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The air hums with the sounds of laughter and distant carnival music, a symphony of life unfolding around us. Colourful lights illuminate the plaza, casting a warm glow over the bustling crowd. The gentle breeze carries the scent of flowers, mingling with the lingering sweetness of spun sugar and caramel. It feels almost unreal—like stepping into a dream painted in hues of gold and twilight.
We walk slowly, retracing our steps through the festival, the rhythm of our movement unhurried and comfortable.
You inhale deeply, letting the coolness settle in your lungs, and murmur, “The air feels cooler now that it has the fragrance of flowers.”
Beside you, Xavier hums, amusement lacing his voice. “Or maybe it’s because the ice cream is too cold,” he counters, his ocean-blue eyes flicking toward you with a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’ve been breathing in a lot more.”
You roll your eyes, nudging him lightly. “I’m the problem here? Don’t blame the innocent ice cream cone.”
“Fair.”
The two of you continue walking, your steps unhurried as the lively sounds of the festival surround you. The glow of string lights bathes the cobbled paths in warm amber hues, their soft flickering creating a dreamlike haze. As you pass the craft fair again, something catches your eye—a once-brilliant star-shaped light now flickering weakly, its glow dim and exhausted.
“Xavier,” you say, slowing to a stop. “Your friend has gone on strike.”
He follows your gaze, a faint chuckle escaping his lips. “The carnival is busy and lively. It must be exhausted from working overtime.”
“No one’s there to recharge it. So of course, it couldn’t keep going.” You tilt your head slightly at his words, “Luckily, I have a charger.”
You glance at him with a raised eyebrow. “It sounds like you’re showing off,” causing him to chuckle lightly as you turn your attention back to the dimmed light.
Then, with a flick of his fingers, a tiny speck of light appears at his fingertips. It drifts lazily through the air, like a firefly waltzing in the night, before sinking into the broken star. A beat passes, then another—before the star’s glow slowly returns, its brilliance reigniting like a breath of life.
Just as you’re about to speak, Xavier leans in, his breath warm against your ear. His voice drops to a murmur, something soft and intimate meant only for you.
“I’m going to tell my close friend something,” he whispers, his words carrying a weight that lingers between you like the hush before a storm. “It’ll also be what I say to a star from a long, long time ago.”
The warmth of the restored light glows around him, tracing the sharp angles of his face, turning his navy eyes into liquid silver beneath its soft luminescence. He exhales slowly before finishing,
“Someday, someone will be there for him when he’s tired. They’ll be the support he can rely on.”
The world softens. The dazzling lights, the laughter, the distant music—they all fade into the background. For a fleeting moment, you’re lost. Lost in the way the glow bathes him in warmth, lost in the weight of his words as they settle deep within your chest.
Lost in him.
But then—
A sharp grunt, followed by the unmistakable splat of something hitting the pavement.
You blink, startled, the spell of quiet intimacy shattering as your gaze drops to the ground. A perfectly good scoop of ice cream now sits in a pitiful heap, a slow trickle of melted chocolate creeping across the cobblestone. A flustered puppet show staff member stammers out an apology, their face flushed with embarrassment.
Xavier exhales, staring down at the tragic loss with a resigned sort of disappointment. The once-towering dessert in his hand is now just a shadow of its former glory, reduced to a lopsided scoop clinging to the edges of his cone.
A pang of sympathy tugs at your chest. “You barely got a bite in… What a shame.”
You crouch down, reaching for a napkin to clean up the mess, but Xavier moves first. His long fingers pluck a nearby flier from a festival stall, and with a few quick folds, he places it over the fallen scoop.
He leans back, surveying his work, “Look,” he says, tone light and proud. “It’s Cone Crab.”
A startled laugh bursts from your lips, breaking through the tension. The bit of disappointment vanishes in an instant, dissolving like sugar in warm tea. You shake your head, your amusement mirrored in the crinkle of Xavier’s eyes as he grins.
“It is unfortunate,” he sighs dramatically, placing a hand over his heart as if mourning a great loss. “But we still have plenty of time left to make up for this setback.”
The easy warmth in his voice makes your chest feel strangely light, the remnants of the moment slipping away like the distant echoes of carnival music.
After tidying up, Xavier’s hands find your shoulders, his touch firm but gentle as he turns you away from the mess. His voice drops to something softer, something near your ear.
“You’ll miss the drone show if you keep looking down.”
The world tilts as you follow his guidance, lifting your eyes to the sky just as the first wave of silver streaks through the darkness.
Above you, the night sky comes alive. The drones weave luminous constellations against the vast darkness, their synchronized movements forming intricate patterns that shift and shimmer like celestial brushstrokes. Golds, silvers, and deep violets ripple across the heavens, a breathtaking dance of light and shadow.
Gasps of wonder ripple through the crowd, their voices blending into the hum of the festival—the distant chime of a game bell, the soft trill of laughter, the murmur of whispered awe. You reach for Xavier instinctively, wanting to share in this fleeting moment of magic.
But he doesn’t respond.
Confused, you turn—only to find him utterly absorbed in something else.
His ice cream cone.
Your breath catches as your gaze lingers on him. His fingers tighten around the waffle cone, his ocean-blue eyes distant, lost in idle thought as he takes a reverent bite. A lazy rivulet of melted chocolate dribbles onto his thumb, trailing down the length of his wrist, a dark contrast against his pale skin. He doesn’t notice at first.
A moment passes in wonder before the cold sensation registers and his hand lifts to his mouth, his tongue flicking out to chase the sweetness. Slow and Unhurried. The tip of his tongue skims over his wrist first, tracing the sticky trail upward, each movement deliberate, lazy, utterly unaware of its effect. He follows the path of melting chocolate with practised ease, the pink of his tongue disappearing between his lips as he laps up the last stray drop.
Then—without thinking—he parts his lips slightly, his mouth closing around his thumb. He sucks gently, catching every lingering taste before pulling away with a quiet, satisfied hum.
Your throat goes dry.
The vibrant carnival fades into nothing but a blur of flickering lights and distant noise, drowned out by the rush of heat pooling in your stomach. Every flick of his tongue, every slight movement of his lips—it’s intoxicating, devastating, and worst of all, completely unconscious.
A small, involuntary whimper escapes before you can stop it.
“Huh?” he blinks in confusion, drawn out of his one-minded focus on his delicious treat.
Noticing your gaze, his expression turns slightly sheepish, before you see the exact moment he registers it. His movements slow, deliberate now, a subtle shift that sends another wave of heat curling through you. Instead of looking at you, he lowers his gaze back to his ice cream, his lashes casting faint shadows against his cheekbones.
Then he tilts his wrist ever so slightly.
The change is barely noticeable, but you see it—the way the ice cream melts just a little faster, the way another drop forms, fat and glistening, before it begins its lazy descent down his skin.
And again, his tongue moves to catch it.
Only this time, he’s watching you.
The slow drag of his tongue, the deliberate flick as he laps up the melting dessert—it’s all intentional now, a silent challenge written in the deepening blue of his eyes. Every movement drips with quiet confidence, with an awareness that wasn’t there before.
Your breath catches.
The air between you thickens, charged with something electric, something heavy that coils low in your stomach. You don’t know when it happened, but the space separating you has shrunken as if gravity itself is pulling you closer. The distant murmur of the carnival fades, drowned out by the rapid pulse in your ears, the sharp inhale you barely manage to contain.
Xavier finally breaks the moment with a casual shrug, though the teasing glint in his gaze lingers. “You gave me this as a reward… Some of it’s already gone, so I can’t let the rest go to waste.”
You exhale shakily, willing yourself to breathe evenly. With what little composure you have left, you force a small smile and pull out a tissue, offering it to him with a slightly trembling hand.
“Is it good?”
He takes the tissue but doesn’t use it right away. Instead, he watches you as he responds, his voice slow and measured.
“It’s a little too sweet.”
Something about the way he says it makes your pulse stutter.
Before you can overthink it, you step forward, rising onto your tiptoes. Your heart pounds against your ribs, your body moving on instinct, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. The moment stretches, slows—until your lips brush softly against the corner of his mouth, stealing the lingering sweetness left behind.
His breath hitches.
“…You’re right,” you whisper, the words barely a breath against his skin. “It’s very sweet.”
Xavier stills, his entire body frozen in place, his lips slightly parted. His gaze locks onto yours, the teasing edge in his expression melting into something deeper, something unreadable.
“Why did you steal some of my ice cream?” he murmurs, his voice lower now, rougher.
“I was just trying to help you out.”
A flicker of amusement, of something darker, flashes across his face. His lips twitch into a mock pout. “It’s my reward, and that means it’s mine. You’re not allowed to steal it.”
You tilt your head, feigning thoughtfulness even as your heart hammers in your chest as he continues to speak. “But if you like it…” His voice softens, dropping just enough to match the tension thick in the air. “…I guess I can share some more with you.”
His shadow falls over you, eclipsing everything else, the glow of the carnival lights paling in comparison to the warmth radiating from him. The sky above swirls into a brilliant galaxy of colour, yet you no longer see it.
Your world narrows to the space between you—to the way his breath ghosts over your lips, the way his fingers twitch slightly at his side as if resisting the urge to reach for you.
His lips brush against yours, soft, tentative at first, like the last traces of sugar dissolving on your tongue. But then—deeper. A slow, lingering press, the kind that steals the air from your lungs and makes the ground beneath you feel weightless.
The world fades.
All that remains is him, the taste of chocolate lingering between you, the delicate warmth of his kiss sinking deep beneath your skin. The scent of chocolate and vanilla lingers between you, mixing with the faint floral breeze that drifts through the night air. The distant hum of the carnival, the occasional bursts of laughter, the flickering glow of neon lights—everything melts away until all that exists is this moment.
He tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss just enough to send another pulse of warmth flooding through your veins. His fingers, the ones that had been hesitating at his side, finally move. He touches you lightly at first, fingertips grazing your wrist before sliding up to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing against the curve of your cheek.
The tenderness in the gesture makes your breath catch, your heart stumbling over itself.
You respond instinctively, pressing closer, your own fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt. The warmth of him, the slow, teasing way he kisses you—it’s intoxicating. Like the first taste of something forbidden, something achingly sweet, something that leaves you wanting more even as it’s happening.
A cool gust of wind blows past, sending a shiver down your spine, but you hardly register it. Xavier does. You feel the moment his lips curve into a faint smile against yours before he finally—finally—pulls back just enough to look at you.
His sparkling eyes, darkened with desire, search yours. There’s a question there, unspoken yet unmistakable, his gaze flickering between your lips and your eyes as if memorising every detail.
You can barely breathe.
“…Too sweet?” you murmur, a teasing lilt in your voice, though it comes out softer than you intend.
Xavier exhales a quiet chuckle, his thumb still tracing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. “Still deciding,” he murmurs, voice lower, rougher. His gaze flickers downward again, then back up, something mischievous dancing in his expression. “Might need another taste to be sure.”
A blush creeps up your neck, but you hold his gaze, pulse fluttering like a caged bird. “Is that so?”
Instead of answering, he leans in again, slower this time, giving you the chance to pull away. You don’t. You tilt your head, meeting him halfway, and the moment his lips press against yours again, the world dissolves into colour and warmth and nothing exists except the soft caress of his lips and the press of his cold fingers against your heated cheeks.
The kiss is soft and lingering yes filled with unspoken desire. Each second stretches into something infinite as your lips meld today. He exhales against your lips lightly as you twist your head and you swear you can feel the world melt away around you.
"Mister!"
A sharp, high-pitched voice splinters the moment like fragile glass.
You and Xavier jolt apart, breathless, the lingering warmth of his touch still ghosting over your skin. The sudden rush of cool night air feels almost jarring after the heat simmering between you, and for a brief, dizzying second, the world tilts—too bright, too loud, too real.
Xavier’s hands hover where your face had just been, fingers curling slightly as if resisting the urge to reclaim the space between you.
"Mister!" The voice calls again, insistent and impatient.
Xavier blinks as if dragged forcefully from a trance. His shoulders stiffen, his breath hitching before he hastily lowers his arms, his ears now tinged with an unmistakable pink.
He whips around toward the source of the interruption, his expression shifting between confusion and reluctant acceptance. Only then does reality crash back in, sharp and unforgiving—you’re both standing in plain view, the carnival whirling around you in a kaleidoscope of golden lights and vibrant colours, a thousand eyes potentially watching.
Your pulse stutters, embarrassment creeping in.
His ocean-blue gaze lands on a small figure, standing barely at his waist. A little girl—no older than eight—stares up at him with wide, starry-eyed excitement.
Recognition dawns in his expression, followed quickly by a sheepish sort of hesitance. He clears his throat, shifting slightly, and you swear you can almost see the metaphorical sweat drop forming at his temple.
Caught.
In public.
By a child.
The girl beams, bouncing slightly on her toes, her tiny fists clenched into the fabric of her vibrant, floral dress. "Thank you for the ice cream!" she chirps, her voice high and breathless as if she had sprinted all the way just to tell him.
Her face glows with pure delight—rosy cheeks, bright, sparkling eyes—her entire demeanour radiating admiration. She looks at him as if he’s something out of a storybook, a gallant prince who had rescued her from a great plight instead of just… helping buy her friend a treat.
And suddenly, that warmth in your chest twists into something sharp, something unsettling.
From behind her, you spot her friend, the little boy from before, lagging a few steps behind. He stops just outside the glow of a nearby lantern, arms crossed, shifting impatiently from foot to foot. His expression screams let’s go already, clearly unimpressed by this detour.
Yet the little girl doesn’t seem to care. She sways slightly on her feet, hands clasped tightly behind her back, her entire body radiating a bashful sort of admiration for her newfound prince charming.
Just like that, a sharp, unexpected pang tightens in your chest at the way she looks at him—wide-eyed, hopeful, utterly enraptured.
You narrow your eyes slightly, lips pressing together as you take in the scene before you.
She looks at him like he’s the brightest star in the sky. Like he’s the hero of her little universe. Like he hung the moon and pulled the sun into orbit with his own two hands.
And you can’t blame her. Not really.
Because Xavier—bathed in the golden glow of carnival lights, his platinum hair catching the luminescence just right, a soft halo framing his sharp yet angelic features—does look like something out of a storybook. His sapphire eyes gleam, full of mirth and something wickedly unreadable, and the white fabric of his shirt makes him appear even more untouchable, like some ethereal being too beautiful to belong to this world.
But that’s your star. Your deepspace hero.
A ridiculous, utterly irrational feeling swells inside you, hot and impossible to ignore.
It’s absurd. Because she’s a child. A harmless, tiny child.
Xavier finally recovers from his brief moment of surprise, and a small, lopsided grin tugs at his lips—lazy, effortlessly charming, a grin that should be illegal in its perfection. And, of course, the girl melts for it.
Her cheeks flush an even deeper shade of pink as he crouches down to her height, his movements slow, deliberate, kind. His posture relaxed in a way that makes your stomach twist.
"You're welcome," he says, voice gentle, amused, entirely unbothered by the interruption.
(If it were anyone else, he would be seething. The pang inside you deepens.)
The little girl giggles, scuffing the toes of her shoes against the pavement, before blurting out in an almost breathless rush—
“You’re really handsome! Can you be my boyfriend!?”
Your eye twitches.
Xavier blinks. And then, to your absolute horror, he laughs.
Not just a chuckle, not a mere breath of amusement, but an actual, full, boyish laugh—the kind that makes his shoulders shake slightly, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the edges. The kind that should not be directed at anyone other than you.
And it only makes the girl blush brighter.
He rubs the back of his neck, muscles flexing ever so slightly at the movement, before tilting his head in that infuriatingly effortless way of his.
"That's…" he huffs another short laugh, "a pretty high compliment."
Your fingers tighten around the fabric of your sleeve.
His jacket. The one he gave you when you shivered from the cold.
The girl's eyes sparkle like she just won the lottery, practically bouncing on her toes as she exclaims, "You can be my prince!"
Your patience—much like the ice cream Xavier had been devouring before becoming distracted—is melting at an alarming rate.
Xavier finally looks at you, as if expecting you to swoop in and save him. But he misses the way your hardened gaze is fixed on him, on the traitorous smirk still tugging at the corner of his lips, on the way he’s definitely enjoying this way too much.
Fortunately for him (and perhaps for you, before you say something that would emotionally scar a child), the little boy groans—loudly, dramatically—clearly done with the situation.
He stomps forward and grabs the girl's wrist, giving it a sharp tug. "Let’s go, your mum’s waiting for us!"
The girl lets out a small, disappointed whine but allows herself to be pulled away. Still, as she stumbles after her friend, her flowery dress billowing slightly in the night breeze, she casts one final, longing glance over her shoulder—at your boyfriend.
A sigh escapes her, soft and dreamy, before she disappears into the sea of carnival-goers, her tiny heart undoubtedly still fluttering.
Xavier watches them go, the corner of his mouth twitching in clear amusement, but when he turns back to you, his smile falters. His gaze sharpens, tilting his head slightly as he takes in your expression.
Because you’re staring at him.
Not with amusement. Not with affection.
No.
You’re glaring at him like he’s just committed the gravest betrayal known to mankind.
His brows furrow. “…Are you… pouting?”
You scoff, whipping your head to the side. “No.”
His lips twitch—oh, he’s enjoying this.
A beat of silence. Then he steps closer, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him, the faint scent of sugar and spice lingering in the space between you. His voice drops, teasing and rich.
“You are.”
“I’m not.” (You’re absolutely pouting.)
He lets out a low hum, full of knowing amusement, and before you can react, his fingers brush along your jaw, catching your chin with deliberate gentleness. The heat of his touch burns through your skin as he tilts your head back, his sharp sapphire eyes flickering with mischief as he examines you.
Your lips. The undeniable pout. The way your brows have drawn together ever so slightly.
His thumb drags softly along your bottom lip, a whisper of pressure, the warmth of his skin stark against the cool night air.
“Are you jealous?”
You stiffen.
“No.”
It’s immediate. Too immediate.
And he knows.
He knows you too well—sees right through you with ease. Knows the way your emotions play out in the smallest details, in the subtle shift of your expression, in the way you can’t quite meet his gaze now.
He considers you for a moment, his smirk deepening ever so slightly. Then, slowly, he leans in.
His breath ghosts over your skin, his voice dipping into something lower, softer, meant only for you.
“It’s okay to be a little jealous…”
Your breath hitches.
His lips brush so close to yours that the world blurs, the distant hum of carnival chatter fading, the lights overhead nothing but a distant galaxy compared to the fire licking up your spine. “I like it.”
Your breath catches as you focus on the teasing glint in his gaze. You feel the thrum of tension between you as he resumes his task of leaving you breathless, the reminder of being in a bustling street forgotten as blurs of motion and laughter fade once more.
You still taste the sweetness of his lips and the remnants of your shared rewards.
