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It had started with the small things.
Handmade gifts and snacks, all sent from Sword each week without fail. Every morning, Rocket would open his apartment door to find a little basket containing his favorite snacks, sometimes even one of Sword's attempts at baking…which was edible, at best.
Then came the voice mails. Checking in, asking Rocket how he was doing, if he was okay, whether or not his limbs were working fine. It was odd, sure, but it was Sword. He was sweet, that's just how he was. Sometimes Rocket even sent a letter or two back, thanking him, though he wondered if Sword could even read his scrawl.
Finally, the most recent arrival, the flowers.
Hand-picked, meticulously bunched together in a spool of thread, ribbon or newspaper, flowers were added to the pool of gifts piling up in Rocket's room. They changed every week, he noticed. One week, it was a bundle of spawn's breath; the next, carnations. A particular batch he liked was the gently wrapped hydrangeas — though he'd never said it out loud, lest he wanted his dignity to walk out on him. They sat in a vase on his workbench, the cerulean petals bright amongst the gunpowder and metal shavings. He made a mental note to search up a how-to guide one day.
Over time, Rocket found himself looking forward to the gifts and voicemails, Sword's voice coming through his phone speakers as he munched on a salted pretzel. He tried his best to ignore the twist in his chest whenever a new message from Sword appeared, or the way his lips cracked into a soft grin at the notes Sword left. They were heartfelt, lovely.
And Rocket didn't feel like he deserved it. Any of it.
He relentlessly pushed down any thoughts about his feelings for Sword. Sword was his best friend…they weren't meant to be anything more than that. Rocket shouldn't be any more than that.
Yet on that fateful day, it all came down on him at once.
They were planning a meetup, something they rarely got to have as of late with Venomshank's sudden insistence of more training. Rocket refused to acknowledge how much he missed having his best friend, someone to tease and make fun of and…just hang around. Sword's presence was comforting, like a warm blanket, his fluffy wings only amplifying the effect. There was no denying that Rocket felt…strange around him.
He brushed it off, a ping from his phone startling him. Sword had sent his location. He was…at Rocket's place? Didn't they-
The doorbell rang. Rocket frowned at his phone screen, his gaze flicking between it and the door.
"Rocket? It's me." Sword's muffled voice said from outside. "Can you, uh, let me in?"
Snapping out of his trance, Rocket immediately went to unlock the front entrance. As soon as he cracked it open, he was hit with the pungent smell of roses and cinnamon. Was Sword wearing cologne? He didn't get enough time to process as Sword nudged his best friend into the apartment and shut the door behind them.
"What in the hell are you doing?" Rocket exclaimed.
"Not a clue," Sword replied, making sure the door was locked before he turned around. He was in a wrinkled burgandy button shirt and slacks, a blue bouquet clutched in one claw. Under his collar a tie was messily done, and it looked as if it were slapped on last second. The apartment began to reek with whatever Sword had sprayed on — no, more like he dumped the whole damn bottle on himself.
Rocket crossed his arms, tail swaying menacingly. "You have three seconds to explain yourself, or I'm kicking you the fuck out."
At that, Sword seemed to regain his bearings, back straightening as he adjusted his clothes.
"I have been doing some thinking…" he started, clearing his throat. "And, well, here I am!" He smiled sheepishly.
Rocket's lips thinned. "Strike one."
A blush bloomed in Sword's cheeks. "Fine, I was thinking about you…and how you're such a good friend and that's why I've been sending you presents?"
"Strike two."
Sword ran a hand down his face, groaning out of embarrassment. He was red from the neck down, heat swirling under his skin as his head wings twitched restlessly. Rocket's gaze pierced into him, unyielding and waiting.
"I…" he mumbled, scratching the back of his head with his free claw. "…have been thinking about you. About us. And I was wondering if…you'd like to…"
He trailed off, his face flushing a deeper shade and fingers fidgeting nervously. Rocket tapped his foot on the ground, tail swaying lazily. "Yes?"
"…Join another phight?"
That did it. "Strike three."
The younger inphernal, reaching the end of his wit, roughly grabbed Sword's wrist with his prosthetic hand and yanked it, bringing the taller swordsman to his eye level. He bared his fanged teeth in a snarl, brows pointed in an upwards tick. The flowers hit the ground with a soft thud.
"Listen here, you prick." Rocket growled. "Spit it, now. Or I'm blasting your damn brains out."
The threat itself was empty — both of them knew it. Being this close, Rocket could feel the warmth of Sword's skin, his breath, could pick out the flecks in those light brown irises for hours, eyes glazed with a softness he couldn't name. Visions of him running his hand along the raised scars hidden beneath those layers of polyester rose unbidden in his mind's eye. Rocket blinked. What the hell was he thinking?
Sword seemed to somehow darken another two shades, eyes blown wide as he struggled against Rocket's ironclad grasp, letting out an indignant squawk. Eventually, he caved, sighing in defeat.
"Fine, fine! You win. Now can you let me go?" he admitted.
"Nope. And you know why."
"Oh, c'mon! We're best friends. You can handle me not telling you something." Sword protested.
"Maybe. But you did just storm into my house, lock my door and stink up the place with whatever shit you put on." Rocket replied, squeezing his wrist just hard enough to make a point. "So you better have a damn good reason for it."
Sword yelped at the added pressure, squirming furiously. "Okay, okay! I'll tell you! I like you, Rocket! I like you! Now let me go!"
The younger inphernal froze. Did he…hear that right?
His grip loosened slightly, allowing Sword to free himself. "Shit, did you have to grab on so tight…" he muttered softly to himself while massaging his bruised wrist. "That hurt, you know."
Rocket's head spun. Sword liked him? Out of all people? No, no, this couldn't be. This had to be a joke, a prank, something, anything other than the truth. He wasn't meant for this, not for friends, much less a partner.
Yet, there was a quieter, selfish voice in his heart, yearning to see what it would be like to finally be loved.
"Rocky? You good?" Sword called gently. Swords, his voice. He hated it. Hated how much his chest lightened at the mere mention of his name, hated how much he wanted to hear it again, hated every single good thing that has ever led him to meeting Sword.
"I'm fine." He said, failing at adding a bite to the words. "I just…need to think."
Sword's wings drooped, his expression a mix of disappointment and concern. His gaze drfited to the floor. "I guess. Not every day your best friend confesses to you, right?" He forced a chuckle.
The air in the apartment grew tense, heavy with apprehension. Rocket felt his chest getting tighter, like he was being crushed under the weight of his own emotions. It was getting harder to fill his lungs, or even think straight. Say something, damn it.
"Sword…I-"
He lifted a hand. "It's okay. I'll see myself out. Goodbye, Rocket."
Sword moved to exit, wings hugged against his body, shoulders bunched. A leaden lump formed in Rocket's gut. He couldn't let him leave. Not like this.
His body acted first. He reached out, legs crossing the distance between them before he could blink. The next thing he knew, he held Sword's forearm, the larger inphernal staring at him in confusion and shock.
"Stay." He begged, looking away. "Please."
Sword's lips parted, a soft exhale leaving him. His eyes were still glazed with worry and uncertainty, but now carried a spark of hope.
"Okay."
Rocket let go of the other's arm and sank to the floor, bringing his knees to his chest and resting his head between his legs. Sword awkwardly shuffled next to him, leaning against the couch behind them. Neither knew what to say, and the silence dragged on, save for the quiet whirring of servos and wires from Rocket's prostheses.
Heights above, Rocket wanted to punch the inphernal sitting beside him. Were those what the gifts were for? A courtship attempt? The idea was sickening. Charming, benevolent Sword, trying to court him: a killer, a broken asshole who just got lucky in life. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all.
Something nudged against his side, soft and feathery. Sword met his gaze with questioning eyes. Rocket nodded.
A wing wrapped around him gently, almost carefully, like he could break at any moment. He couldn't help but lean into it, the softness a soothing balm to his inner turmoil. It felt like the first spring rain after long hot summer months. Rocket tentatively caressed the feathers, aware of Sword's sensitivity. At his consent, Rocket continued, absentmindedly preening the swordsman's wings with blunted claws. They easily gave way under his digits, creases forming in the ocean of speckled white before filling in again. It was satisfying in a way that no amount of tinkering in his workshop or getting knockouts in Phights could ever be. It was hypnotizing, comforting. He could never get tired of it.
"You really like em', huh?" Sword's voice pierced his thoughts, jolting him from his reverie.
"No." he replied, feeling heat pool in his cheeks. He pressed down on his tail, hiding the smallest start of a wag.
"You're not exactly letting go."
"Just shut up."
Sword tilted his head. "Aw, you're turning blue," he cooed.
Rocket snapped his head toward him. "At least I'm not the one who just confessed to my best friend."
Sword grinned. "No, you're the one who asked me to stay."
Rocket groaned in defeat, shoulders slumping as he tucked his legs closer to him. His mind was still whirlling with what-if's and imaginings of another life — a life he could have if he said yes.
Instead, what came out was, "You're an idiot."
One of Sword's head wings perked. "What was that?"
Rocket frowned. "I said you're an idiot. Imbecile. Dumbass. Whatever gets it through your thick fucking skull that you're being stupid."
"About liking you? I don't think so." Sword said, smiling softly. Rocket wanted to wipe it off his face.
"You don't even know what you're getting yourself into," he told him.
Sword chuckled. "After knowing you for as long as I have, I think I have a pretty good idea."
Rocket sighed and pinched his eyes together. Deities above, Sword doesn't know at all, does he? The nightmares, the phantom pain, the guilt he carried from his past, how on particularly bad days Zuka would get less than an hour of sleep because of Rocket's night terrors. His adoptive father did his best to hide it, but Rocket could tell. He always could. The last thing he wanted was to subject another person to that same fate. Hell, he'd attempted to run away at least 3 different times before Zuka had to lock down the apartment.
Rocket shook his head solemnly. "You don't…fuck, Sword, you don't know the half of it. And if you did, you'd probably reconsider your options."
"Rocket…" Sword chided, like a parent to a stubborn child. He reached out to put an arm around the younger inphernal, but it was swatted away.
"I don't need your damn pity." He hissed.
The hand retracted and settled next to Rocket's non-artificial one, half-curled in and close — too close for comfort. The distance was less than a hairsbreadth, a fine line between intimacy and friendship. For a moment, Rocket contemplated moving it away, his fingers twitching incessantly.
He kept it there.
Blue and white petals caught his eye. Clusters of them hugged each other, dark forest green leaves framing the flowerheads. They were wrapped in brown-stained newspaper, bound with cord. Rocket hadn't fully noticed them in the chaos. but it didn't take any more than a glance to know what they were.
Hydrangeas, he realised.
Sword noticed his best friend's expression, and followed his line of sight to the fallen blooms. "Oh, yeah. I, uh, got you those." he said shyly, red dusting his cheeks as he rubbed the back of his neck, head wings folding in on instinct. "I saw it on your desk during the video call we had the other day, and, since it was the only one I saw in your room even after I sent all the other ones I figured…"
He didn't need to finish. Sword had never been this observant, not even during Phights. On multiple occasions, Rocket had to deviate from his usual strategy to compensate for the swordsman's lack of situational awareness. Once, Sword, panicked, ran straight into his own Phinisher and got himself knocked out, and Rocket ended up overexerting himself doing damage control. What followed was a long, long, string of apologies.
But this? This was new. If memory serves him right, Rocket had just so happened to be in his bedroom working when Sword called to make hangout plans. His phone was against the built-in shelf on his workbench, showcasing Rocket's upper torso, the desk itself, and at the very edge of the screen: the vase of hydrangeas. It was barely a smidge of the blue flowers, but somehow, some way, Sword managed to put two and two together.
Rocket groaned in frustration. Why was Sword trying so hard to impress him? What had he ever done to deserve this level of attention? Even way back when, younger Rocket had had no intention of being friends with such a soft, punchable inphernal. And now, that same inphernal had the audacity to court him of all people.
"You're even more of an idiot for doing that." Rocket gritted out. "For doing all of this."
Sword refused to back down, his wing tucking itself over Rocket's legs. "I don't think I am. I'm just doing my best."
"At what, exactly?"
He smiled gently, his thin lips curling in genuine affection, and it felt like a stab through Rocket's chest. "Showing that I care. About you." He shifted closer, their shoulders touching.
Usually Rocket would be repulsed at their proximity, but something found solace in his best friend's warmth. A cold, traitorous part of him wanted to get closer, sick and tired of distance, and bask in the tenderness that was Sword. It took everything in him to not simply melt right then and there.
Realisation hit him like a freight train.
Rocket liked him. Fuck, he liked him so much it hurt. Every fibre of his being was torn between rationality and fantasy, denial and acceptance. He had never noticed just how much he'd grown to enjoy Sword's company, his friendship, and now he was being forced to confront everything he'd never truly acknowledged, everything he'd been keeping bottled up these past months.
The Playground survivor in him screamed to not give in, not to let anyone else come close, but he wanted to, Swords, how he wanted to.
"Why?" was all Rocket could rasp out with the storm of emotions raging within him. His voice was shaky, the singular word filled with pent-up desperation and all the jumbled pieces of him that wanted to be loved and cared for. "Why would you even like me? I'm no one, I-"
"Rocket." Sword said, cutting off another rant. His voice was kind but firm, full of resolve. He sighed, giving a knowing look. "This is about your past, isn't it?"
The younger inphernal was silent, his eyes downcast and ears pinned to the sides of his head. His half-prosthetic tail was wrapped around his legs. That was answer enough.
Sword's gaze softened, and he let out a long exhale, rubbing Rocket's metal arm with his wing. "No, Rocket. Your past doesn't matter to me. It shouldn't matter. Who you were then doesn't necessarily reflect who you are now. You're different, better."
Rocket glared at him, blue eyes glinting dangerously. "And how do you know that?"
"Because…" Sword took a leap of faith, and lifted Rocket's hands into both of his, rubbing circles into the backs of his palms. "I wouldn't have fallen for the Rocket I met four years ago. You've grown, 'Rocks. You've changed.
"And I couldn't be prouder."
At that, those blue eyes glistened, glazed with a thousand unnamed emotions. Sword's hands were warm, repulsingly warm, rough with callouses that grazed metal and skin. Rocket's breath caught in his throat as the swordsman leaned down, and pecked a kiss onto each palm, his breath briefy fogging the metallic surface of Rocket's left hand.
When blue met brown again, there was a spark where their gazes crossed, the faintest ember of the flames of romance and affection soon to ignite. Rocket's heart thundered in his ears, his skin prickling with new sensations.
"So, what do you say?" Sword asked. "Are you willing to give me — give us — a shot?"
The question hung in the pregnant air between them. Silence enveloped them, its presence heavy and overwhelming.
A quiet mutter came from Rocket's lips, so quiet that Sword barely picked up on it. His left headwing pricked. "What did you say?"
"Yes." Rocket finally admitted, a breathy chuckle leaving him as he wiped the corners of his eyes. "Yes, Sword, I will. Fuck, did you have to say all that cheesy-"
His words were cut off by his best friend wrapping his arms around him, squeezing him in a tight hug. Sword's wings crowded them both like a feathery cocoon as the evening light peaked through a curtain blind, veneering the room in a layer of orange.
"Thank you." Sword whispered, nuzzling into Rocket's shoulder. "Thank you."
Stunned, Rocket's hands hovered over the swordsman's back for a moment, before hugging back, the tender act making his chest ache with relief and gratitude.
When Sword broke away, he looked toward the window, and excitement danced on his face. "There's still time." he said, grinning. He held out a hand. "Come on, we gotta go."
Rocket stared at the extended hand. Tentatively, he took it with his prosthetic, gripping it firmly. He wasn't even given a moment to breathe before Sword was rushing them out the door, intertwining his fingers with Rocket's.
They ran through the semi-busy streets of outer Crossroads, inphernals freshly clocked out of their jobs meandering down the sidewalk as the occasional vehicle drove past. The low sun bathed the buildings in a mix of yellows, oranges and reds, painting the clouds and sky above in the same hues. Rectangles of fluorescent-lit windows and neon signs flickered to life as the nighttime scene slowly came alive with the sun's descent. Muffled music blared from inside a few buildings they passed, tinted doors obscuring the interior from prying eyes.
As they ran, heads turned, some curious, wondering why two young adults were in such a hurry, others shooting daggers into the back of their skulls. Sword showed no signs of slowing down, his hold on Rocket's hand still tight as he turned this way and that, leading them down narrow alleys and bright squares and whizzing past confused pedestrians.
"Sword, where in the hell are we going?" Rocket yelled.
"You'll see!" he shouted back. "We're almost there!"
They were at the fringes of Crossroads when Sword started to slow down. The urban jungle of the inner city had thinned out, leaving patches of green to grow and spread. He led them to a small meadow, rampaged by grass and crawling vines, trekking on pebbles that crackled under their feet. Eventually, they arrived at a clearing, far from the claws of infrastructure.
Lanterns and fairy lights were strung from fence posts, enclosing the area in a cozy, warm glow. In the middle of the grass, a blanket was spread, littered with fluffy pillows, some water bottles and pre-packaged sandwiches. Around them, wildflowers bloomed from every angle, colorful stars in a rippling ocean of green. Rocket's lips parted as he took in his surroundings, awestruck.
"Do you like it? I use this place whenever I wanna get away from my dad." Sword said, plopping himself down amongst the cushions and sighing. "I love him, but he's sometimes a little…overprotective, you know?"
Rocket paid no heed to his words, his attention enraptured by the sprawling idyllic scenery. The mild scent of spring and salt perfumed the air as the sky darkened to cooler blues. To call the place peaceful would be an understatement.
Sword giggled at his best friend's expression. "I'm going to take that as a yes."
He gently called Rocket, patting the empty spot next to him. A mild breeze caressed their faces as they enjoyed the view of the sun setting over the lands beyond.
"I know I'm not the best inphernal out there." Sword suddenly confessed. "I mean, did you see the way I handled things back there? I think a tomato would be jealous of me."
"You look like a giant tomato anyway." Rocket teased. "Could've passed as one with how much you were blushing."
"Hey," Sword whined, nudging Rocket playfully. "I prefer being a giant strawberry, thank you."
The two chuckled, the tension from before dissipating in the face of years of familiarity, a rhythm that they had gotten used to over time. Chirps and faraway animal calls stirred around them as noctural life begun their routine. Dusk was upon them, and Zuka would be closing up shop soon, but Rocket's dad trusted him enough to come home every time, and that trust was not misplaced.
He knew Sword was dealing with his own demons — trauma he kept out of sight in favor of being the bright-eyed Phighter others recognised. Perhaps, in time, Rocket could help him heal the same way Sword did for him.
For now though, he was perfectly satisfied to stay here, watching the stars rise to pepper the sky in diamonds. Absentmindedly, he leaned into Sword, resting his head on the swordsman's shoulder. Sword glanced down at him and smiled, tilting his head to press against the rocketeer's. He could feel Sword relax into the gesture, the last of the adrenaline seeping out of his bones.
The moment they shared was serene, layered with a sense of security, of comfort. Rocket found himself wondering: when was the last time he's ever felt this safe? Allowed himself to be touched with such care? Aside from being with Zuka, his memory came up blank. Unless you had the privilege of spawning on the floating islands created by the deity of storms, Playground was no place to leave yourself unguarded. Living there for almost his whole life had taught him that lesson a hundred times over, and he paid the price for forgetting it.
A hand found his prosthesis, and their fingers fit together like puzzle pieces, interlocking to form a criss-cross pattern of sun-tanned skin and black rubber. Indigo flooded the sky above as the sun dipped below the horizon. Sword gave an affectionate squeeze, and Rocket squeezed back.
"All that stuff you said back there is still cheesy as hell," Rocket quipped, adjusting himself to further lean into Sword. "Where'd you get that from, an ancient poet?"
"It worked, didnt it? Plus, I bet you like all my cheesiness." Sword grinned cheekily, his wings spreading to cradle Rocket.
Rocket scoffed. "As if. I swear I've never heard someone mushier than you my whole life."
"And yet, you're here. All thanks to my so-called 'cheesy-as-hell' self." Sword concluded.
Rocket laughed softly, shaking his head. "You really are an idiot."
"Maybe. But I'll gladly be your idiot."
"Swords, is this what I'll be dealing with? Can I take my answer back?"
"Sorry, no can do." Sword said in a sing-song voice. "You're stuck with me now, and I promise, you won't regret it." He brought his hand to cup Rocket's jaw, the gesture tender, sending pleasant shivers down Rocket's spine.
"You don't have to run anymore." he assured. "There's no reason for you to be ashamed about your past. And I'll do whatever it takes to make you understand that."
Rocket nuzzled his hand, letting Sword trace faint burn scars that marred his flesh. No one had ever dared to come this close, nor had Rocket let them, for fear of one of them getting hurt. But Sword, stubborn, endearing Sword, refused to back down, the same way he had been since they've known each other.
"And you somehow get even more cheesy," Rocket joked, rolling his eyes. His tail wagged freely behind him, no longer needing to conceal his true feelings.
"I guess that's my talent." Sword jabbed, turning towards Rocket.
Neither of them had noticed just how close their faces were — so close that they could hear and feel the other's breath, warm puffs of air kissing their skin. Rocket's eyes flitted to Sword's lips, and he could tell the swordsman was thinking the same thing.
He wrapped his arms around Sword's neck, using it as leverage as he pushed himself upwards, finally closing the distance between them until there was none at all.
Their lips met in a heady rush, clumsy and awkward, yet breathtaking. Sword gasped into the kiss, his hand briefly leaving Rocket's face before cupping the nape of his neck while the other settled on the small of his back. Rocket could get drunk off the feeling coursing through his veins.
This, this felt right. There was no second-guessing or doubt that lingered in the back of his head like it usually would — only the sweet, sweet press of their mouths and bodies. The swordsman tasted like wild herbs and spices — probably another tonic Venomshank had given him.
When they separated, Sword was fully crimson, his eyes wide and lips bruised. He stared at Rocket incredulously, unsure how to process what they just did.
"Wow, that was…wow." he breathed. "Didn't expect you to actually kiss me."
"Don't get used to it." Rocket warned, wiping his lower lip. "I was feeling nice today."
"Then I'll cherish each one that you give. This included."
Rocket pinched his nose bridge in mock frustration and groaned despite his smile. "You really can't shut up for two seconds, can you?"
"Nope." Sword replied, popping the 'p'. He sat up with a grunt, supporting himself on his arms as he stretched his wings. His polyester shirt was even more rumpled now, the tie lost somewhere in Crossroads during their impromptu excursion. To Rocket, he had never looked better.
Sword glanced at the sky. "You know, when you asked why I liked you, I didn't know how to answer." he admitted, voice solemn. "I just…do."
He laced his fingers with Rocket's once more, squeezing it. "But I still meant every word. You didn't deserve what you went through."
Neither did you, Rocket replied in his head. "We should be heading back by now." he suggested. "Don't want our dads getting antsy on us."
Sword sighed dejectedly. "Right. I don't need Venom drilling me even more than he already does." His muscles ached at the thought of extra sparring lessons, and he grimaced. "The old man's been tiring me out since he heard about the True Eye and all. Keeps telling me to be prepared."
"Venomshank cares about you." Rocket said. "In his own way."
"I know. But it just doesn't feel that way sometimes. He treats me more like a student than a son, and it hurts. I just…wonder if he loves me as much as he says he does."
Rocket was silent, massaging Sword's hand and hoping it offered some kind of comfort. He could see the edges of Sword's eyes glisten, his wings instinctually attempting to cover his body.
"Hey, hey," Rocket called, gently trying to pry the feathery appendages apart as wracked his head for words. Emotional support wasn't exactly his forté, but he had to try.
"I…" he began, struggling to figure out something good enough to say. "…I don't know what living with your dad is like — can't even picture it. But, I know what it's like to be friends with you, and you…you're pretty damn hard to hate."
"You hated me when we first met."
Rocket exhaled heavily. "That, I did. But like you said, I've changed. And if Venom didn't like you then, if that's even possible, I'm sure he does now."
A crack opened in Sword's cocoon, revealing a teary eye. "You mean it?"
"I do." Rocket assured him, pushing his way through. He brought his forehead to Sword's, their noses just touching. "There's no doubt about it."
The swordsman gave a half-smile, pressing the heel of his palm to the corner of his eye. "Now look who's being mushy," he commented between sniffles.
Rocket rolled his eyes and simply kissed him again, slower, tender, more deliberate. They took their time to savor each other, the rest of the world melting away until it was just the both of them. Sword's lips were surprisingly soft, the edges lightly chapped from being picked at. Rocket couldn't resist flicking his tongue to lap at the swordsman's lower lip, elliciting a low moan from Sword.
When they broke apart, Sword had a hazy grin plastered on his face, eyes half-lidded and blush dusting his neck. "I thought you said to not get used to it."
"I was being extra nice. Now come on, let's head back." He stood, and helped Sword to his feet as well.
They were just about to start on the journey back when Sword's face lit up. "Wait," he suddenly said, getting on one knee in front of one of the wildflower bushes. When he stood back up, he held a little violet hydrangea bud between his fingertips.
His other hand reached out and pushed Rocket's hair behind his left ear, before slipping the bud over it. Once it was nice and snug, Sword pulled back to admire his handiwork.
"Purple fits you." he said, with a mix of fondness and awe.
Rocket traced the outline of the flowering bud with his prosthesis, feeling the delicate petals in the beginning of bloom. "Something to remember you by?" he asked jokingly.
Sword shook his head. "Nah, I just thought it looked nice on you."
Rocket chuckled. That answer was so undeniably, unbelievably Sword. "Still an idiot."
"Still your idiot." Sword corrected.
"Whatever you say."