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The road to the trailhead was the kind that made you question everything, your friendships, your choices, the health of your borrowed SUV, and the structural integrity of your spine. It wound through the hills in lazy, deceptive curves, with potholes deep enough to qualify as minor sinkholes and gravel that sounded like it had personal beef with the tires.
“Whose idea was this again?” Beau groaned from the back seat, crammed between three overpacked backpacks, a bag of marshmallows slowly melting against her thigh, and one very smug-looking blue-haired girl who had claimed the window seat with unshakeable authority.
“Mine!” Jester chirped from next to her, sunglasses too big for her face and hair pulled back with a paint-splattered scrunchie. “Because we never spend time outdoors together anymore, and nature is healing, and camping is good for the soul!”
"But the bugs!" Beau exclaimed, her voice already filled with annoyance from being trapped in the car.
“It’ll be worth it,” Jester said brightly. “I brought cookies!”
“She means she brought cookies for Caleb,” Beau muttered darkly, slouched against the van window with a scowl that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “The rest of us are screwed.”
From the back row, Caleb didn’t argue. He was wedged in between a lopsided stack of sleeping bags and a cardboard box labeled ESSENTIALS that definitely only held wine and three hardcover books on fungal communication. Since their second near-miss with a deer and Jester’s third dramatic reading of the Whispering Pines Nature Trail Historical Pamphlet, he’d quietly taken a vow of silence, not out of irritation, but in quiet self-preservation.
He smiled faintly, eyes on the blur of trees racing past the window. His forehead rested against the glass, cool and grounding. He let Jester’s voice wash over the van like a particularly chaotic audiobook. She was now narrating the pamphlet as the ghost of a long-dead park ranger with unfinished business.
“Camping is just pretending you’re poor for fun,” Fjord muttered from the driver’s seat, eyes locked on the winding road ahead, knuckles a little tight on the wheel. “It’s poverty tourism with a marshmallow chaser.”
Caduceus turned his head from the middle row, where he sat peacefully cross-legged despite the seatbelt. He held a generous bag of trail mix in one hand and a small, crocheted mushroom plush in the other. “It’s not pretending,” he said gently. “It’s letting the universe teach you something. Like how beautiful it is to wake up with the sun. Or how to dig a latrine with dignity.”
“You and the universe can go dig a hole,” Beau grumbled. “Some of us are already poor.”
Yasha, tucked next to Caduceus with her knees awkwardly pressed against the seat in front of her, tilted her head thoughtfully. “I think it’s kind of nice. Being disconnected. Quiet. Honest.”
Beau gave her a look. “Yasha, you can bench press a bear. You are the wilderness.”
“And I don’t see a problem,” Yasha replied, cracking the faintest smile.
Veth, who had been rummaging through the snack bag like a raccoon with a grudge, finally emerged victorious with a half-melted chocolate bar. “I just want it noted that I only agreed to this trip because Jester promised s’mores, not spiritual awakening or whatever the hell Caduceus is on about.”
“I always deliver on s’mores,” Jester declared from the passenger seat, spinning around with alarming enthusiasm and nearly braining Fjord with her elbow. “And Caleb gets the first cookie because he’s the only one who didn’t complain when I read the entire ghost story section of the pamphlet!”
“I am not complaining,” Caleb said, eyes still on the trees. “I am surviving.”
“Same thing,” Beau muttered.
Yasha chuckled beside her, a quiet, low sound that always made Beau feel like someone had turned the volume down on the whole world. She had her long legs folded awkwardly under her, knees pressed against the seat in front of her and still looked completely at peace.
“You’ll love it,” she said. “Fresh air. Trees. No city noise.”
“No Wi-Fi,” Beau countered automatically.
“No distractions,” Yasha added, and turned to look at her, really look at her.
Beau’s brain hiccuped. Fully shut down. Whatever internal monologue she’d been building about overpriced REI gear and the futility of camping collapsed into static. Then the car hit a bump and Jester’s neon-pink water bottle clonked Beau in the knee, and the moment shattered like cheap glass. “Fuck,” Beau muttered, shifting the marshmallows and trying to act like she hadn’t just short-circuited because a beautiful woman said one (1) meaningful thing.
Jester giggled. “It’s a blessed water bottle. I drew a duck on it.”
“Quack,” Caleb murmured from the backseat of the other car, not looking up.
By the time they reached the trailhead, the car smelled like warm sugar and foot sweat. The clouds were gathering. And none of them were ready. But they were going.
And nature?
Nature had no idea what was coming.
Day One
The tents went up… eventually.
Sort of.
What began as an enthusiastic group effort quickly devolved into half-hearted teamwork, misread instructions, and at least one minor rope-related injury (Fjord, who swore he had it under control until his pinky got caught in the "self-tightening" guyline). Jester claimed the “tent pairing assignments” were drawn randomly, pulling scraps of paper from a bright teal fanny pack with suspicious ceremony. But everyone side-eyed her when she ended up with Caleb, and Beau was mysteriously assigned to Yasha.
Beau squinted up at the sky like it had personally conspired against her. “You good?” Fjord asked, trying not to laugh as he shook out his own tent beside Veth, who had already unpacked two collapsible wine cups and was searching for her bottle opener with surgical precision.
“No,” Beau said flatly.
Yasha didn’t complain. She never did. She just knelt beside Beau, her hair loose over one shoulder, and gently helped hammer the last stake into the rocky ground. Her arms flexed with the motion. Beau absolutely did not stare. “If the ground’s too hard, we can angle it differently,” Yasha offered. “Or… here, I’ve got an extra pad. You can take it.”
“I don’t need princess bedding,” Beau muttered, too quick, too defensive. Yasha nodded like that made perfect sense and said nothing.
When nightfall came Jester was loudly insisting that the constellations were “different out here in the wild,” her voice bright with conviction. Caleb, ever patient, gently corrected her, explaining, in soothing German-accented tones, that the stars didn’t rearrange themselves just because they’d driven an hour outside the city. But he still helped her arrange their battery-powered fairy lights in the shape of a heart above their tent anyway.
Fjord and Veth were deep in a heated debate about how many hot dogs were “too many” for one person to eat in a single sitting. Veth, already three dogs in, declared there was no legal limit. Caduceus sat a little ways off on a half-rotted stump, sipping tea from a battered thermos and staring up at the tree canopy like it was speaking directly to him. Maybe it was. No one questioned it.
The tents were crooked. The fire pit was a mess. The logs were damp, the kindling suspect. And still… something about the whole scene worked. The sky above was a velvet blur; stars scattered like sugar. The air smelled like pine and smoke and those weird cinnamon trail mix things Jester had brought in bulk. The only sounds were laughter, the occasional crack of a stick underfoot, and the soft hush of wind in the trees; not enough to be cold, just enough to make everything feel alive.
Beau had been reluctant about the whole trip from the beginning. She didn’t do the woods. Or camping. Or sleeping within mosquito-biting distance of other people. But Jester had asked, with wide eyes and a hopeful grin and a too-sweet "Come on, Beau, pleeease?" and Beau had never once in her life figured out how to say no to that.
She’d told herself she was coming to keep the group from falling apart without supervision. But now, sitting on a folding stool half-listening to Fjord’s fire-building monologue and watching fairy lights glow in the dark, she was starting to feel… glad.
Not that she’d ever admit it out loud. Veth passed around a suspicious-looking six-pack of canned cocktails labeled ‘Sunset Spritz’ and promised they were “basically classy juice.” Jester immediately added tiny paper umbrellas she’d smuggled in her toiletry bag. Caleb tried to teach her how to toast a marshmallow “like a civilized person,” which ended with Jester setting hers ablaze and cackling like a feral gremlin while Caleb dramatically shielded himself from the flames.
Beau watched the chaos from her seat near the edge of the circle, half-shadowed by firelight, the soft hum of voices wrapping around her like a blanket she hadn’t realized she needed. Her gaze drifted to Yasha, who sat cross-legged beside the fire, poking gently at the embers with a stick. The light danced across her face, catching in the curve of her jaw, the silver strands of her hair, the quiet stillness she always carried like armor.
Beau’s chest did that strange, too-full thing again. She looked away before Yasha could catch her staring. Swallowed the feeling down. She was used to pushing things away. But tonight, it didn’t feel quite as easy. The fire crackled. Someone passed her a marshmallow. Someone else laughed too loudly. And Beau, despite herself, smiled. Maybe things were going terribly. But also… kind of perfectly.
Later, when everyone was brushing their teeth with headlamps and complaints. Yasha stepped away to rinse her mouth by the creek, and Beau stood at the tent entrance alone. She looked at the two rolled-up sleeping bags. One was thin and scratchy. The other was soft, memory foam, if that was a thing that still worked in nature and smelled faintly of lavender and whatever soap Yasha used.
Beau hesitated for maybe half a second. Then she dropped her toothbrush, muttered “shut up, it's just logistics,” and claimed the soft one with all the stealth of someone committing a federal crime. By the time Yasha came back, Beau was already cocooned inside it, facing the tent wall.
“You good?” Yasha asked, quietly.
“Fine,” Beau mumbled.
Yasha didn’t press. She just slid into the other bag, zipped up, and lay there in the dark, maybe smiling. Maybe not.
--
Day Two
Jester organized a hike. Veth, in protest, organized a counter-hike with the express purpose of finding frogs and “avoiding cardio.” Somehow, without anyone really noticing, they became the same hike. a meandering, chaotic trek through sun-dappled woods and questionable trail markings.
Fjord led for a while with the earnest confidence of someone trying to prove he was “outdoorsy,” until he took a wrong turn and looped them in a circle. Caduceus gently corrected the route without comment. Caleb insisted on narrating each species of mushroom they passed. Jester added glitter to the trail signs “for navigation,” which Caleb diplomatically chose not to notice.
Beau trailed at the back of the group, arms crossed, hood up even though it was too warm for it. Not sulking, exactly. Just… hanging back. Like if she stayed half a step removed, she could keep her cool. Keep the day in check. Yasha, halfway up the line, glanced back. And slowed her pace. “Hey,” she said as she fell in beside Beau, long legs matching her stride easily.
Beau arched a brow. “Hey.”
“You hate this,” Yasha said, grinning.
Beau scowled, kicking a stick off the trail. “It’s not that I hate it. I just… don’t get the appeal. Bugs. Dirt. Trees trying to kill you.”
“They’re just trees.”
“Exactly. They’re suspiciously quiet.”
Yasha laughed, low and warm and easy and Beau, without meaning to, smiled. Just a little. The sun filtered through the trees, catching in Yasha’s hair. Her braid had started to come loose from the hike, a few strands clinging to her temple. Beau looked away before her brain could start comparing Yasha’s profile to some kind of forest goddess. They kept walking in companionable silence. Every now and then, Jester’s voice carried from up ahead, exclaiming over a leaf or a squirrel or yet another rock that she was absolutely convinced was a fossilized gnome toe. Beau didn’t mind the noise. Not with Yasha beside her, quiet and steady.
Eventually, they reached the overlook. It wasn’t marked; just a clearing where the trees gave way to sky, and the land fell out beneath them in a wide, golden sprawl of grass and wildflowers. The wind moved through it like breath, soft and sweeping, turning the whole valley into rippling silk. Beau stood at the edge, letting it hit her. All that space. All that color. Yasha tapped her shoulder and pointed. “Look.”
Beau followed her gesture. “It’s kind of beautiful,” she admitted, surprised by how true it felt to say it out loud.
“I thought you’d like it,” Yasha said softly.
Beau turned to her. Yasha was already looking. The air between them felt different… still but charged. Like something was leaning forward, waiting. Beau’s heart did something stupid.
“Fjord fell in the creek!” Caleb’s voice rang through the trees, followed by a splash and Veth’s cackling laughter. The moment snapped like a twig.
Jester immediately shouted, “Did you save the snacks?!”
Beau blinked, stepped back. Yasha smiled , rueful, quiet and tilted her head toward the others. “We should probably go check.”
Beau nodded, trying not to feel disappointed. But even as they turned away from the view, her fingers brushed Yasha’s hand. Just for a second.
And Yasha didn’t pull away.
--
That night they played Truth or Dare around the fire. Terrible idea. Jester called it a bonding exercise. Caleb called it juvenile. Veth called it “exactly the kind of chaos this group deserves.”
The fire crackled low as they passed around what remained of the canned cocktails. Someone had replaced the marshmallows with gummy bears. Everyone was too warm, too tired, and just drunk enough to ignore good judgment. Jester dared Fjord to recite his high school poetry. He refused. Then relented. Then delivered a dramatic reading of a piece titled “Oceans Are Metaphors (And So Am I),” which nearly made Caleb choke on his drink.
Caleb leaned forward, eyes glinting behind the firelight. “Beauregard. I dare you to admit if you’ve ever kissed someone in this group.”
Beau snorted. “Easy.” She jerked a thumb toward Jester. “Her.”
There was a beat of stunned silence. Then Jester gasped dramatically. “Beau! That was one time!”
“Twice,” Beau said, grinning.
Veth nearly dropped her drink. “What? When?!”
“Couple years ago. Some dumb drinking game. We were both very competitive.” Beau took a long drink and added, “She dared me first.”
Jester was full-body laughing now. “Oh my gods, I did! And you didn't even hesitate!”
“Why would I?” Beau shrugged. “You’re hot.”
Fjord looked like he wasn’t sure what dimension he was in. Caduceus offered him a marshmallow. Yasha looked amused but unsurprised.
“Okay,” Veth said, clapping her hands. “New rule. If anyone else has kissed anyone in this group and hasn’t said anything, now’s the time.”
Beau raised an eyebrow. “You want a spreadsheet?”
“Honestly?” Veth said, grinning as she wiggled her marshmallow stick over the flames. “We’d need one.”
Fjord groaned. “Please don’t start cataloguing who’s kissed who.”
“Oh, we already know most of it,” Jester sing-songed, nudging Caleb with her knee. “We’re very emotionally evolved.”
“Or extremely repressed,” Beau muttered.
Veth ignored them all. “Let’s just say some of us have been friends a long time. Things happen. Drinks get involved. Feelings get weird. You know. Anyway…” She turned on Jester with sudden delight. “Okay, Jester. I dare you to whisper the filthiest thing you’ve ever said to Caleb, right now, in front of the fire.”
“Ooooh, scandalous,” Jester crooned, eyes lighting up with delight. She turned toward Caleb, perched cross-legged beside her, and leaned in slowly, deliberately. Her smile was wide, wicked, and utterly unapologetic. Her lips brushed the shell of his ear as she whispered something too quiet for anyone else to hear; a few syllables, maybe more. Whatever it was, it turned Caleb to stone. His entire body went rigid. Then his face flushed, deeply, spectacularly, like a sunset crashing into a wildfire.
He didn’t speak. Couldn’t, maybe. Jester leaned back, looking unbearably pleased with herself, and took a dainty bite of her s’more. “Your move, Brenatto.”
“Unfair,” Fjord muttered. “That’s a war crime.”
Caduceus calmly passed Caleb a glass of water without comment. Beau just cackled. And then it was Yasha’s turn. She didn’t hesitate. Her voice was quiet, steady in that way that made people shut up and listen. “Truth.”
Jester lit up like Christmas morning. “Oooh, okay! Um… do you like anyone here?”
A chorus of teasing hums went around the fire, mock gasps, snickers, expectant glances. But Yasha didn’t laugh. She didn’t look down or away. She looked directly at Beau. “I do,” she said.
Everything stilled; the wind, the fire, the breath in Beau’s lungs. A single beat of silence stretched, taut and pulsing. Then Jester squealed, clapping like she’d just won the jackpot. “I knew it!”
Veth whooped. Fjord raised his eyebrows, impressed. Caleb said something in German that sounded suspiciously like “endlich.”
Beau didn’t move. Her expression didn’t change, not exactly. Not visibly. Then she muttered, “Gonna need more wine.”
She stood up too fast, brushing dirt off her jeans like it had personally offended her. “Getting some air. Don’t follow me.”
She didn’t look back. The fire crackled. Jester turned to Yasha, eyes wide and shimmering with gossip-fueled glee. “So… how long?”
Yasha just smiled softly, watching the darkness where Beau had gone, and waited five minutes before following her. She found Beau sitting near the treeline, just out of sight of the fire, elbows on her knees, picking at a leaf like it had personally wronged her.
Yasha didn’t say anything right away. Just sat down beside her, not too close. The silence between them was thick, not awkward, just full. Like the air after a storm that never quite arrived.
“So,” Beau said. “You do?”
“I do,” Yasha said again, quieter.
Beau cleared her throat. “You meant me?”
Yasha nodded, her voice soft. “I did.”
Beau exhaled hard through her nose. “Cool. Great. I’m… not great at this.”
Yasha’s smile was gentle. “Then we can be not-great together.”
The air held. The night rustled quietly around them. Then Yasha said, voice barely a whisper, like she was giving something away: “I want to kiss you so bad.”
Beau looked up sharply. Her voice cracked just slightly. “I want to kiss you so bad. I was about to ask you.”
They both leaned in, slow and almost clumsy with caution, the kind of moment you don’t want to rush. Their lips met gently, and it wasn’t a big kiss. No sweeping gestures. Just warmth. C ontact. Permission. From the campfire, Jester’s delighted shriek echoed through the woods. They broke apart, laughing into each other’s shoulders. “She’s never gonna let this go,” Beau murmured.
Yasha smiled. “Let her try.”
--
Later, back at the tent, things got... weirder.
Beau unzipped the tent slowly, ducked inside, and paused when she saw that only one sleeping bag was rolled out. Yasha was already in it, curled on her side, eyes open in the low glow of the camp lantern.
Beau blinked. “Hey. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t,” Yasha said quickly, pushing herself up on one elbow. “I was just lying here. Wanted to make sure you got back okay.”
Beau nodded, then looked around. “Where’s the second bag?”
Yasha gave a small, sheepish shrug. “Thought you weren’t coming back for a while. It’s in the corner, still rolled. I can…”
“No, it’s fine,” Beau said, already half-kneeling, trying to work out where she could reasonably sleep in the cramped space. Yasha hesitated, then gave a tiny smile. “Unless you want to shnuggle.”
Beau froze. “…Did you just say shnuggle?”
Yasha winced. “I did. That was a joke. A bad joke. I don’t know why I...forget it.”
Beau snorted. “Gods, you're a menace.”
She started unrolling the second sleeping bag in the corner, muttering under her breath as she maneuvered around Yasha’s legs. “Sorry,” Yasha said, voice soft. “It’s tight in here.”
“Yeah, well. You take up a lot of room for someone so emotionally repressed.”
Yasha laughed, quiet and a little shy. “Fair.”
They settled into place, awkwardly facing opposite directions.
“Beau?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. For not judging me.”
Beau rolled over, eyes catching the faint outline of Yasha’s face in the dark. “Oh, have you seen me?” she said dryly. “I’m basically a walking disaster. No judgment here.”
Yasha was quiet for a moment. “I’ve seen you.” A pause. “I’ve seen you a lot.”
Beau’s breath hitched. “…Yeah,” she said, voice low. “Same.”
They didn’t touch. Didn’t speak again. But neither of them stopped smiling. And somehow, even with pine needles in her spine and someone (probably Veth) snoring in the next tent over, Beau fell asleep feeling steady.
--
Day Three
Morning came too early.
The sun was too bright. The birds were too enthusiastic. Beau blinked awake to the muffled sounds of Caleb and Jester arguing about whether powdered eggs should count as a war crime. She stayed in her sleeping bag for a full ten minutes, staring at the roof of the tent like it might offer instructions for how to exist.
Because here’s the thing: they’d kissed. Beau and Yasha. They’d kissed. And now it was morning, and they were still in the middle of the woods, and nothing had technically changed, except also, everything had. She sat up and rubbed at her face, hair sticking out at every angle. Through the slightly open tent flap, she saw Yasha crouched near the fire pit, making coffee. She looked… annoyingly serene. Like she always did. Like kissing Beau in the woods and walking away from it like it hadn’t happened was just something she did.
Beau fumbled her boots on, zipped up her hoodie, and tried not to overthink it. Spoiler: she overthought it.
By the time she approached the fire, the others were mid-breakfast. Veth had somehow acquired instant pancakes. Caduceus was gently steeping pine needles in a mug “for grounding.” Jester waved and wiggled her eyebrows as soon as she saw Beau, then very conspicuously looked at Yasha, then back at Beau. Beau flipped her off, and Jester grinned like she’d just won a bet. Beau sat down on a log next to Yasha. Not too close. Yasha handed her a tin mug of black coffee. “Thanks,” Beau said.
Yasha nodded. “Of course.”
They sat in silence for a minute, the group’s chatter buzzing in the background. Someone was talking about haunted trail signs. Someone else was threatening to throw Caleb’s instant oatmeal into the fire. Beau cleared her throat. “Hey,” she said, quiet enough that it didn’t carry.
Yasha turned toward her. “Hey.”
Beau fiddled with the edge of her sleeve. “Do you want to… like… go on a date or something?”
There was a beat. Then… Yasha smiled; soft, startled, like the sun rising over her own face. “Um,” she said. “Yes. Of course.”
Beau looked at her, half-grinning, half-nervous. “Yeah? Okay. Cool. I just… I never, like, do anything the right way. So, I figured maybe with this, I should just go like… start from the beginning, you know?”
Yasha nodded, listening.
“We didn’t really start, you know?” Beau said, fidgeting with the sleeve of her hoodie. “Like… we almost started, and then we had the whole ‘you ghosted me for two months’ situation, which, not a total dealbreaker, but also not, like, ideal. And now… now I think we kind of need a second shot. A clean beginning.”
Yasha’s eyes crinkled. “I would love that more than anything.”
“Okay,” Beau said, exhaling like she hadn’t realized she was holding her breath.
“And just…” Yasha began, then paused, rubbing the back of her neck. “I feel weirdly happy and excited in this… really weird place. But… wow, I feel really good.”
Beau laughed under her breath. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I think I just always thought that when you start acting weird or stupid around someone, and then you’re like, ‘why can’t I just act normal?’ that it means something’s wrong. But… I think I like you, Beau.”
Beau blinked, smile tugging at the edge of her mouth. “Yeah. I like you a lot, too.”
They looked at each other for a long moment. Just looked. Let the noise of their friends, laughter, bickering, someone shouting about burnt marshmallows blur into the background. “If we survive this camping trip… want to go on a real date when we get back?” Yasha said, voice soft, a little shy.
Beau grinned. “If we survive.”
They clinked their coffee mugs together like a toast, steam curling in the chilly morning air. Everything smelled like woodsmoke, damp pine needles, and the last dregs of burnt espresso.
It was their last full day at camp, and no one seemed in a hurry to leave.
They spent the morning lingering by the fire pit, wrapped in hoodies and shared blankets, trading lazy conversation and the last half-stale cinnamon rolls. Veth tried to make a slingshot out of a bungee cord and a spork. Caleb read from the Complete Works of Emily Dickinson he’d inexplicably packed. Fjord swore he saw the frog again and nearly dropped his thermos. Caduceus braided flowers into everyone's hair, except Beau’s, she claimed she was too cool for that, but didn’t take the daisy crown off once it was placed gently on her head.
By late afternoon, someone suggested one last hike, just the short trail by the ridge. They didn’t speak much on the way up, just walked in loose pairs and shifting configurations, the quiet punctuated by laughter when Jester tripped over a root and accused the forest of being jealous of her outfit. Beau ended up beside Yasha, their arms brushing occasionally as they climbed. Neither moved away. At the top, they sat on a wide rock ledge and watched the sun start to dip. Everything turned gold and soft, like the whole forest was exhaling. Fjord and Veth threw pinecones at each other. Caleb pretended to be annoyed but took mental notes for a poem. Beau leaned back on her hands, legs stretched out, content. Yasha sat beside her, knees pulled up, hoodie sleeves pushed to her elbows.
They didn’t talk. They didn’t have to. They sat in the silence. Until it was time to go back.
The hike down was quieter than the way up, not in a heavy way, just the kind of quiet that settles after something good. Golden hour turned to blue, and someone started a playlist on their phone, tinny music echoing between the trees. Fjord offered to carry Caleb’s bag. Veth tried to steal a pinecone from the ridge as a “souvenir” and tripped halfway down the slope. Jester insisted the forest was flirting with her. Beau rolled her eyes. Yasha smiled.
By the time they made it back to camp, the light was low, and the fire had been restoked. Someone had pulled out the last bag of marshmallows. There was peace to the moment, a calm kind of tired, like the whole day had been one long exhale. Until Jester broke the peace, barreling into the campsite with an armful of bottle caps, glitter glue, and ribbon. “Camp Nein Survival Badges!” she announced proudly. “Because everyone here has either kissed someone, cried a little, or almost been eaten by a frog!”
She passed them out one by one, each badge chaotic and lovingly handcrafted. Veth’s had googly eyes and three mismatched buttons. Caleb’s had a tiny paper book glued on and smelled faintly of lavender. Fjord’s was just a frowny face with jagged foam lightning bolts. Caduceus got a string of pressed flowers. Yasha’s was a simple black star with silver paint streaks. Beau’s was crooked and covered in blue glitter, the B was backwards, and the ribbon frayed at the edges.
She pinned it to her hoodie without a word.
“You’re wearing it?” Jester beamed.
“Hell yeah, I’m wearing it,” Beau said, brushing glitter off her pants. “I survived, didn’t I?”
They all laughed, loud, messy, overcaffeinated. Someone threw a marshmallow. Fjord hit his head on the trunk trying to duck. It was a perfect ending, in the way that endings rarely are.
Beau wore the badge all the way back to the city. Yasha didn’t say anything about it. She just reached across the car’s center console an hour into the drive, slow and steady, and laced their fingers together like it wasn’t a big deal. Beau looked down at their hands, at the quiet curve of Yasha’s thumb resting against hers. She squeezed back. And for once; no spiraling thoughts, no overanalyzing, no panicked retreat behind sarcasm, she just let herself feel it.
Warm. Solid. Easy. Like the start of something.