind and sulfur.

Takamaki didn’t seem to mind the prolonged contact, still gently caressing, dragging her thumb over the ridges of Makoto's knuckles. Her other hand stayed on Célestine, who absolutely didn’t seem to mind the additional weight on her back, not when she could once again hide her head in Agnes’ neck.

They both purred faintly, and the sound was as calming as the touch.

After a few more moments, during which Makoto’s heart returned to its normal rhythm, Takamaki cleared her throat, reluctantly letting go of her hand. “Are you really okay?” she asked, a note of poignant abashment, distinct remorse tingeing her voice.

Makoto tore her head away from her back, carefully drawing her arms back, letting Takamaki’s waist free at last.

Yeah, this might’ve been a little too much, too fast.
Not that she was angry that Takamaki just sprung this on her, almost giving her a heart attack; she was just a little rattled, caught by surprise.
She agreed to try, after all.
Just… A warning would be nice.

Slowly, cautiously, she lowered herself back onto the grass. “Yes, just… Give me a minute,” Makoto muttered, finding purchase on Célestine’s side as her legs almost gave out on her, “or a couple.”

“Sure, yeah.” Takamaki gingerly followed her down, leaning closer like she wanted to help her stand, but rethought the idea a little too late to stop her muscles from reacting to it.

Now that Makoto could see her face, she couldn’t help but frown at the solemn anxiousness she spotted there. It looked incongruous, painfully out of place, weird.
She much, much preferred seeing her smiling, teasing, and laughing; this guilt-driven sulking that haunted her countenance now was making Makoto’s chest palpably ache.

The need she felt to wipe that expression from her face was suffocating, too strong to ignore. “I’m fine, Takamaki-san.”

“I wasn’t doubting that, Niijima-san.” She smiled weakly, leaning back into the reddish scales. “Still, I’m sorry-”

“No, don’t,” Makoto interrupted with a small wave of her hand, “it’s okay, truly. Just… Give me a heads-up next time, okay?”

Somewhat assuaged, Takamaki tilted her head curiously, the corners of her lips arching a little more. “Do you want there to be a next time?” she asked quietly, her sigh almost turning into a relieved chuckle, but a glint of something not so strictly humorous, nor so doleful, danced in her eyes.

Inexplicably, it made Makoto’s throat go dry. “I…” She held the eye contact for only a few seconds before the impulse to glance away got too overwhelming. “… Could be persuaded, I suppose,” she muttered, flushed all anew.

To her left, Takamaki chuckled softly, polite enough not to comment further.

“Makoto.”

A simple, if hefty, wooden desk, littered with parchments, partially melted, both lit and unlit candles, and books; barren walls, stacked with mostly empty shelves; a big window letting in the waning evening sun to shine diffidently on the old, stone floor.
She always thought of this room as a little too austere.

“General,” Makoto nodded to her sister from across the desk, clasping her hands behind her back.

“Can you drop by the emissary’s chambers?”

“Um, what for, if I may ask?”

“She requested some old treaties, and they were left on my desk instead of hers,” Sae explained, not bothering to gaze up from the papers she was examining. Her hand gestured at the stack of bundled-together parchments placed dangerously close to the edge. “I don’t have time to act as an errand girl and the runner is busy.”

Makoto visibly hesitated. After last week’s cliff diving incident, Takamaki seemed to avoid her a little, getting that sort of poignant glint in her eyes whenever they saw each other during the meetings.

She wasn’t sure how, and if, she was supposed to react to that.
Yet she was sure that invading her personal chambers at such an hour was not a way to do it.

Noting the prolonged silence, Sae tore her eyes from her desk, sending Makoto an inquisitive glance. “Unless there’s a problem?”

“No, there’s not,” she answered too quickly this time around, causing Sae’s brows to twitch higher.
Not keen on receiving more questions, Makoto moved to grab the treaties, her grasp on them a little too tight. “I will take the documents to her.”

“Thank you, Makoto,” Sae said, her eyes silently escorting her out of the room. She clearly wanted to say something more, but quelled the urge for now, allowing her gaze to return to the papers.

Locating Takamaki’s chambers wasn’t that difficult. All guests stayed in the west part of the castle, and finding the correct door boiled down to asking one of the servants that Makoto met along the way.
Easy.

She was just going to knock, greet her, and pass the documents while exchanging a word or two.
Simple, straightforward.

Perhaps she could ask her to meet tomorrow, persuade the kitchen to sneak out a couple of those pastries Takamaki liked, the ones with fruits on top. They could talk a little in private, not necessarily about the elephant in the room, just… Casually. Normally.
Easy-peasy, a cakewalk, a breeze.

Such an uncomplicated plan that it just had to crash and burn at the very beginning.

Takamaki's door was slightly ajar. Not enough for anybody just passing through the corridor to notice, but enough to give Makoto a pause as she got closer. Well, not that big of a deal, it should at least mean that Takamaki was in and expected the runner to drop by, right?

Makoto brought her hand up, ready to knock, words dying on her tongue as she made the mistake of letting her eyes wander inside through the slit before they were invited to do so.

The glow from the candles illuminated only part of the room, just enough to cast light on the small dresser Takamaki was sitting in front of. Her bare back, only partially covered by the golden hair, gleamed softly in the darkness; her shoulder blades shifted as she moved her muscles; her side profile was exposed just barely enough for Makoto to discern the vague shape of her breast despite the shadows that covered it.

A mirror placed on the dresser, a piece of metal polished enough to reflect, showed her slightly blurred copy; even in the imperfect replica, Makoto clearly saw the blueness of her absentminded eyes, the sheer intensity of it, and how the skin on her chest was faintly lighter, not sun-touched.

She definitely wasn’t expecting the runner to drop by.

And now Makoto had been staring for far too long, without Takamaki knowing. If she knocked now, there was no way she could compose herself quickly enough to get rid of the warmth from her face; if she left, she definitely wouldn’t be able to look her in the eye the next time they met, not without thinking about this.

Besides, the idea of Takamaki not being aware that Makoto accidentally spied on her when she was half-naked, the fact that she would need to hide it if she ran now, was concocting something heavy and acrid in the pit of her stomach, marred the back of her throat with bitter shame.

Her hand, tired of just purposelessly hanging in the air, dropped back down as Makoto was still deciding what to do. She let it fall without much thought, getting as startled as Takamaki when her knuckles knocked at the door with enough force to push it even more ajar.

Their eyes met and Makoto had never before wished so badly that she could just disappear.

Instinctively, Takamaki hurriedly moved her arms to cover herself, an alarmed expression painting her face with indignant notes.
She seemed to mellow out when she noticed who interrupted her evening, her shoulders dropping in something akin to relief as the irritation ebbed from her countenance.

Makoto didn’t notice much more since that was the exact moment when she remembered she should’ve really turned around by now and slammed her back into the door frame, fixing her stare in the corridor’s corner, as far away from the door as it was possible.

“Sorry!” she blurted out, feeling the warmth spreading from her face to her ears, neck, chest, everywhere. “Your door was cracked open, and I- I wanted to knock but- I’ll just return later- No, I’ll send somebody else later, I’m so sorry-”

“Commander.” A firm, surprisingly not aggravated sigh interrupted her blabbering, and she snapped her mouth shut with enough force for it to make a dull noise.

“E-emissary,” she started once again, unable to conceal the shakiness of her voice, “I have the treaties you requested.”

There was a small, pregnant pause as Takamaki shuffled around in the room. “Come on in,” she called nonchalantly, unaware of how that was the last thing that Makoto wanted to do, “and please close the doors.”

She would rather insult her again than discuss what had just happened.

With a curse dying at her lips, she reluctantly, slowly stepped inside, eyes stuck to the ground even as she shut the doors behind her.

Takamaki patiently waited as her guest gathered enough courage to look at her again, granting her a small, friendly smile when she finally did.

Much to Makoto’s relief, she threw on a shirt before she came to stand near the dresser, covering herself up, sparing her from getting even more abashed.

Much to Makoto’s turmoil, it was so loosely, lazily tied up in the front that it basically threatened to open up with each turn or lean.

Screw insulting her again, Makoto would gladly repeat the cliff diving incident multiple times instead of trying to deal with this without losing the rest of her dignity.

Ignoring the heat that slowly pooled in her core at the sight, she cleared her throat, stubbornly gluing her eyes to Takamaki’s face. “I’m…” she began, desperately searching for any words that could convey what she wanted to say.

Whatever that even was.

I’m sorry for ogling you? For interrupting your night? For wanting to untie that shirt personally? For being too terrified to do that, too aware of the fact that whatever sparked between us had no chance of surviving and I suck at keeping things strictly casual?
I’m so sorry that you’re leaving in less than a month?

Could she fit all that in just one sentence?

She sighed, giving up without even trying. “I apologize.”

Takamaki chuckled softly at that, relaxing her posture. “What for? You just brought me some documents.” She was still smiling as she beckoned Makoto with her hand, urging her to pass over the bundled pile of papers.

Right, her back was still pressed to the cold door.

Hesitation mixed with resignation on her face as she willed her legs to move, stopping just shy of the other end of the dresser. From this close she could see the blush sprawled across Takamaki’s cheeks, how the shadows curved into her cleavage.

Their fingers didn’t just brush as Makoto handed her the papers - they connected fully, palm pressed to the unsteady hand, and the touch lingered for longer than anyone would deem necessary.

“Thank you, Niijima-san.” Takamaki didn’t seem concerned about Makoto’s eyes dropping lower, but her blush got noticeably darker. “Can you wait a second while I check if everything is in order?”

“Of course.” Makoto nodded, looking away as soon as Takamaki sat down on the bed behind and her shirt bundled up slightly around her chest.

Only now she spotted the jewelry spread across the dresser. Earrings, necklaces, bracelets, rings, hair accessories – apparently, she interrupted Takamaki as she was either sorting through her collection or preparing for tomorrow’s events.

Since she didn't really need it, Makoto never paid that much attention to jewelry. She could name the gems she saw (mostly sapphires, as she noticed with slight amusement) but if anybody asked her to match the pieces together or choose an appropriate gown to go with them, she would probably create the ugliest amalgamation of mismatched accessories possible.

As her eyes idly gazed at the astounding amount of silver and gold sprawled near her, she recognized a few, spotting them once or twice on Takamaki’s neck during the official meetings and feasts.

Makoto moved a little closer, taking a more central position in front of the collection, leaning a little.

She didn’t notice when she became the blonde’s main focus as the papers were carefully put away on the chair. “Do you like them?”

“They’re beautiful,” she muttered softly, stifling the urge to reach out and touch the gleaming gems. Even if she wasn’t really that interested in wearing them, she wasn’t blind to their allure.

Especially if someone else adorned their body with them, preferably matching them to the blue of their eyes.

Slowly, thoughtfully, Takamaki got up, joining Makoto in a similar way as she did at the stables – adding a faint warmth to her back as she almost flushed against her body, hovering just inches away.

Her heart skipped a beat, irresponsibly yearning anew for a thing unreasonable.

Takamaki’s hand brushed over her side when she started pointing out the individual pieces. “I got this one from my mother, this was from Shiho, my friend, those were a gift from another mission, and these are strictly ceremonial.”

Makoto followed her hand, silently listening and committing the jewelry to memory. A golden necklace, weaved with little droplets of blue; a metallic chain, dainty and thin; a set of rings, each embellished with a small gem that faintly glimmered in the candlelight; a silver, festoon necklace covered with iridescent opals.

It didn’t matter at all, but she found herself caring for all of this, simply because it was Takamaki talking about it.

A different, smaller piece caught her attention as she let her gaze slide over the jewelry. “And this?” She faintly gesticulated at the necklace that looked slightly more unique than the rest – twisted from a lot of very fine, almost hairlike threads of silver in an intricate pattern Makoto had trouble following.

Takamaki was still for a second, her breath enveloping Makoto’s neck in a familiar way. “I made that,” she admitted quietly, her undertone tainted by uncanny bashfulness.

Makoto’s eyes widened a little as she leaned, examining the chain with even more interest. “That’s… Amazing.”

“It’s easy to mold and connect stuff when you can use fire without getting harmed by it,” Takamaki muttered dismissingly, shrugging like it wasn’t that big of a deal.

She would gladly quarrel with her about this blatant lack of recognition of her obvious skill, but a palm was softly placed on Makoto’s hip and her argumentative side was pacified for the moment.

Gingerly, she began straightening, giving in to the senseless urge and not stopping until her back was flushed to Takamaki’s chest.
The hand on her hip pulled her even closer and Makoto really tried not to think too much about how hot the room suddenly got.

Takamaki’s chin grazed her shoulder. “Do you want to try it on?” she asked, her voice low, warming the shell of Makoto’s ear, sending faint shivers down her spine.

“Oh, I’m not really a jewelry person,” she mumbled without thinking, too preoccupied with anchoring her hands to the dresser in a last-ditch attempt to keep herself from pushing this past the point of no return.

“That’s nonsense.” Her soft chuckle sounded like honey, sweet and thick, and Makoto would swear she felt a touch of lips on her neck.

She grabbed the necklace, temporarily removing her hand from Makoto’s body to drape the silver across her collarbones. “A nice ruby necklace would bring out your pretty eyes,” she whispered, her knuckles gently nudging Makoto’s jaw up so she would look into the mirror, “and silver matches Agnes.”

Any reply she could have to that died the moment she met Takamaki’s eyes shining at her through the reflection - intense, darkened by dilated pupils, sharp and focused, staring at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Her fingers seemed to burn on Makoto’s skin, the direct contact leaving invisible, permanent marks, and the elusive ‘point of no return’ was long gone, held no power to begin with.

Brushing dark hair out of the way, she secured the chain, adjusting it so it sat right above Makoto’s neckline. “‘Not a jewelry person’ my ass,” she chuckled again, her fingers coming to tickle the skin right under the gleaming silver as if to accentuate how it perfectly matched her features.

All Takamaki’s gesture did was make her achingly aware of how her body seemed to gravitate toward the touch; how she helplessly pushed back just to feel how the curves of the blonde’s body slotted against hers; how her nervousness got silently replaced by pure longing; how all she wanted to do was to drown in the blue ocean, to tether their hearts forever.

She was so, so bad at keeping things casual.

“It looks perfect on you,” Takamaki breathed into her ear and this time she didn’t imagine the lips on her neck – she saw them through the mirror, carving a trail into her skin, felt how they scorched a path right through to her chest, eliciting a breathless whimper from her empty lungs.

Makoto also very clearly saw herself in the reflection, with lidded, glazed-over eyes, parted lips, absolutely flushed skin, and desperately, needfully arched head she instinctively tilted to grant the tenderly exploring mouth easier access.
Her knuckles were completely white, straining to keep their hold on the dresser.

Fingers moved to rest on her jaw, gently pushing to goad her into turning her face, and she obediently listened, silently mourning the disappearance of those warm lips from her neck. Their noses brushed and when the only thing left was for Takamaki to lean in, the urging pressure reluctantly ebbed.

Makoto exhaled shakily, anticipation coloring her voice as she softly whined, “Takamaki-”

“Ann,” she quietly corrected her, weaving together a question and a promise, a warning and a prayer into the lonely word.

They shouldn’t. This was unwise, barreling toward a heartbreak.
But despite the consequences of pursuing it, there existed no timeline in which Makoto could ever find enough strength in herself to pull away now.

She tentatively set her hands free and turned around to gaze properly at Takamaki, noting on her face similar emotions to those that made her own heart ache and stir – the yearning wistfulness, caring adoration, and barely restrained desire.

One of her hands tangled in the sloppily tied-up shirt as the other moved to cup Takamaki’s face. “Ann,” Makoto softly confirmed before she pulled her closer, locking their lips together.

Ann’s mouth parted immediately, enthusiastically letting her in as if she were water for her parched throat. Her hands wasted no time to find their place on Makoto’s waist, pressing her into the dresser as she flushed their bodies together anew, gaining a muffled moan in response.

By the time Makoto pried open the shirt, their kiss turned into something sloppy, almost aggressive, driven by pure hunger as her hand relocated to the nape of Ann’s neck and refused to let go. The need to breathe, the wood digging into the small of her back, the bruising – nothing mattered beyond the tongue that twisted with hers, the teeth that nipped at her lower lip, the hands that started tugging at her clothes, the thigh that pressed firmly between her legs.

When they finally separated, it was only for Ann to move down, latch onto Makoto’s neck as she discarded her shirt, humming approvingly when she felt an exploring hand sliding down her stomach.

“Makoto,” Ann thrummed lowly against her pulse, encouraged by the breathy whines her ministrations pulled out of the caressed throat so far.

Makoto found the sounds embarrassing at first, but when Ann’s hands ventured up and under the unnecessary fabric, she completely stopped caring about such trivial things.

The silver lightly rubbed over her sweltered skin, blinking and shimmering in the dim candlelight.

Even after they got rid of all of her clothes, the necklace stayed throughout the night, alternating between dangling above Ann and falling back to adorn Makoto’s bruised collarbones.

Summer came and went, waning into insignificance as soon as the leaves started turning bright red. The talks concluded, agreements were signed, life was slowly seeping away from the trees and crops, and nobody, absolutely nobody, was entirely happy about anything.

Everything ended, and in the dawning fall, Makoto had no choice but to acknowledge the dread that clawed at her heart.

The night was still young, and the air was warm, but she knew both of those things were about to change quickly.

She sighed into the darkness, her fingers nervously drumming on the balcony’s stone railing. The faint noises of revelry, music, and talking leaked through the opened doors behind her so she wouldn’t feel so alone on this empty platform.
It didn’t really work.

This feast was supposed to be a celebration, but all she could think about was tomorrow’s farewell.

“Commander.” The words she waited for this entire evening came before she got fully lost in her depressing thoughts.

Makoto turned toward Ann, a fond smile tightening the lines around her eyes. “Emissary.”

It was to be expected that she was going to be pestered by everyone tonight. A lot of people wanted to say their goodbyes to the delegates, establish some last-minute contacts, or unambiguously propose to ‘spend some time’ together.

Makoto shot daggers at that last type so notably and effectively that Sae had to remind her to be more polite.
As if she cared about seeming decorous around that one soldier who kept hovering around Ann for the past few hours.

But it wasn’t like Makoto had a monopoly on her time and attention.
At least not in public and during the day.

Ann softly placed her hand on Makoto’s elbow, taking advantage of the fact that they were fairly secluded from the party. “Care for a dance?”

“Of course,” she chuckled as she agreed, not pointing out that it would’ve been more appropriate the other way around, “but I must warn you, I’m not the greatest dancer.”

Ann’s hand intertwined with hers, her other palm landing on Makoto’s shoulder as warm fingers touched her waist. “Really? If I recall correctly, you know some impressive moves.”

Makoto huffed quietly, not hiding her amusement as she started leading, vaguely following the tempo of the indistinct music. “Those usually don’t translate well into dancing.”

Judging by the slight tremble of Ann’s lip and her suggestively lifted brow, she just barely stopped herself from commenting further.

They stayed quiet for a while, just enjoying the moment, neither of them willing to bring up the bitter topic. Not now, not yet.

Ann’s eyes dropped to the barely exposed cleavage in front of her, catching at the ever so slightly poking out glint of silver. Once more, her lip twitched, but she swallowed the remark, just moving her arms to drape them around Makoto’s neck, bringing them closer.

“I had a great time,” she muttered when firm hands found purchase on her waist, the feeling not that dampened by the layers of her dress.

Makoto leaned in to bump their foreheads, not too concerned about the possibility of being spotted. It didn’t really matter anymore, not when everything had already been signed and agreed upon; not when Ann was leaving soon. “Me too.”

“Do visit me sometimes, will you?”

Makoto tensed slightly, inadvertently, and the bitter taste that lingered in the back of her throat became too much to just silently endure. “Ann?”

Her intent must’ve been written all over her face since it took Ann no time to recognize and correctly interpret it. “Don’t, Makoto,” she sighed, hiding her face in the crook of the exposed neck as the slow dancing turned into full-on hugging, “let’s not ruin this night.”

She swallowed, not heeding the plea. “I don’t want this to end.”

“I know. Me neither,” Ann sighed into the neck she found refuge in, softly guiding her fingers to Makoto’s nape, brushing over her hair, “but it’s a long way from your home to mine. And we have our responsibilities.”

It wasn’t the first time this topic was raised. Usually, it was just mentioned in passing, by accident, when somebody pointed out that the summer was ending, asked if Ann was ready to leave and if she enjoyed her stay.

Makoto fully realized that they would have to actually discuss it soon only after Sae outlined the plans for her squadron for the rest of the year, and all she could think of was how she would have to spend her nights alone again.

This was the first time they actually started consciously talking about it, though.
High time for that.

“We can figure something out,” Makoto mumbled, burying her face in the blonde hair, her embrace getting a little tighter.

The chuckle that escaped Ann was anything but humorous. “Can we, really?”

She packed a lot of things into these three short words. Sadness, most notably; this wistfulness she hadn’t been able to get rid of for the past month; trepidation that drove the claws further into Makoto’s heart.

But also committed, steadfast affection; heart-melting tenderness; smoldering lust that lurked at the very bottom of her undertone.

Her hands fisted uncaringly in the expensive fabric of Ann’s gown, trying to pull her even closer, harder, to meld them together as if that could prevent her from leaving.

Gods, if their dragons were besotted, Makoto was definitely, completely, undoubtedly infatuated, hopelessly enamored, and spellbound.
And it took Ann two months of nagging her with teasing remarks to achieve that level of devotion.

“We can try, at least,” she whispered, not trying to conceal the hopeful note that begged to permeate her voice.

The silence enveloped them again for a moment and the night grew colder, tinged with fall’s promise of decay.

“Maybe,” Ann finally sighed as she broke the hug, pulling away just enough to lock their gazes together. Her hand cupped Makoto’s cheek, her thumb tenderly brushing over the slightly parted lips.

Some commotion inside diverted their attention and Makoto reluctantly tried to lean away at the sudden noise before Ann pulled her back in to kiss her ardently, wiping away the budding hesitancy.

Every part of her wanted to protest when Ann let go of her, but she knew better than to start a make-out session here, right next to the ongoing party. “I will stop by your chambers later tonight,” Ann promised, correctly interpreting the small frown that carved Makoto’s brow, “maybe we actually can figure something out.”

When she leaned in this time, it was to plant a quick peck at the corner of Makoto’s lips before she went back inside, returning to casual mingling. Soon, her laughs bled out into the night and seemingly nothing ever happened.

Makoto sighed quietly, refusing to let the wind extinguish the flame of hope she just lit up.
They could make this work, right?
Somehow.

After an appropriate amount of time had passed, Makoto finally returned inside, her muscles tiring of the cold, eyes already bored with the reddish leaves. The party was meant to last for a couple more hours, and it would-

“Makoto.”

As soon as she passed through the door, Sae’s hand landed on her shoulder to stop her.
She wouldn’t admit it, but the touch was redundant - the rigid, slightly galled voice stilled her legs as easily as the firm grip did.

“General,” Makoto nodded stiffly, not really in the mood to hear another reprimand. Her behavior tonight wasn't too courteous, true, but-

“Please tell me you weren’t just kissing the diplomatic envoy.” Sae lowered her voice, sending Makoto such a discomfited glare that she instantly tensed, opening her mouth once before closing it again without uttering any answer.

After some reflection, she would love to hear some criticism about her closed-off demeanor instead.

She coughed weakly, untying her tongue in record speed. “I wasn’t just kissing the diplomatic envoy?”

Sae’s eyes narrowed threateningly. “And don’t lie.”

Perhaps she should’ve been more concerned about showing her affection so openly.

Feeling the panic erratically bouncing around in the pit of her stomach, Makoto stepped closer to her sister, lowering her voice to a whisper, fully aware that she was about to babble. “Well, technically, she was the one-”

“Makoto…” Sae interrupted with an exasperated groan, taking her hand away. “Just please don’t cause a scandal,” she muttered surprisingly genially, “and don’t do anything you will regret.”

Her honestly concerned tone instantly doused the spark of dread that reignited in Makoto’s body.

She glanced longingly at the flash of golden hair she spotted, dully noting the very faint wrinkles in the back of her dress, right where she grabbed her earlier. “Of course not, sis. Wouldn’t dream of it.”