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“Do you come here often?”
Lauma had no time to startle when a figure stepped out from the shadows and stood next to her. Processing his words took only a moment, and she struggled to hold in her laughter by the next.
“It’s my first time visiting, actually,” she lied, coyly intertwining her arm with his. “Show me around?”
“My pleasure,” Flins replied, gentlemanly as ever.
The wind around them stilled as they walked the familiar grounds of the Final Night Cemetery. Many would find this particular setting too intimidating for casual visits, but it was Flins’ home, and Lauma wouldn’t dare shun a place that meant so much to him. His friends had been buried here, their resting place tended to by his warm, gentle hands.
Fire seeped further into her side as they continued along the flower-laden paths. Flins always ran hotter than she did, and it had taken countless long conversations deep into the night to find out why. What, exactly, he was and where he came from.
It saddened her, if she were to be honest with herself. Flins was no ordinary human; that much she knew before ever speaking to him, but he rarely spoke freely about himself anyhow. Part of her had initially thought that perhaps he felt he wasn’t allowed to, just as she had kept many burdens to herself over the years. Most duty-bound individuals were not too terribly different, after all.
Of course, later she had learned that Flins was simply a private person. He kept everything he cared about close to himself. Information, eye-catching trinkets, his emotions. Her, eventually.
It wasn’t unusual in Nod-Krai for people from all corners of the isles to be more guarded than the rest of Teyvat’s population. Not that it stopped an odd sort of delight from singing through her veins, the knowledge that she was special to him.
Suddenly, something wet brushed against her right antler, a light pressure before pulling away.
Flins’ voice rumbled close to her ear, “Mind telling me what’s got the pretty lady so distracted?”
…
“Did you just lick me?”
The fae bursts into bright laughter, an uncommon and mischievous sound spilling from his lips. Lauma is captivated, never daring to look away from the enigmatic man she has grown to love.
He settles back into his composure easily enough and offers her a knowing smile. “It got your attention, didn’t it?”
“You always have my attention,” Lauma sighed into his shoulder. “I was thinking about you, anyway.”
“I’m right here,” he reassures.
As they circle back to the entrance, she shuffles them closer to the edge of the water, peering into the calm waves and confronting their reflections.
They look peaceful. Happy, in a way Lauma hadn’t truly felt since assuming her position of Moonchanter. Not that her job was unfulfilling or unwanted, but the constant presence at her side settled a deep contentment in her bones, much like the way a plant roots itself into the ground.
She turns to face the real Flins, his shape illuminated by the diffused light of the moon above. He always looks ethereal in the night, when they are free from the rest of the world for just a moment. A pocket in time where the both of them can hide.
“You’re beautiful.” The confession comes tumbling out of her, the syllables awkward around her unbidden nerves. She would be ashamed at her display of ungracefulness if this were to happen under the light of day, but the veil of darkness wrapped around them tells her she is safe.
Flins steps closer, impossibly closer, and softly brushes the hair out of her face. He drinks in the sight of her, slowly, and from this distance, Lauma realizes that she was wrong. Flins’ eyes aren’t single-toned—his irises are ringed in a deeper shade of gold that melts into her memory.
“I’m glad you’re here with me,” he replies, giving her another little smile she feels eternally grateful to receive.
“Me too,” is all she says before leaning in to kiss him with only the moon and its swaying ocean as their witness.