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Chapter Text

The sun is shining bright when they bury Fabian. It’s the beginning of Fall, and it can be felt in the air. The leaves have just begun to turn and a few litter the ground of the cemetery where the funeral is being held. 

There’s easily hundreds of people in the crowd, including Hallariel and Gilear Faeth, as well as their children and grandchildren. All here to mourn their son, brother, father, the person that they loved. There are two here mourning their friend.

It’s been around a hundred years since the three remaining Bad Kids had gotten together, and that was for a funeral, as well. Now, there’s only two and they stand side-by-side dressed in black while the coffin is lowered into the ground. 

Adaine tries not to cry, and makes a valiant effort, but then she hears Fig sniffling from beside her and the dam breaks loose. She squeezes Boggy to her chest as the tears start to stream down her face. 

She hadn’t seen Fabian in a century, yes, but he was one of the most important people in her life for years. They had all just… drifted apart. Kristen actually cracked down on helping Cassandra gain followers, which took her all over Spyre. Before she finally settled down, that is. Then there was Gorgug, who stayed in Elmville to teach at Aguefort. Riz and Fabian sailed the world, solving crimes in some sort of reverse-pirate fashion of Riz’s creation. Until Riz died. And then Gorgug died. And then Kristen. And now, Fabian. 

“Being immortal sucks,” she says to no one in particular as the crowd begins to disperse.

“Yeah,” Fig agrees from next to her in a watery voice.

”I can’t believe it’s really been a hundred years,” Adaine says, feeling a little numb as silent tears streak down her face.

”I know. I just-“ Fig cuts herself off with a small sob. Adaine, despite herself, dispels Boggy and puts a hand around the other woman’s shoulder. Fig takes a breath, then continues, “I just thought we’d all eventually get back together, you know? I never thought I’d hear that he died from Gilear. I don’t know how we got so…”

”Separate,” Adaine finishes, thinking back on how inseparable they had been during high school. They had been a unit: The Bad Kids. You’d rarely see one without the others, and they liked it that way. 

They stand there in silence for several minutes, looking at the newly-minted headstone next to Riz’s. They stand there until even Hallariel and Gilear have left. Hell, even Fabian’s kids have left. 

They stand there until the sun begins to hang low in the sky, and that’s when Fig says in a quivering voice, “We can’t go a hundred years again.”

”No, we can’t,” Adaine agrees.

…

The Saturday after Fabian’s funeral, Adaine teleports just outside of Basrar’s. The genie has kept the store up and running for literal centuries at this point, to the bafflement of Adaine. Though, it must be pretty easy to run a restaurant when you don’t have to buy the food. 

She looks over the neon sign and sighs. She has so many good memories here, it’s hard to pick one to get nostalgic about. A small smile works its way onto her face as she enters, a little bell tinkling to signal her arrival. 

“Welcome to Basra- Oh, Adaine! How wonderful, it’s been ages!” Basrar greets, rushing up to her in a flurry of movement.

”Hello, Basrar,” she greets with a smile, pulling the genie into a rather uncomfortable hug. He is made of ice and wind, after all.

When she pulls back, Basrar says, “You must be here to see Fig, yes?”

Adaine nods, suddenly feeling like a teenager about to go on her first date. And isn’t that a whole can of worms?

Because Adaine was in love with Figueroth Faeth for literal decades, and it took her even longer to get over it. But she is. Over it, that is. Completely and utterly over it.

”Adaine!” Fig calls from their booth with a wave. And yes, it’s their booth. The one with blood caked into the vinyl and Fig’s horrible graffiti carved into the wood. The one The Bad Kids would sit at every time they stopped by Basrar’s.

Adaine smiles, waving back before she makes her way over to her friend. Fig stands up and envelopes her in a hug. Adaine is hesitant to return it, at first, thinking of all the progress she’s made with her… problem. In the end, she could never deny Fig of anything, much less affection, so she returns the hug. Practically melts into it, actually.

It’s over too soon, Fig pulling away with a grin and a gesture towards the table where Adaine’s favorite ice cream sits waiting for her. Adaine nearly blushes, but she doesn’t because she’s a grown woman and not a teenager anymore. (She blushes).

Adaine slides into the booth across from Fig and, in an effort to hide her totally nonexistent blush, digs into her ice cream. She notes that Basrar must have remodeled at some point, because the vinyl is smooth and the graffiti is gone. Adaine can’t quite pin down how she feels about that.

But then Fig starts talking. About Hell, her music, Gorthalax, Gilear, her half-siblings, and anything else that seems to enter her mind. And everything else seems to fade away. 

Adaine struggles to keep up at first, but fifteen minutes in, she’s interjecting with her own stories of her Oracle work and Aelwyn and all the places she’s been in order to sort out prophecies she had gotten.

They talk and talk and talk until the sun goes down. Then, when it’s close to closing time, they talk in the parking lot, unable to let each other go. Adaine doesn’t know what time it is, just that she can pick out some of the constellations in the sky, when Fig smiles and says, “See you again next week?”

Adaine does her very best not to absolutely crumble under the weight of that smile and says, “Yeah, I’ll see you next week.”

Chapter Text

Figueroth Faeth was under no illusion that this would last. When she arrived in The Bottomless Pit after meeting up with Adaine yesterday, she was floating around like she was on the moon, filled with so much emotion that she had no choice but to start writing.

But after she wrote the first couple lyrics about reuniting with old friends and having so much love in your heart for someone that it bleeds out in song, she realized that they had literally gone a hundred years between Kristen and Fabian’s funerals, not seeing each other once in between. Who’s to say that anything has really changed now? Who’s to say they won’t go back to being best friends at such a distance that they don’t even really know each other anymore?

So, then, her songs become more melancholy, worrying at the wound that Fig created all by herself. She supposes it’s hard to be optimistic about the future when it spreads out in front of you like the starry night sky: wondrous but dizzyingly infinite. 

So she writes until she can’t bring herself to hold a pen any longer, only giving in to sleep when the words begin to swim in her vision. When she wakes again, she picks up her guitar and puts her lyrics to music, working non-stop until there are three complete songs staring back at her in her recording studio. She ponders releasing them as singles now or buckling down and recording a new album, and decides on the latter. Can she really be blamed for hoping she’ll have more material soon?

…

Fig looks around, checking the time on her crystal and seeing that she is, indeed, early. Despite this fact, she starts to wonder if Adaine is going to show, or if they’re going to slip back into only thinking of each other in passing with an ache in their hearts. 

Not that Fig is so sure she could go back to that, at this point. Seeing Adaine again was like a kick in the chest in that it took her breath away and left her reeling. It was more like the first sip of fine wine in that it left her craving more. 

She recognizes the feeling, and if she were smart, she would push it down and ignore it. But, her highest score has always been charisma, so she’s sure she can just… let it do what it will and cover it with some white lies and light deception.

The worst part is, it reminds her of Ayda. Which reminds her of how they broke up: a flurry of fire and tears and Ayda saying again and again, “I can’t put you through this cycle. I’ve had a lifetime with you, and that has to be enough.” Fig had plead for Ayda to let her stay, to hold her hand through the rebirth and guide her through her next life. 

Ayda was always a stubborn one.

In the end, Fig had packed her bags with tears in her eyes and left her elderly wife to die alone. They had never had children, so there was nothing but the ring and Compass Points to hold her down. Those and every ounce of love in her heart, that is. 

It’s been nearly a century since she left, so she knows that she’s a widow now. Probably was within months of her leaving, but she never went back to Leviathan to confirm. It would have been too much. 

So, she wrote and played and sang through it. It was her only lifeline for so long. That and her family back in Elmville, living in Seacaster Manor. She was obviously besotted by her younger siblings, even after they all grew up and had their own children. That just gave her more children to coo at and watch grow up.

It’s painful, though. To watch all of these children grow up and change and evolve when she feels… stuck. The only thing that seems to get her through her days is inertia, and she knows that that isn’t any way to live. But that’s all she’s really known for this past century.

Until Fabian’s funeral, that is. It had been a wake-up call. A knock over her head that screamed at her to start living and stop just surviving. So, she asked Adaine to meet her at Basrar’s, just like old times. And to Fig’s surprise and delight, she had agreed.

And that had easily been the best night she had in decades. And now, she’s about to have another best night. And she’s so hopeful and optimistic that she’s sure it’s going to crash and burn around her, but she can’t help it. She feels electric, every nerve buzzing with excitement and anticipation as she bounces on the balls of her feet in front of The Swan’s Little Parade, waiting for Adaine to show.

After a few minutes of second-guessing and wondering if she’s playing the part of the hapless fool, Adaine appears in a blip of blue light. Not a minute late nor a minute early, exactly on time.

She can pinpoint the exact moment that Adaine sees her. The other woman’s expression goes from scanning a crowd with discerning disinterest to a blindingly bright grin in an instant. Fig is nearly blown away by the change, but forces herself to muscle through the feeling and smile back. Not that it’s ever been hard to smile at Adaine.

Fig bounds toward the other woman, practically tackling her into a hug. “Adaine!” she exclaims, “It’s so good to see you again!”

Adaine laughs, and Fig thinks that perhaps living forever would seem more like a blessing than a curse if she could hear that sound more often. “It’s only been a week. But yes, it’s very good to see you again.”

”Ugh,” Fig groans, pulling back from the hug and rolling her eyes playfully, “Yeah, a week may be fine for you, miss I-live-in-Solace, but I literally reside in Hell.”

Adaine laughs again, clear and bright as a bell in the crisp Autumn air, and Fig feels like she’s succeeded at something, or maybe like she’s won a Fantasy Grammy. Adaine raises her hands in surrender as she says, “Hey, that may be, but just because you work there doesn’t mean you have to live there. Commuting is a breeze when you have Teleport prepared.”

This has Fig laughing, and thinking that just because Leviathan isn’t home anymore doesn’t mean that The Bottomless Pit has to be. She just didn’t know where else to turn at the time, consumed as she was by anger and grief. But she has to admit that it’s pretty bleak down there. Even Baby’s antics couldn’t get her to smile these past couple decades.

But then Adaine comes hurtling back into her life, and suddenly everything seems a little better, a little brighter.

Fig elects to ignore this line of thinking and instead offers her arm to Adaine to take. She makes sure it comes across as a joking gesture, even adding, “Care to join me at The Swan’s Little Parade, milady?” in a voice filled with false bravado for good measure.

Adaine’s cheeks seem to redden at this, but it’s probably just the crisp Fall air breezing through Bastion City. She takes Fig’s arm with an honest-to-Sol giggle nonetheless, and the two make their way into the restaurant. 

Inside, they wine and dine at the ridiculously expensive establishment, but they relish in the memories in the fold of the napkins and taste of the food. They were in the middle of their Sophomore year quest when they were here last. So, they laugh about their seafood party and the Crab King and then reminisce about the Hangvan and the warm comfort of the Moon Haven and then Hallow placed upon it. 

They don’t talk about the Forest of the Nightmare King.

They don’t talk about Leviathan.

They don’t talk about Kalina.

And they most definitely don’t talk about the fact that the most important figures in their stories are all dead now.

Fig knows they can’t avoid such talk forever, but it feels nice to pick out all the good from the bad and bask in its glow for a few hours. And that’s precisely what they do. They stay until their server starts shooting them nasty looks for occupying their table for so long, but they tip well before they leave, so hopefully their server isn’t too upset about it.

They practically collapse into the street when they exit the building, arm-in-arm and laughing like a pack of hyenas over some joke Fig had made about Bill Seacaster. (Fig privately admits that it wasn’t that funny, but once Adaine had started laughing, she couldn’t get herself to stop).

Once they get themselves under control, Adaine faces Fig, wiping joyous tears from her eyes. “See you next week?”

And Fig’s heart hurts a little at the prospect of being away from Adaine for so long, but she smiles through it and says, “Yeah, see you next week.”

Adaine seems like she almost sees through Fig’s facade, but the moment passes and she smiles and Fig smiles and everything in the world is right for just one instant.

Chapter Text

Adaine is nearly certain that there’s no way this can turn out well for her. She groans, flopping around to her other side on her bed. She’s back in her apartment, having just kicked off her heels after her and Fig’s not-date at The Swan’s Little Parade. Boggy ribbits from beside her, one of the few constants in her life. Her other constant, well…

Her crystal rings with a call from Aelwyn, right on cue. She groans once more, unwilling to spill her guts about this particular matter to her sister. Aelwyn tends to go with the “rip off the band-aid” approach, which obviously worked for her, as she’s happily married now. She’s even settled into teaching Wizarding classes at Aguefort, according to her, because she enjoys torturing teenagers. Adaine knows better, though. Anyway, Adaine would much rather stew over an issue for a few decades before allowing herself to make a move. Quite literally, in this case.

She picks up the phone, saying through gritted teeth “Yes, Aelwyn?”

Her sister snorts through the phone, “Is that any way to greet your sister, darling Adaine?”

Adaine huffs a laugh, “What would you rather I say? Greetings, my darling sister who I love so very much.”

”Yes, that’s much better. Now, tell me why you’ve teleported out of your apartment at the same time for two Saturdays in a row,” Aelwyn says, cutting straight to the chase.

Adaine rolls her eyes, hoping that Aelwyn can feel the gesture through the crystal, “Stop stalking me with your wards, Aelwyn.”

”Stop evading the question, Adaine.”

Adaine sits up in her bed, dragging Boggy into her lap, which he tolerates with an exasperated ribbit. “If you must know, Fig and I have agreed to meet up every week.”

Adaine just knows that Aelwyn raises her brows before she says, “Ohhhhh, Miss Faeth, hmm?”

Aelwyn, who is (unfortunately) privy to the fact that Adaine pined after Fig for literal decades, seems absolutely delighted at this news. In the only way her sister can be delighted, which often comes off like she is scheming something quite dastardly.

”Yes. You know we only know one Fig, Aelwyn,” she groans.

”And pray tell where these… escapades have taken you?” Aelwyn says, and Adaine knows she’s grinning on the other side of the crystal.

“Well, first we went to Basrar’s,” Adaine allows, thinking of how to avoid telling her sister where they went next. 

“Oh, how very cute! Visiting that little spot from your high school years,” Aelwyn croons in a tone that is sarcastic, but Adaine knows is at least a little bit genuine.

”And I just got back from… The Swan’s Little Parade,” the last part comes rushing from her mouth, and she almost hopes that Aelwyn didn’t catch it. She knows her sister would make her repeat it if she didn’t, though.

This seems to stun Aelwyn into silence for a moment. The only sign that she’s still on the crystal is the sound of a movie playing in the background. Then, she breaks the silence with, “Seriously? And this wasn’t even a date, was it?”

Adaine sighs, “Not to my knowledge, no.”

Aelwyn, to Adaine’s horror, laughs, “Oh, dear sister. You’ve really gotten yourself into it this time, haven’t you?”

”You’re not helping!” Adaine hisses at her crystal, filled with the urge to hang up.

Aelwyn laughs for a few more awful moments before settling down and saying, “Adaine, darling, that girl loves you. I can’t say in what way, but all of you ‘Bad Kids,’” and Adaine can hear the air quotes as her sister says this, “always were quite sentimental. She will continue to love you regardless of your feelings toward her and do not attempt to tell me that you don’t have romantic feelings for her. You may have fooled yourself for this past century, but you certainly haven’t fooled me.”

Aelwyn pauses, and in that silence, Adaine can feel her sister smile through the crystal, “Just tell her how you feel, Adaine. It could end up being awkward for a couple months, but we live forever. Do you really want to live forever not knowing if she feels the same?”

Adaine hangs up.

…

Adaine is honest enough with herself to admit that she doesn’t want to live forever not knowing how Fig feels about her. However, she is also honest enough with herself to admit that she has to give it at least a few months before she acts on anything. Because, as previously stated, Adaine prefers to stew for a few decades. She’s honestly moving quite quickly by working with months rather than years here. 

Regardless of her feelings, Saturday comes both more quickly and more slowly than she anticipated, the days dragging on. However, they are peppered with messages from Fig, pictures of her in her recording studio, videos of Wretchrot and the other imps doing some horribly crude dance, and texts about random things that have happened to her throughout her day.

Every message makes Adaine smile like a schoolgirl with a crush. She even had to go through the mortifying ordeal of having a state official in Solace ask if she had just received a good vision when really Fig had just updated her about what she was having for lunch. She’s the Oracle, for goodness’ sake! She’s supposed to be poised and professional, not blushing over texts she gets from her friend.

And that’s what Fig is. A friend. No matter what Aelwyn seems to think, nothing will ever change that. And it hurts to be her friend. It hurts like a unicorn horn through the heart. It hurts because she’s so close to Fig, and yet so far from what she really wants them to be. And isn’t that so selfish and horrible? To want more from her friend when all Fig probably wants is to reconnect with her because all of their other friends are dead? 

So, Adaine spends the hour before meeting Fig crying her eyes out, thinking about her doomed feelings, yes, but also feeling the absence of her friends so very piercingly. There’s just so much that she never got to do with them, live through with them. When she was a teenager, she didn’t truly understand what being immortal was going to be like, so she let things slip and fall through the cracks. Now, though, all she can do is wish she had done things differently and be left with that regret for literally forever.

Her thoughts won’t stop the time from marching on, though. So, she pulls herself together and teleports to Arborly. 

The bustling little town has thrived in the absence of the Briar Wall, expanding into the forest with a vigor, eager to reclaim what they had lost. Maybe that’s why Adaine chose to meet with Fig here. She, too, is attempting to reclaim what she had lost, or at least a snarky tiefling piece of it.

She knows her eyes are puffy when she arrives, rimmed with red from crying. But, she can’t quite bring herself to Minor Illusion it away. Not with Fig. It feels too much like lying to her friend.

She scans the bustling line of gnomes and wood elf figures in front of The Owl and Harp, easily picking Fig out of the small crowd. Fig is already looking at her, a broad grin cutting across the other woman’s face. Adaine is helpless to do anything but smile back, though she knows it is tinged with her sadness from earlier.

She makes her way to Fig, then promptly envelops her in a fierce hug. Fig seems surprised at first, but quickly returns the hug, wrapping her arms around Adaine. 

“You okay?” Fig asks softly, so softly that it hurts Adaine’s heart.

She refuses to pull away, basking in the other woman’s presence as she says, “Not really, but I think I will be.”

Chapter Text

Fig’s heart hurts at the sight of Adaine upset. So, maybe she holds onto the hug for a little longer than is strictly necessary.  When they finally part, she doesn’t let go of Adaine entirely, a hand still on the other woman’s shoulder. “We can talk about it, if you want,” she offers.

Adaine smiles sadly, and it hits Fig like a bullet to the chest. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

So, they make their way into The Owl and Harp, seating themselves at a booth that is thoroughly secluded in a corner. And Adaine talks. She talks about losing Jawbone so many years ago and losing Fabian just a few weeks ago. She talks about how she gets snippets of so many horrible things through her visions. She talks about being immortal and seeing infinity stretching out in front of you and feeling so very small in the face of it.

And Fig listens. She listens to Adaine speak of grief and loss and the overwhelming prospect of forever. 

“I just… it’s so hard sometimes to carry all these lifetimes when I’m just one person, you know?” Adaine says, brushing the last of the tears from her eyes. 

“I do, Adaine. It can really suck sometimes,” Fig agrees. Then, she pauses, ostensibly to take a sip of ale, but really to gather up the courage to say, “But you don’t have to carry it alone. I’m here.”

Fig watches Adaine’s eyes widen slightly before a blush spreads across her friend’s cheeks. Fig, herself, blushes at the sight and is quick to continue, “And Aelwyn, of course. And you know my mom and Gilear love you so much, they’re always here for you, too.”

Adaine nods with a small laugh, “Thanks, Fig. That really means a lot. And,” she pauses, eyes darting to the table then back up to Fig, “you’re not alone, either. I’m here for you, too.”

Fig’s blush deepens and she scrambles to change the subject of conversation, blurting something about the bureaucracy of Hell that has Adaine laughing again. Fig settles back down and is struck by the realization that maybe this really can last forever.

…

They carry on like this for months, meeting up in various spots from their teenage years until winter snow coats the ground in a shimmering sheet. That’s when Fig has the idea to take Adaine out for Moonar Yulenear. Not like, take out on a date or anything. No, take out as in like a friend hangout. Totally.

Anyway, Fig gets this idea and immediately acts on it, racking her brain for what they did for Moonar Yulenear in high school. When she finally settles on it, she shoots Adaine a message to meet her there and proceeds to pace anxiously around her bedroom for an hour. 

She does this just about every time she sees Adaine, worrying over what to wear, what to say, what to do. When they had first started their Saturday… get-togethers, Fig thought she could mask this feeling, push it just under the surface so that no one, not even her, would see it. Over these past few months, though, it’s been getting harder and harder to ignore. Every time Adaine smiles, laughs, touches her shoulder, all the feelings rise up and threaten to boil over in Fig doing something insane like kissing her friend.

She checks the time on her crystal: an hour until they meet. She groans, flopping onto her bed like a teenager. She scrolls through her contacts, past those that she keeps for people who will never pick up a crystal again. Finally, she settles on one and presses call.

”Hello? Daughter?” Gilear’s voice comes through the crystal.

Fig smiles despite herself, relieved to hear his voice. She calls Gilear every week, but today is not their usual day and time, so he must be confused. 

“Hey, Gilear, what’s up?”

A moment of silence before he replies, “I was just consuming a cup of the most enjoyable yogurt. It’s of the blueberry variety.” He pauses once more, then says, “Not that I do not appreciate your calls, but is there something you needed, Figeuroth?”

Fig sighs into the crystal, debating on how much to tell her dad. “I just- How did you tell Mom you were… interested in her? Or Hallariel?”

Gilear doesn’t miss a beat when he asks, “Is this about Adaine?”

Fig feels a blush rise to her cheeks. “Uh- I don’t know, I mean no! I mean… maybe.”

Gilear laughs, “Daughter, you are not and have never been subtle. I’ve heard the way you speak of her. It’s been clear to me for quite some time that you have feelings for her.”

Fig groans, “Ugh, yeah but what do I even do? She’s just so- and I’m so- ugh!”

”Well, I fear I cannot help you, as both your mother and Hallariel made the first move so to speak,” he says.

Fig sighs, “Yeah, that tracks. Well, what did they do, then?”

Gilear makes a noise of contemplation, ”Well, your mother flirted so aggressively, her feelings were made quite clear. Hallariel… well, she made quite the grand gesture.”

“Oh, really?” Fig asks, incredibly interested all of the sudden.

”Well, she engaged in traditional Elven courting rituals, which tend to be quite extravagant.”

Fig groans once more, “I don’t want to court her, Gilear. I just want to… I don’t know what I want.”

”Well, you could try telling her how you feel,” Gilear suggests.

Fig blushes even harder than before at the mere thought, “I don’t know if I could do that.”

”It’s just a suggestion, daughter. Far be it from me to tell you what to do.”

…

So, Fig spends the next half hour continuing her pacing, checking her phone every few minutes to confirm that it still isn’t time to go see Adaine. When it gets to be about fifteen minutes until it’s time for them to meet, she gives up on waiting and teleports to the Wolfsong Revival. 

After all of these years, it’s still going strong, if not bigger than it was that far past Moonar Yulenear. Princess Naradriel has stayed committed to the cause, even though Tracker has long since passed. It’s dazzling, with a few inches of snow covering everything. There’s crowds of people, with children running along amongst them.

Fig surveys it all with a hint of wonder and a dash of awe. It’s much bigger than it was last time she was here, all the way back in junior year. Just as she’s thinking about grabbing hot chocolate for the two of them, she hears, “Hey,” come from right over her shoulder.

She whirls around to see Adaine, bundled up in a thick coat and scarf with rosy red cheeks and a bright smile on her face. “Adaine!” Fig greets, instantly pulling the other woman into a hug. She laughs, and they talk for a few minutes before deciding to grab hot chocolate. Once they’ve gotten those, they wander meanderingly around the festival. When their drinks are long gone, they, well Fig decides to try ice skating.

”Oh, I’m not sure. I haven’t skated in decades, Fig,” Adaine protests. She must not be truly against the idea, though. Because she’s allowing Fig to pull her by her hand toward the frozen lake where a dozen other people are already skating.

”So? It’ll be fun!” Fig assures her. Adaine grumbles, but relents easily.

Neither of them have skated in what feels an awful lot like forever, especially when they actually get on the ice, wobbling like newborn fawns.They make up for lack of skill with enthusiasm, laughing wildly as they make their way across the ice. They attract a few stares, but Fig pays others no mind, too wrapped up in Adaine.

As they continue to skate awkwardly and trade friendly barbs about each other’s lack of talent, Fig finds that she can’t stop smiling. She can’t bring herself to risk this. Not yet, anyway. Because right now, Fig is happy. Happier than she’s been in decades.

So, they skate until everyone else has left.

Chapter Text

Adaine has been pacing her apartment for the past hour. It’s springtime now. The plants in full bloom and air brisk. And Adaine still hasn’t told Fig how she feels. She groans, looking to Boggy for support. He’s just sporting his “happy to be here, gang” look and licking one of his eyes. When Adaine gives him a pleading look, he ribbits. She groans again.

Because today is the day. She’s going to tell Fig how she feels and rip off the bandaid. Like Aelwyn said, the worst that could happen is a few awkward months (or years , but Adaine hopes against hope that it’ll blow over more quickly than that). Despite this, her mind is racing with “what-if”s. 

What if she makes Fig uncomfortable?

What if Fig laughs at her?

What if Fig is disgusted by her and doesn’t want to be friends anymore?

But, then, what if Fig… returns her feelings?

What if, indeed.

So, Adaine carefully controls her breathing and finishes getting ready, having picked out her outfit weeks in advance for this particular Saturday outing. Coincidentally, Fig messaged her saying that she would be picking out the location for their… hangout today. So, Adaine has no idea where they’re going, but she resolved months ago to tell Fig once spring rolled around, and the snow from winter has long since melted, the flowers long since blossomed. She just hopes it’s somewhere with a little privacy, but nearly everywhere they’ve gone has had somewhere they could scurry off to and be alone. Come to think of it, that’s usually all they do.

So, after she’s ready, Adaine paces and waits for Fig to show up, because apparently, this is somewhere Adaine has never been and therefore shouldn’t be teleporting to. The element of unknown makes her grit her teeth, so she continues pacing some more. Then, she hears a knock at her door. She takes a deep breath and goes to answer it, telling Boggy to stay put. He ribbits in reply.

When she reaches the door, she looks through the peephole to see none other than Fig the Infaethable standing outside her door, seemingly nervous, herself. Adaine tries not to think of why Fig would be nervous, irrationally convincing herself that it’s because Fig knows what Adaine is going to tell her today.

Instead, she opens the door with a smile. She watches as Fig’s face transforms from anxiously biting at her lip to a wide, unhindered grin. The other woman immediately envelops her in a hug, which Adaine returns easily. She tries not to notice that Fig smells of a heady perfume and brimstone. She fails. When Fig pulls back, Adaine is keenly aware of the emptiness left in her wake.

She tries not to think of the emptiness she will feel for the next few months (or years ) of awkwardness when Fig tells her that she doesn’t feel the same.

Instead, she smiles again, realizing that it must have dropped in tandem with her melancholy thoughts. Fig notices, but at the look on Adaine’s face, says this instead, “Hey, Adaine! You ready?”

Adaine can do nothing but nod at the other woman’s enthusiasm and barely has time to close and lock her door before she’s pulled through a teleportation spell. When they emerge, they’re standing on a picnic blanket laid out on a hilltop overlooking a vast forest.

The trees seem so small, yet they go on forever, their branches meeting the horizon. “How-” Adaine starts, blown away by the beauty of the scene before her.

Fig cuts her off with rambling speech, “I was trying to teleport somewhere else, but I had a mishap and ended up here, and I thought ‘wow, it’s so pretty up here, Adaine would love to see it,’ so I thought maybe we could come here and I hope you like it-”

Adaine turns away from surveying the scene before her to place a hand on Fig’s arm, “I love it. Stop worrying, it’s perfect.”

It’s hard to tell, but Fig’s face seems to go even redder at this, and she stammers out something that might be “that’s good” before plopping down onto the blanket and rummaging through a basket she must have brought beforehand. Come to think of it, she must have brought all of this beforehand. Adaine blushes at the thought of Fig taking so much time to set this up for her. That thought is quickly stifled by the guilt of knowing that she’s going to ruin it with her confession.

But, she’s been chickening out of this for literal months. She has to do it now, or she never will. Or, maybe in a few minutes, after they’ve eaten the sandwiches that Fig is pulling out of the basket. So, Adaine joins Fig in sitting on the blanket and starts chatting with her friend while she sets up the picnic.

“Gods, it’s been decades since I’ve been on a picnic,” Adaine says between bites of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Fig straightens at this, glancing over in a way Adaine is sure the other woman thinks is subtle. Then, Fig clears her throat, putting down her sandwich and saying, “Well, I just thought, we’ve spent all this time visiting places from our past, you know?”

Adaine nods, unsure of where the other woman is going with this. Fig continues, “I thought we could go somewhere new to talk about the future.”

Adaine’s eyes widen. Is she really- “Our future, I mean,” Fig finishes, now fully turned to face Adaine. 

“Our future?” Adaine asks in a voice so small she almost doesn’t recognize it.

And here, she’s sure that Fig blushes before she says, “Well, yeah. I needed to tell you- I mean, I wanted to tell you that I… I have feelings. For you.”

Adaine isn’t sure she heard her right. “Feelings? Like, romantic feelings?”

Fig laughs nervously, running a hand through her hair and Adaine feels like a schoolgirl again, blushing like crazy and stammering out a nonsensical reply to her friend who would always be just a friend. Except, maybe not always. Maybe not forever. Maybe they actually could be something more.

“Yeah,” Fig admits, looking a lot like she wants to bolt. Adaine puts a hand on Fig’s shoulder to ground her, begging and pleading with the other woman through her gaze not to leave. To please stay and talk and listen and be together .

“You-” Adaine stammers before laughing and saying, “You asshole! I was going to tell you today, but here you go, ruining my pl-”

She’s cut off by a kiss. And it’s nothing like Adaine has ever experienced before. It’s messy and sloppy because every first kiss is, but it’s perfect all the same. She wants to take this moment and make it last forever, to never have to pull away to breathe or eat or drink ever again. She wants to stay here, with Fig’s hand reaching around the back of her neck to pull her in closer. She wants to stay here, with her arms wrapping around Fig’s waist, with the other woman’s lips on hers.

When they part, they look at each other, breathing heavily. Then, one of them laughs, and the other is laughing now, and if this is what forever feels like, then Adaine is for the first time in her life excited at the prospect.