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Everything that could go wrong did go wrong.
The plans began early in the week. It was then that Quirrel had an inkling of how he wanted to celebrate his and Hornet’s one-year wedding anniversary. Visions of a grand dinner and a romantic, candle-lit evening by their hearth with a shared bottle of nectar flitted through his mind while brainstorming. He had loved the idea so much that it was the only thing he could think of doing on such a special day— but, he thought slyly, it should be a surprise. Much like his proposal, which he could proudly say made the stone-cold Hallownest princess shed a few solitary tears.
It was one of his crowning achievements in their relationship. And he planned to make this anniversary his next jewel.
And so the grand plan was set in motion, but the first step was to make sure that Hornet was none the wiser. When she asked him a week before their anniversary what they should do for such a momentous occasion, he had replied simply and without much ceremony.
“Maybe just a night in,” he said. The disappointment on her face was palpable and a mite painful, and yet Quirrel reminded himself that it was all for the sake of the surprise. She would be much happier once the day rolled around and he could unveil all that he had been concocting just for her.
“If that is what you wish,” she replied, turning over in bed. She pulled the covers over her shoulders and refused to roll over into Quirrel’s arms, which he probably should have taken as a sign that this was a bad idea.
He took that night in stride, though, even when Hornet’s chilly attitude continued into the morning and the next day. While she spent the week out and about, busy with Hallownest’s renewal, Quirrel disappeared into the kingdom in search for ingredients for their dinner. From ceiling to ground, from Greenpath to the Hive, he harvested every single thing from each nook and cranny he could spot.
There was only one slight problem— and it was a very slight one, indeed, for Quirrel knew that if he put his mind to anything, he could do it— which was that he couldn’t really cook well. His cooking was perfectly adequate and enough to feed a starving bug, but he wouldn’t have called it 5-star. Even Hornet herself preferred making the meals as opposed to eating his, which was only minutely offensive considering that she was just as bad a chef as he was.
But that didn’t matter, did it? As long as the ingredients were fresh, the palette was clean, and he put all of his love into it, the meal would be delicious beyond comparison.
This was the second sign that he should have scrapped this plan while it was still in its infancy. Alas, Quirrel did not listen to that sign, and continued trekking on.
The day of their anniversary came around, and Quirrel had all of his ingredients prepared. The general idea of his dinner was a steak, salad and soup, which would all be topped off with a bottle of divine nectar. Unfortunately, things began to go completely wrong the moment Quirrel turned on the stove and thought to himself, where do I start?
Hornet wasn’t sure what to make of it. Her husband, the most romantically-inclined, affectionate, and overly sappy bug she had ever known, didn’t want to do anything for their anniversary.
It was boggling, to be completely honest. And a little infuriating. For all they had endured together to find happiness on their crossed roads, he only wanted to spend the anniversary of their binding with a “night in.” What a joke!
She reacted in the only way she knew how: with momentary anger, which eventually gave way to quiet acceptance. Perhaps they didn’t need grand displays of affection, these huge moments that were all for vanity’s sake— they just needed each other, together, on a beautiful day they would share for the rest of their lives. That, she thought to herself, was an adequate way to spend an anniversary. She just hoped that that was what Quirrel meant by his suggestion.
And so the week whirled on. Hornet was busy out in the kingdom while Quirrel was off doing whatever he did when she wasn’t home. Most likely working in the Archives, his head in the books.
Even if Quirrel didn’t want to do anything major for their anniversary, Hornet still wanted to show him that she appreciated him and his love. She wasn’t much for affection, often keeping such acts close to her chest and reserved for intimate moments, but she could make an exception for this day.
On the evening of their anniversary, Hornet made her way home from the City of Tears after a long day of speaking to contractors, managing building efforts, and being harangued by literally everyone there. Along the way, along the roads, she plucked the flowers that grew in between the cracks and the walls. The ones that were strong enough to survive an upheaval— the ones that resisted and sang in spite of destruction. Hornet thought they were rather fitting for her and Quirrel’s relationship, blooming amongst the darkness, this spot of light in the shadows. Into the bouquet they went, held tight by Hornet’s fist.
“Quirrel, I’m—”
Hornet doesn’t get to finish that thought before the overwhelming scent of smoke floats through the front door of their home. An ashen smell fills the hallways, wafting up and through the open windows. Immediately, Hornet rushes in, bouquet bunched in her claws. She just barely holds back shouting for Quirrel as she turns the corner into their living room and then the kitchen, only to find quite the surprise waiting for her there.
Quirrel is standing next to the stove, stomping on a little dying flame on the ground. Adjacent to him is a burnt pile of… something. Hornet isn’t too sure what she’s supposed to be looking at. All she can see is that Quirrel has had a cooking attempt go terribly wrong. But that fact isn’t overly shocking, considering that this happens at least once a month between the two of them.
“Damn, what did I— oh!” Quirrel looks up from his stomping, and then kicks a heap of coal-like rubble underneath the stove. “I didn’t see you there, dear.”
“Clearly,” Hornet says, smiling. It seems like Quirrel did have something in mind for their anniversary, although that something went very awry. She looks around at the scene before her; half-cut vegetables and sauces are spilled atop the counter-top, and a bubbling pot sits steaming on the stove. There are utensils scattered on the ground and a knife is stabbed into the sink’s side, slicing clean through the metal basin. A number of pans are also littered about, a few with stains, and a couple with charred, unidentifiable bits seared onto them.
On the dining room table, an array of candles are sat in very deliberate positions, perfectly symmetrical, with a bottle of unopened nectar next to them. A vase sits in the middle, waiting to be filled.
Quirrel follows Hornet’s gaze to the table, and says hurriedly, “I haven’t cut your flowers yet, but if you give me five minutes, I’ll get them in the vase.”
“Quirrel…”
“And the dinner should be ready in about an hour. I’ve had a few setbacks, but it’s all in the name of making this an evening fit for you, dearest.”
“Quirrel.”
“I also have a small gift for you— it’s just in the bedroom. I’ve yet to wrap it, so you’ll have to forgive me for asking you for a bit more of your time. It’s just that it’s—”
“Quirrel!”
That makes him stop talking. Quirrel’s mouth hangs ajar, claws hovering in the air like he’s been frozen solid. Hornet just shakes her head and chuckles. She places the bouquet of flowers into the vase as she approaches her husband, plucking out a single flower from its fluffy centre. She slides that bloom into the nook of Quirrel’s kerchief, right along the side of his head. The powder-blue petals stand stark against his mask.
Hornet leans in, and kisses her husband on the cheek.
“Happy anniversary, you fool.”
Quirrel’s claw goes to his cheek, and for a split-second he looks as if the same star-struck bug when they first started to court. Eyes wide, cheeks flushed— like they aren’t married. Hornet just drinks in the sight before she’s inevitably taken into his arms and kissed again and again and again.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Quirrel says after his barrage of affection. “I feel like I’ve mucked this all up. We only get one first wedding anniversary, after all.”
Is Hornet disappointed? Surprisingly, no. In fact, she’s quite happy that Quirrel tried to make their anniversary a good one, even if he instead made it one to remember forevermore. She’s sure that for as long as she lives, she’ll never forget about how Quirrel nearly destroyed the kitchen just to make them a celebratory meal, despite his less-than-impressive cooking expertise. The thought makes her laugh, and her claw goes to the side of Quirrel’s face, turning his head to look at her.
“And what an anniversary this has been,” Hornet hums. “What was your plan, anyway?”
Quirrel hops from foot to foot. Mumbles, mutters. Eventually, he manages to say, “I wished to surprise you— recreate our engagement, you see. I just wanted to bring the magic of that moment back, to show you that love.”
Hornet smiles, rare and wide. “A silly, silly bug you are, Quirrel. I care not how we celebrate, or how long we have been wedded for; to be with you is enough for me.”
“But this day is wasted now,” Quirrel insists. “Most of it gone to daylight.”
Hornet just shrugs.
“Then let’s waste it some more. Together, this time.”
They end up passing the bottle of nectar back-and-forth between the two of them while sat right in front of the flaming hearth. There is no glamorous meal, there is no big celebration. All that they have is the simple, gentle heat of the fire and a hanging smoky scent in the air. Hornet leans against Quirrel, her head on his shoulder.
Quirrel sneaks his claw into Hornet’s. Their fingers lace together just as Hornet takes another swig of the nectar. He watches the fine line of her throat, chasing the sight up to her elegant face. When she finishes, she passes the bottle back to him.
“It’s empty,” he says.
“Do you have another?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
Hornet doesn’t respond. Instead, she cups his face in her claws and pulls him toward her. Their mouths crash, and all Hornet can taste is the sweet, cloying flavour of nectar on his tongue. It’s better than a new bottle. Far, far better.
When they part, Quirrel is pink-cheeked and doe-eyed and stupidly in love.
Hornet is sure she looks the same.