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You groaned softly, disoriented as your eyes fluttered open. The unfamiliar bedding beneath you was soft, yet it took a moment to register where you were, or how you got here. Memories of the past few days trickled back: the rescue by a mushroom man… Mychael, his name was. He had been kind, caring… and, you had to admit, undeniably cute. This wasn’t your bed, nor your room, but the warmth of the fire that flickered nearby made it feel almost comforting.
Once the haze in your mind cleared, you stretched, feeling the smooth sheets beneath you. Your body ached, but the soft coziness of the room eased the discomfort. What had happened to you? The last thing you could recall was… a forest, butterflies, a river—
“_____! You’re awake!” Mychael’s voice broke through your thoughts. His face lit up with a grin as he entered the room, a bowl of steaming food in his hands. His eyes, bright and warm, softened with relief.
“I made you something to eat!”
You blinked, still startled.
“Holy—gosh, I didn’t even hear you come in…” you murmured, your voice hoarse from sleep. You had been lost in your own head, processing everything.
Mychael moved quietly for such a tall figure—a trait no doubt honed from his hunting skills. With a sigh, you turned onto your side to face him, wincing slightly from the aches that pulsed through your body.
He was at your side in an instant, eyes flickering with concern.
“Hey… are you okay?” he asked softly, voice low and cautious, as if afraid speaking too loudly might shatter you.
You tried to sit up, propping yourself on your elbows, but the strain made you hiss through your teeth. Mychael noticed immediately. With a slight fumble, he quickly placed the bowl on the nightstand.
“W-wait, hold on a second.”
He reached over you, his large hand unexpectedly gentle as he grabbed a pillow. For a moment, his face was close—so close you could see the faint specks of gold in his yellow eyes. His breath fanned softly against your cheek before he eased back and carefully tucked the pillow behind your back.
“There. Better?” His voice was low, barely above a whisper.
You exhaled slowly, trying to ignore the sudden flutter in your chest.
“Thanks, Mychael… ugh, my body is killing me.”
His eyes widened in alarm.
“No, no—not literally!” you added quickly, waving a hand.
“It’s just… I’m trying to remember what happened before I ended up like this.”
He relaxed slightly, though the tension in his jaw remained. His eyes lowered for a moment, as if ashamed.
“You fell,” he said carefully, avoiding your gaze. “Hit your head. I had to carry you back here.”
You rubbed your temple, trying to recall the moments before.
“I—”
“Here, I made you some food,” he interrupted softly, his voice more tender now as he reached for the bowl. The aroma of the broth wafted toward you—earthy and rich, making your stomach rumble.
He held the bowl out to you. His fingers brushed yours briefly as you took it, and you swore you saw him swallow hard.
“Oh- um…” you mumbled, suddenly unsure why the touch lingered in your mind.
The broth was filled with mushrooms, mirepoix, grains, and tender meat. The flavors burst on your tongue, warm and hearty, and you let out an involuntary sigh.
“Wow… this is amazing,” you mumbled between bites.
When you glanced at him, you caught the faintest blue tinge on his cheeks. He quickly busied himself by adjusting the blanket draped over your legs, but his eyes lingered on you longer than necessary, watching each bite you took with quiet satisfaction.
The food seemed to ease the tension in your body, each swallow bringing more relief. Whether it was the magic of the soup or simply his cooking skills, you weren’t sure. But you felt better.
After a moment, Mychael’s voice broke the comfortable silence, lower than before.
“I’m really sorry this happened to you. I promised I’d keep you safe, but… now you’re hurt.”
He clenched his fingers slightly, almost as if holding himself back.
“I didn’t mean to let you down.”
You smiled softly, trying to reassure him.
“You couldn’t have predicted this. Honestly, I’ve fallen many times before.” You chuckled lightly, hoping to ease his guilt.
“This isn’t my first rodeo.”
He chuckled softly, though the guilt didn’t fully leave his eyes.
“I know, but… I promised to look out for you. Keep you safe…”
Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers brushing over his hand.
“Hey. I’m fine,” you said firmly, squeezing lightly. You placed the empty bowl on the nightstand. “See? I feel so much better, especially after that soup. It was delicious.”
He blushed slightly, his hand lingering in yours before he slowly pulled away.
“Oh, firefly… I guess you’re right,” he murmured, though his voice was still tinged with doubt.
You blinked, caught off guard by the nickname.
“Why do you call me that?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.
Mychael’s face darkened to a deeper shade of blue, and he quickly averted his gaze.
“You remind me of a firefly…” he admitted softly, voice barely above a whisper. His thumb traced the rim of the bowl absentmindedly.
“They’re gentle and kind, and as bright as you are.”
The words seemed to slip from him before he could stop them. When his eyes flicked back to you, he looked startled by his own vulnerability.
Your breath caught slightly. You smiled shyly, unsure how to respond.
“I don’t think ‘bright’ is the right word for a girl who wandered blindly into the forest looking for her cat,” you teased softly, your voice barely steady.
His soft laugh filled the space between you, easing the tension.
“It was pretty reckless,” he admitted, “but honestly? I’d do the same if Mawar, Sansuyu, or Primrose decided to run off without me.”
The warmth of the moment faded slightly as you both remembered your cat. The ache in your chest returned. Your voice dropped to a whisper.
“I have to accept it… I’ll never find my cat.”
He hesitated, his voice barely above a breath.
“But I can help you find—”
“No, Mychael,” you cut him off gently, shaking your head. “I’ve searched enough… ______ is gone. I would’ve found them by now.”
The finality in your voice left no room for hope, and he could see it. His eyes softened with sadness.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
You met his gaze, your heart heavy. Though the loss was sharp, you felt strangely comforted by his presence.
After a beat of silence, he cleared his throat softly.
“Is there anything I can do?”
You glanced at him, eyes drawn to the warmth in his yellow gaze. You could have asked for a hug—maybe you should have—but something deeper lingered, a slow-burning something neither of you dared name.
“I’m okay,” you whispered softly. “Can I use your bathroom? I don’t want to be a bother.”
Mychael’s lips parted slightly in surprise before softening into a smile.
“Of course. You don’t need to ask. You’re at home here.”
His words made your chest tighten slightly. Still, you smiled.
“Thank you,” you murmured.
You stood up carefully, the soreness in your legs more pronounced now. You stretched, feeling the stiffness in your calves, but it was manageable.
Mychael led you to the bathroom, flipping on the light.
“Oh, I have one more thing for you,” he said suddenly, his ears perking up slightly before he quickly disappeared into the other room.
He returned moments later, holding a neatly folded set of clothes.
“Here,” he said, handing you a soft beige t-shirt and purple drawstring sweatpants. “Since you’ll be staying, I thought these might be more comfortable.”
The casual way he said it made your breath catch slightly. It was as if he had already decided you were staying. And truthfully… you didn’t want to leave anyway. You nodded, feeling oddly touched by the gesture.
“I’ll wait out here,” he added softly, offering a small smile.
You slipped into the bathroom, closing the door behind you and letting out a quiet breath. The bathroom was surprisingly tidy—simple but cozy. It still amazed you how he had built everything himself, right down to the neatly stacked towels on the shelf.
After refreshing yourself, you changed into the clean clothes. The fabric was soft and well-worn, and you couldn’t help but smile as you caught a faint trace of Mychael’s scent on the shirt—woodsy and faintly earthy, like rain-dampened leaves.
You stepped out after about ten minutes, feeling refreshed. Mychael was sitting by the fire, knitting with a quiet focus. The flames cast a warm glow on his face, making the green of his skin appear even softer.
“Thanks again, Mychael. I really owe you,” you said softly.
His ears twitched slightly at the sound of your voice. He glanced up, smiling with that familiar warmth.
“You don’t owe me anything, firefly.” he murmured, his voice gentle.
You returned his smile, feeling a pang of gratitude warm your chest.
“I know, but still…”
You sat down beside him, leaning slightly toward him as you peered curiously at what he was working on.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked, his eyes flickering over you, searching for any signs of lingering pain.
“Yeah, just sore… but much better,” you reassured him, though you could tell he was still watching you closely.
After a moment, he shifted a little closer, his knee brushing yours lightly.
“I just finished making this beanie. What do you think?”
You blinked in surprise as he held it out to you—a neatly knitted beanie in a soft white and gray striped pattern. Your eyes widened in adoration. It was adorable.
“It looks so cute! Can I feel it?”
“Yeah, go for it,” he said softly, handing it over.
You ran your fingers over the soft yarn, marveling at the delicate, even stitching.
“Wow, Mychael… this is really nice. How do you do this? It looks so complicated!”
He chuckled lightly, a rare, boyish sound.
“It’s not too hard,” he said with a modest shrug. “I could teach you if you’d like.”
You smiled brightly, pulling the beanie on. It fit perfectly. You adjusted it slightly, feeling the warmth of the wool settle around your ears.
Mychael’s eyes lingered on you, his gaze softening with admiration. The way you looked in his clothes—the worn t-shirt, the slightly oversized sweatpants, and now his handmade beanie—made his chest feel strangely tight. You looked so comfortable… so at home.
“Yess! I’d love for you to teach me!” you beamed, running your fingers over the beanie’s edge.
His eyes lingered a little longer than they should, and you caught the slight flush on his cheeks.
“You can keep it,” he offered softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “It looks nice on you.”
You blinked in surprise, warmth blooming in your chest.
“Wait, really? But you worked so hard on it!”
He shook his head, offering you a sincere smile.
“I can make plenty more. It’s not often I have someone to try on what I made.” His voice was low, almost bashful. “I really want you to have it.”
The tenderness in his voice made your chest tighten. Without thinking, you threw your arms around him, pulling him into a hug.
For a brief second, Mychael stiffened, his whole body going still from the unexpected contact. His breath caught slightly, his hands hovering uncertainly in the air. But then, slowly, he relaxed into you. His arms circled around your back, holding you carefully, almost tentatively—like he was afraid you might slip away.
You felt the warmth of his skin through the fabric of the t-shirt and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your temple.
“Thank you,” you murmured softly against his shoulder, closing your eyes for a brief moment.
A low, soft vibration rumbled faintly in his chest, barely noticeable at first. It took you a moment to realize what it was. Mychael was… purring. The gentle sound was warm and soothing, reverberating softly against your cheek where it rested against him.
You stilled slightly, startled by the unexpected sound.
“Are you… purring?” you asked, voice muffled slightly against his shoulder.
Mychael tensed. For a split second, he held his breath—as though he hadn’t meant for you to notice. But then, instead of pulling away, he gave a soft, self-conscious chuckle.
“Oh… I, um… yeah,” he admitted shyly. “I guess I do that sometimes…”
The vibration deepened slightly, a steady, rhythmic hum against your skin. It was strangely comforting—soothing, even—and you found yourself leaning further into him without thinking.
His hand, which had been resting lightly against your back, hesitated for only a moment before moving slowly upward. His fingers traced along your spine, featherlight, as though testing the contact. When you didn’t pull away, he grew bolder. Carefully, his hand slid upward, brushing along the nape of your neck. His fingertips caught in your hair, slowly threading through the strands.
You closed your eyes, savoring the unexpected tenderness of the gesture. His touch was so gentle, so reverent, it made your heart flutter. You could feel the slight, trembling exhale against your temple as he combed through your hair, slow and deliberate.
And then, his fingers grazed your cheek, softly brushing a stray lock of hair away. His touch lingered for just a moment longer than necessary. The roughness of his calloused fingers against your skin sent a delicate shiver down your spine.
When you finally pulled back slightly to meet his eyes, his hand stayed where it was, gently cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushed along your cheekbone once—slow, tender. His eyes softened, golden irises warm and searching, as if memorizing every detail of your face.
Your breath caught. The warmth of his hand, the low hum of his purring—it all made your head feel light, dizzy. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, but you barely noticed. All you could focus on was the way Mychael was looking at you—caught somewhere between awe and uncertainty.
And in that moment, something inside you shifted.
You didn’t think. You didn’t hesitate. You simply leaned in.
Your lips pressed against his, soft and hesitant at first. The kiss was barely more than a brush, featherlight and uncertain—like you were testing the waters, unsure if you were overstepping. But the moment your lips met his, you felt him still, his breath catching sharply against you.
For the briefest of seconds, he didn’t move.
And then he did.
A soft, shuddering exhale slipped from him, and before you could second-guess yourself, his hand slid further into your hair, his fingers tangling gently in the strands. His lips parted slightly, and the kiss deepened without either of you meaning to. It was still tentative, achingly tender, but you felt the hesitation slowly melt away.
You let out a shaky breath against his lips, and that was all it took for Mychael to pull you closer.
His tail was subtle at first—a featherlight touch trailing along your lower back. But then it curled more firmly around you, slowly winding around your waist and resting lightly along your hip.
The slender, smooth appendage coiled around you instinctively, almost as if he were afraid you might pull away. The pressure was gentle but steady, the faintest plea—don’t let go.
Without thinking, your hand drifted downward, fingertips grazing the tail. You gently stroked along its length, feeling the smoothness beneath your palm. The moment you did, you felt him shiver. A sharp, shaky breath escaped him, and he pressed a little closer, his grip on you tightening slightly.
His other hand slid over your waist, warm and steady, as the kiss grew more desperate.
What started off slow and hesitant became something deeper, more raw. Your fingers curled against his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself.
For a fleeting moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you—the warmth of his mouth against yours, the gentle rasp of his breath, and the faint, soothing vibration of his purring.
You weren’t sure which one of you pulled away first, but when your lips finally parted, neither of you moved.
Mychael’s forehead rested lightly against yours, his breathing unsteady, golden eyes still half-lidded with lingering awe. His hands remained on you, one still buried in your hair, the other trembling slightly against your waist.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You were both caught in the haze of it, staring at each other in stunned disbelief.
Finally, his voice came, barely a whisper.
“Oh, firefly…”
You blinked, your lips still tingling from the warmth of his. Your heart was pounding so loudly, you were sure he could hear it.
“I—I’m sorry,” you breathed, heat rushing to your cheeks. “I didn’t mean—”
But Mychael shook his head slowly, his eyes still wide with wonder. His breath came out uneven, and his voice—low and slightly rough—was barely above a whisper.
“Don’t be.”
His thumb traced lightly over your bottom lip, as though he were still trying to convince himself the kiss had really happened. His eyes softened, glowing warmly in the firelight, and then, almost longingly, he added,
“Please stay with me.”