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The sun had set an hour ago, but the path ahead of them is still lit, faintly, softly, by the residual heat in the sky and the warm rhythm of crickets chirping. Jesse adjusts the strap of her satchel as she walks, shoulder brushing Petra’s every few steps. The road is narrow, half-overgrown, instilling the kind of peace that makes conversation feel like an intrusion.
Jesse can hear the crunch of gravel under Petra’s boots beside her, but she doesn’t look over; she doesn’t need to. Their hands are already laced together, swinging slightly between them in a rhythm that matches their pace.
Petra’s thumb occasionally brushes over the back of Jesse’s hand, grounding them both in the quiet stretch of road they’ve chosen to walk instead of making camp just yet. They aren’t in a rush.
The dirt trail they’re following used to be part of an old farming route, if the barely-visible cart ruts are anything to go by. It curves gently through low-rolling woods, framed by wild hedges and brush that had long since reclaimed the edges. There’s no destination in mind, just a desire to be, to exist outside of obligation, to enjoy the warmth of late summer fading into early fall.
All of this pulls them both out of their roles back home, as well. No Mayoral duties, no disputes among townspeople (Jesse always makes Petra handle those). Here, they’re just Petra and Jesse. Two people who’ve snuck off for no other reason than to be alone together.
Jesse tilts her head back to look at the sky. It still holds the afterglow of sunset, a slow-burning orange fading into violet. She smiles softly at the sight, then squeezes Petra’s hand, a quiet little gesture that says: this is nice. I’m glad we did this.
And then the fireflies start to rise.
They come from the bushes first; dim, barely there sparks that Jesse notices out of the corner of her eye. Then more. They float upward like they’ve been summoned, lifting into the air in a slow, synchronized, blinking ascent. The whole trail begins to shimmer.
“Oh… wow,” Jesse whispers, her breath catching like she didn’t mean to say it out loud. She stops walking. “Petra, look.”
Petra turns mid-step, her eyes following the motion Jesse had stilled for. Her brow creases, then softens, and then she smiles. “Woah,” she says as she takes everything in, voice low, “that’s...I’ve never seen anything like that before.”
“Yeah,” Jesse’s smile is awestruck. “Me neither.”
They stand like that for a moment, surrounded by glowing lights, drifting in gentle pulses around them. Jesse can feel the warmth emanating from them, both in the air and in the way Petra presses closer to her.
“It’s like they’re dancing,” Jesse murmurs.
At that, Petra tilts her head, then looks at her. Really looks at her.
And Jesse sees it, then. That shift. The soft but decisive tilt in Petra’s posture, like a switch had been flipped inside her. She takes a half step closer. “You okay?” Jesse asks with a teasing lilt to her voice.
Petra smiles. “Yeah,” she answers. “Was just thinking that they’re not the only things dancing.”
Jesse curls an eyebrow. “What?” She laughs quietly, caught off guard. “What does that even mean?”
Petra shrugs, but her smile deepens. “Your eyes. You’ve got that look again.”
Jesse’s cheeks warm at that. Petra is always such a charmer. “What look?”
“That one you get when you’re about to get all hopelessly romantic on me.”
Blinking rapidly and visibly flustered, Jesse huffs, rolling her eyes with feigned annoyance. “I was literally just admiring the fireflies, Petra.”
“Mhm.” Petra’s voice dips lower, more teasing now. “And I was ‘literally just’ admiring you.”
That stops Jesse for a moment. Not in a bad way. Just in that way Petra sometimes elicits on the rare occasions that she decides to be bold. Jesse looks up at her, eyes catching on the amber light behind Petra’s hair, on the scar on her jaw, on the little half-smile that she always seems to have (unless Ivor’s pissing her off).
Eventually, Jesse glances down at their joined hands, her heart racing a bit faster. The fireflies, the peace and quiet, the girl that she loves with her entire being standing beside her…it all feels so surreal. “I feel like I’m dreaming right now,” she laughs, somewhat breathless.
Petra laughs too. “You’re not.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” Petra says softly, leaning in, “in my dreams, I don’t usually ask if I can kiss you.”
Jesse’s breath hitches. “You don’t have to ask now, either.”
And so, gently, lovingly, Petra closes the distance and kisses her.
Maybe it’s the glow of the dimming sunset, or the scent of summer grass, or the stillness of the woods nearby…but Jesse swears she’s never been kissed like this before.
It’s like Petra’s been waiting for the world to be quiet enough to finally do this. Even though they’ve already kissed plenty of times. Like there’s nothing else she’d rather be doing than touching Jesse like this.
When they pull apart, neither of them say anything. Not for a long moment.
Then Petra looks at her with a coy little glint in her eye. “How’s that for romantic?”
Jesse laughs beneath a scoff. “I thought you didn’t plan stuff like this,” she teases, voice still a little breathless.
“I don’t, and I didn’t.” Petra admits with a bashful little grin. “I just… kinda felt like it, I guess.”
Jesse gazes up at her girlfriend fondly. “Well,” she then takes a step, beginning to walk again. “I’d say it was pretty romantic. Ten out of ten.”
And so they keep walking, fingers intertwined, under a darkening sky sprinkled with slow, pulsing light.
“I learned from the best.”