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It had been several weeks since Kieran arrived in Paldea, long enough for what had initially been a matter of convenience to settle into something far more treacherous; something with shape and rhythm and an unspoken permanence that neither of them had paused to question, because doing so would require acknowledging what exactly had formed between them.
At first it had been simple. Florian, out of habit more than intention, had offered to show him around; Kieran, equally unguarded in that moment, had accepted. They spent days slipping into each other’s lives with a quiet inevitability, until it no longer felt like a temporary arrangement. Shared mornings walks through Mesagoza before the streets grew crowded with academy students, and their conversations wandering without direction, sometimes dissolving into silence that neither felt too compelled to fill; afternoons stretched into shared meals that lasted longer than necessary, punctuated by meaningless gestures—hands brushing, shoulders grazing, the kind of contact so fleeting it could be dismissed, almost.
Florian tried to convince himself that it didn’t mean anything. Kieran, on his part, tried just as hard to believe in that fallacy.
Yet it lingered in the smallest things: in the way Kieran’s attention would fix upon Florian that bordered on reverence whenever he believed nobody was watching; in the way Florian, without conscious thought, would reach out to adjust Kieran’s scarf against the evening wind, fingers brushing the line of his collar as if reluctant to relinquish the contact entirely. These moments started accumulating quietly, layering themselves one atop another until what had once been incidental began to feel deliberate—if not in action, then certainly in effect.
Florian was the first to recognise it for what it was, but even then, recognition did not translate into restraint as it should have. He had noticed the glances long before he allowed himself to interpret them, had catalogued the way Kieran’s breathing would falter when Florian stood too close, the unconscious tightening of his grip on whatever he happened to be holding, as though anchoring himself against something unseen. Florian dismissed it as coincidence, then as curiosity, and finally, when neither explanation sufficed, as something far more compelling.
It intrigued him. It filled him with excitement.
He wanted to know more.
The realisation came to him not in some grand, revelatory moment, but in the quiet aftermath of something trivial. A laugh, unexpectedly bright, escaping Kieran beneath a string of softly glowing lights that cast everything in warm gold.
The sound lingered longer than it must have, echoing faintly in Florian’s mind even after the moment had passed, and when Kieran’s gaze followed—hesitant, as though unsure whether he had revealed too much—Florian found himself unwilling to look away.
As days go by, December has settled over Mesagoza quietly, bringing with it colder evenings and warmer illuminations. The city shifted into something softer, with lanterns glowing amber against the dark, shopfronts decorated with garlands and ribbons, and the air carrying faint scents of spice and sugar.
Florian’s friends had suggested they meet up for Christmas. Nemona, as always, operated under the assumption that refusal was neither likely nor relevant. What began as a suggestion over a casual exchange quickly solidified into something far less negotiable, and before Florian could even object, his apartment had been volunteered as the venue.
It made sense in terms of practicality. The space was large enough, located at the heart of the city, and—most importantly—unoccupied by anyone who might object to the inevitable chaos. Still, as the evening drew nearer, Florian found himself lingering in the silence of his own living room, taking in the unfamiliar arrangement of furniture and lights, the transformation of a place that had, until recently, existed solely as a refuge from obligation.
Now it would be filled, and he wasn’t entirely certain about how he would feel about that.
The doorbell rang. A brief sound that stood in quiet contrast to the noise that would soon follow. When he opened the door, he found Kieran standing just outside, shoulders drawn in slightly against the cold, breath faintly visible in the evening air.
“Sorry… I’m a bit early, aren’t I?” Kieran smiled apologetically, and all Florian could do was simply look at him with adoration written over his face.
He didn’t answer immediately. For a second he simply stood there, hand still resting against the doorframe, gaze fixed on Kieran as though committing the sight of him to memory; in much the same way Kieran had been doing, only now stripped of the quiet distance that usually softened it.
“You are early,” Florian said at last, though there was no reproach in it; if anything, the words carried a faint warmth, as though the inconvenience—if it could even be called that—had been anticipated, or even desired. He stepped aside.
“Come in.”
Kieran hesitated before crossing the threshold, his movements careful in a way that felt oddly out of place given how familiar everything between them had become. The door clicked shut behind him with a soft finality, sealing the two of them within a space that, for all its recent transformation, still bore the unmistakable imprint of Florian’s presence.
Warmth settled around them almost immediately, a gentle contrast to the evening chill, and Kieran exhaled softly as though only just realising how cold he had been. His gaze drifted, taking in the room in small glances—the string of lights casting a muted glow along the walls, the arrangement of glasses and plates on the table, the signs of preparation that seem less like obligation and more like habit. That’s cute, he thought. His mind loitered on these details longer than necessary, as though searching for something within them, before inevitably returning his attention to Florian.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” Kieran said, voice quieter now, his fingers brushing absently against the strap of his bag before letting it slip from his shoulder.
Florian followed the motion with his eyes, then shrugged, the gesture easy, almost dismissive. “It’s nothing,” he replied, though his tone lacked the indifference he seemed intent on conveying. He moved past Kieran as he spoke, reaching to adjust a strand of lights that was already straight, if only to occupy his hands. “It would’ve happened somewhere either way.”
A pause settled between them, as though the space itself had grown more aware of them in the absence of noise.
Kieran shifted slightly, his attention catching, inevitably, on Florian again.
Florian felt it.
This time, however, he did not allow it to pass unnoticed. Instead, he let the moment stretch, let the silence deepen just enough to make the awareness undeniable, before turning his head, gaze meeting Kieran’s with curiosity.
“You’ve been doing that a lot,” he said, the faintest trace of amusement threading through his voice, soft enough that it might have been mistaken for something else entirely.
Kieran blinked, his composure faltering in a way that was almost immediate.
“Doing what?” he asked, a little too quickly, the defensiveness in his tone betraying more than the question concealed.
Florian held his gaze for a beat longer than necessary, as though considering whether to answer honestly, before letting the corner of his mouth lift into a smile.
“Looking,” he said simply.
Kieran’s breath caught painfully in his throat, and for a moment, neither of them moved. The distance between them was not great to begin with, yet it seemed to shrink further, the air thickening with something neither of them had yet decided how to name.
“I—” Kieran began, then faltered, his gaze flickering away before returning again, as though retreat was no longer a viable option. “I wasn’t—”
Florian took a step closer.
“Weren’t?” he prompted, voice quieter now, the lightness giving way to something more deliberate.
Kieran’s words seemed to dissolve before they could fully form their syllables. His fingers curled slightly at his sides, the motion small, almost instinctive like what he used to do back in their academy days, as though searching for something to anchor himself against. The faint flush that had begun at his cheeks deepened as the distance closed.
Before he could say anything, the doorbell rang.
It cut through the quiet, followed by the faint swell of voices from the hallway beyond, and whatever delicate tension had gathered between them slipped, loosening before it could fully crest.
Florian exhaled softly. He stepped back first, restoring distance without quite undoing the awareness that persisted in its wake.
“Looks like we’re out of time,” he said, tone light once more.
Kieran nodded, a little too quickly, his gaze dropping before he forced it steady again. “Yeah,” he replied, quieter than before, the word catching faintly at the edges.
The doorbell rang again.
Florian turned toward it, already slipping effortlessly into the role expected of him. His posture loosened, expression smoothing into something composed, almost easy-going. Yet as he passed Kieran, their shoulders brushed, the contact brief but deliberate enough to leave an impression, and he paused just long enough to tilt his head, his voice lowering once more.
“Try not to look at me like that when they’re here,” he murmured, but it sounded like temptation to Kieran.
Kieran remained where he was, the words settling into him in a way he did not entirely understand, before following, drawn forward by the rising noise of voices and the inevitability of the evening unfolding.
The apartment filled quickly.
Laughter spilled easily into the space, overlapping and bright, voices weaving together into something warm and indistinct as familiar faces filtered in, bringing with them the restless energy of the night. The air grew heavier with heat and the faint scent of spiced cider, the soft glow of strung lights casting everything in a mellow gold that blurred edges and softened detail, until the room itself seemed to hum with comfort.
Florian moved through it with ease. He greeted, laughed, poured drinks and answered questions with the same composure he carried everywhere else, slipping into conversation as though it required no effort at all. To anyone watching, he was at the center of it all as both host and participant.
And yet his attention refused to settle.
It caught, again and again, snagging on the same point no matter how often he turned away.
Kieran.
He found himself, almost without noticing when it began, uncharacteristically loose-limbed from the warmth of mulled wine and the golden haze of mellow lights. The chatter of their friends blurred into a pleasant hum around them, but Florian’s attention kept catching, like a snag in fabric, on Kieran, always Kieran, who sat stiffly beside him, pretending not to notice the way Florian’s gaze lingered.
It was the alcohol, probably, that loosened his fingers, making them daring enough to curve tentatively against Kieran’s waist; a touch too deliberate to be accidental. He felt the way Kieran’s breath hitched, the way his spine straightened like a startled Litten before he hissed under his breath, "Florian…"
But the brunette only grinned, lethargic and bemused, his thumb tracing idle circles through the fabric of Kieran’s sweater. "Why not?" he murmured back, breathing warm against Kieran’s ear; he knew how it would make Kieran’s heart rate jump beneath his skin; he had been dying to try it.
And sure enough, Kieran’s cheeks flushed that familiar, furious pink. But he couldn’t pull away. Not really possible when his eyes met Florian’s own.
Across the room, Nemona laughed at something Juliana said, but Florian barely heard it.
The moment stretched between them as Florian’s fingers slid just a little higher, tracing the curve of Kieran’s hipbone through his sweater. Kieran’s breath came quicker now, uneven where it ghosted against Florian’s jaw, and when their eyes met, Florian couldn’t help but smile at the way Kieran’s pupils had swallowed the amber of his irises almost entirely.
“Everyone’s right there,” Kieran whispered again, voice fraying at the edges; but his hand, betraying him entirely, finally uncurled from his sweater to settle hesitantly on Florian’s own, gently prompting him to stop.
Florian leaned closer, close enough that the scent of sweet vanilla and pine clinging to Kieran’s collar filled his lungs, and nipped lightly at his earlobe, relishing the sharp intake of breath it earned him, like the most sacred hymn to his ears.
“So?”
Kieran made a sound halfway between a complaint and a whimper, his grip tightening convulsively, but before he could reply, the clatter of a dish hitting the floor shattered the haze between them.
Across the room, Penny’s voice rang out; it’s uncharacteristically bright with laughter and spiked eggnog, as she pointed accusingly at the culprit. “A-Arvenn! That was Florian’s favourite platter!”
Arven, sprawled gracelessly on the rug from the alcohol, merely blinked up at her with bleary amusement. “Ooooooops.”
Florian exhaled a quiet laugh against Kieran's neck, his breath warm where it ghosted over the other’s pale, flushed skin. He should pull away, should return to the festivities before their friends noticed how they'd drifted into the shadows of the room, but the way Kieran trembled beneath his touch made him linger. Just a while longer…
"Your fault," Florian murmured with an intimacy that can’t be quite placed, thumb brushing over the rapid flutter in Kieran’s neck. "You keep looking at me like that."
Kieran's throat tightened, his fingers still tangled with Florian's where they rested against his waist. "...Like what?"
"Like you want me to kiss you."
The dramatic scene of a broken plate unfolding in front of them should have been distracting, should have reminded Florian of where they were, but all he could focus on was the way gold flecks of light danced in Kieran’s eyes and the shock that coloured his face with a rosy tint.
"I—you—"
Florian grinned, and pressed closer. Kieran can’t find himself to push away.
"Say it."
Kieran’s voice was caught, the words refusing to form no matter how desperately he reached for them, and the silence that followed felt heavier than anything he could have said.
Florian watched with half-lidded eyes. As though Kieran’s hesitation itself was something worth studying.
“Say it,” Florian repeated, softer this time, into something almost coaxing, though no less deliberate in its intent.
Kieran swallowed.
His grip tightened, fingers curling more firmly into the fabric at Florian’s side, yet the contact only seemed to betray him further, exposing the tremor he could no longer suppress. His gaze flickered away, back again, unable to settle anywhere that did not inevitably lead him right back to Florian.
Kieran's breath left him in something that wasn't quite a sigh.
"I want—" he began, and then stopped, jaw tightening as though the words themselves were something to be wrestled with. His gaze dropped to somewhere around Florian's collar, which was safer, or should have been, except that proximity made even that feel like too much. "You already know."
"I do," Florian agreed, and there was no triumph in it. Only certainty, and the patience of someone who had decided, some time ago, that he was willing to wait as long as it took. "But I'd like to hear you say it."
Kieran looked up at him.
It was a mistake. He knew it was a mistake even as he did it, because Florian's expression had settled into something that wasn't quite a smile; softer than that, and far more difficult to dismiss. The kind of look that didn't demand anything, only offered, which made it somehow harder to refuse than if it had.
The noise of the room ebbed and swelled around them.
"...Kiss me," Kieran said, finally. Barely above a whisper, the words stripped of everything but their plainest meaning. His fingers, still wound into the fabric at Florian's side, tightened once more—less from nerves now, and more from something that felt uncomfortably like resolution. "That's what you wanted to hear… right?"
Florian was quiet for a moment.
Then, as though they had all the time in the world and the room full of people behind them was no more pressing than a distant memory, he lifted one hand and brushed his knuckle gently along Kieran's jaw. The touch was light. It traced upward, thumb coming to rest at the corner of his mouth, and Kieran briefly forgot how breathing worked.
"That wasn't so hard," Florian murmured.
"Don't," Kieran said, though it came out far less sharp than intended, the word catching somewhere in his throat and emerging softer than he wanted.
Florian smiled, this time a real one. His thumb traced, barely, along Kieran's lower lip.
"Don't what?"
Kieran had no answer for that either.
The distance between them closed, without the kind of dramatic pause that the moment perhaps deserved. Florian kissed him the way he did everything else, with an assurance, as though he had simply decided, and the rest was only a matter of time. His hand curved at Kieran's jaw, tilting him upward, and Kieran leaned in without resistance, fingers releasing the fabric at Florian's side only to find his collar instead, gripping there as though he might otherwise lose his footing entirely.
The kiss was warm.
When Florian drew back, he found Kieran with his eyes still closed, breath unsteady, lips parted slightly as though the words he'd swallowed earlier had dissolved entirely and left nothing in their place. The flush at his cheeks had spread to the tips of his ears, and the grip at Florian's collar had not loosened.
Florian looked at him, and felt something in his chest arrange itself quietly into permanence.
"Still think they'll notice?" he asked, voice low with warmth threading through it.
Kieran opened his eyes. His gaze fixed on Florian with an expression he had, until now, spent considerable effort concealing, and said nothing for long enough that the silence became its own kind of answer.
Then, quietly, with the particular exhaustion of someone who had been holding something back for far too long.
"...Shut up."
Florian laughed and let his forehead drop against Kieran's. Behind them, the room continued its noise, and the lights continued their glow, and neither of them moved to rejoin it.